Rift

by Nathan Hystad

Flint did trust the source for the ship’s codes, but he was digging deep on the personal IDs at this point. He’d wasted “Trent Brand” at Mars, and was sure the name would be blacklisted across the colonies already.

  “You should be okay, Kat. You didn’t leave the ship on Mars, so you weren’t scanned. They couldn’t have known you were inside.” Flint leaned back, his fingers intertwined behind his head.

  Kat swiveled in her seat to face him. “Flint, I know what you’re thinking, and you can stop.”

  “I messed up, and I got you into some hot water. You can’t take the fall for my mistakes. We’re going to hit the surface, contact the guy from the job, and I’m going to get you a new ID, just to be safe. I’ll transfer the fifty thousand credits to your account, and you can start over.” Flint broke their eye contact as he spoke.

  Kat leaned forward. “Flint, I don’t want that. I want to stay with you. We’re a team,” she said, and his heart melted at the words.

  Flint raised his voice. “I know we are, but you’re so much better than this old guy. I’m a deserter and a smuggler. Let’s call a spade a spade here.”

  “I don’t care. I know who you are. And I…”

  Flint mentally begged her not to say it, because it would never be more than a professional relationship between the two of them.

  Kat seemed to see his expression change, and sat back. “Never mind. I’ll do what you order, but I hope you change your mind.” She turned away from him, and Flint hated himself for not being able to say the right thing at that moment.

  He tried to find the words but lost the window as the comm-switch lit up green.

  “This is Earth Fleet base on Europa. Please state your business and transmit ID codes now,” a bored voice said over the comm.

  “We have a delivery for…” Flint used a name and address from a wealthy client from his last trip to the moon, and said the string of digits they’d reprogrammed into his ship’s database. He held his breath, awaiting the response from the uninterested officer.

  After an excruciatingly long pause, the voice came back. “You are cleared for landing. I’ve sent the coordinates. Do not stray from the path.”

  The communication ended, and Flint wiped the beading sweat off his forehead.

  Kat pumped a fist in the air. “We did it, Flint!”

  “Let’s not celebrate too quickly. They could be messing with us. Maybe we set down and open the hatch to find a dozen armed guards ready to take us to the brig,” Flint said. “Take us in. I’ll get our things.”

  Flint left her on the bridge and passed their quarters, picking up the packed bags on his way by. He saw the gun Kat had used to kill the third Marine and thought about bringing it with him. He dismissed the inclination and took it into the safe down the corridor, sealing it in with the stunners.

  He ran the address he’d gotten from the man in the Martian bar through his mind a few times. Just what was this mysterious job? Only weeks ago, he’d been happy, without a care in the universe. Now he couldn’t help but feel like he was being funneled to this location. Like the whole Mars scenario was a set-up, one that had ultimately led him to Europa at this moment.

  Flint didn’t have a choice, though. He’d get Kat settled and find out what destiny held for Flint Lancaster.

  The ship jostled slightly as they entered Europa’s thin atmosphere, and minutes later, they were landing. Flint stood still, fighting the urge to tell Kat to lift off and race as far away from Europa as his ship would take them.

  Wren

  Wren ran a hand through her thick hair. “You’re saying this ship needs to be charged?”

  “That is indeed what I’m saying. The drive is complicated, the thrusters powerful, but this technology comes at a cost. The energy cannot be recharged while in motion. This vessel was created by Sol Industrial fifty years ago and has become the flagship for prisoner transport. They are capable of making short trips with few stops along the way. At least, that’s what the Interface says about them.” CD6’s eyes glowed brightly as he looked toward Wren.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “It means we have to stop to charge,” CD6 said matter-of-factly.

  “Great. How will we do that? I’m a prisoner, and you’re obviously a prison guard. Won’t we stick out like a sore thumb?” Wren asked.

  CD6 looked to his right hand, where his thumb digit bent back and forth. “I am not familiar with that reference, but I understand what you mean by its context. Yes, I do believe we will be sore thumbs.”

  “Let me check the ship’s storage. There has to be something I can change into that doesn’t scream ‘runaway prisoner’.” Wren got up. “By the way, where’s the closest stop we can make?”

  “There is a station half a day from our location, but I recommend we travel the extra four hours to Titan. There we will be less conspicuous,” CD6 suggested.

  Wren had never been to Titan but knew it was a hot spot for rich tourists. It was the universe’s Niagara Falls, where wealthy lovers went to celebrate their marriages, or to have torrid love affairs while away on “business” trips. She wasn’t sure that was a good idea for the unlikely pair. “Let me think on it.”

  The ship was small, and after a full day in it, she was already feeling claustrophobic. It was ironic that a woman used to a small prison cell would have a hard time aboard a space ship with no one around her but a friendly android.

  Wren exited the bridge and searched for any storage or closets. After their escape, she’d been so wound up that she’d sat up mindlessly watching space out the viewer, before crashing so hard she’d slept for fifteen hours. Now she had only a minor headache but was recharged, unlike the ship’s drive.

  She found a door in the hall near the crew’s bunks. It opened by a latch near the center of the slab, and inside, she found what she’d been searching for: clothing.

  Wren sifted through the bulky uniforms until she spotted something that might fit her. Thankfully, there’d been a woman on the flight, or had been in the past. The clothes were a little baggy-looking, but she didn’t care at this point. It was life and death, not a fashion show.

  As she shed the prison jumpsuit, Wren couldn’t help but smile. When it was off, she folded it into a ball and threw it angrily at the floor, where it sat in a pile. That wasn’t enough. She found the garbage chute and shoved it down, feeling a slight satisfaction at the thought of it being burned to ashes.

  She got into a pair of black pants, and found they actually fit her better than she imagined. Wren sorted through four options of shirts, and settled on a mustard-colored sweatshirt. There was a hair elastic in the pant pockets, and she went to the small lavatory, seeing her reflection in the mirror.

  Her skin was lighter than she’d ever seen it, and her curly dark hair was hardly recognizable. There had been no mirrors at the prison, and she let out a surprised bark at her appearance. Bags sat heavily under her eyes, and her eyes welled up when she saw something that never used to be there back on Earth: sadness.

  “Wren, have you made a decision?” CD6 asked through the ship’s speaker system.

  She pulled her hair into a thick braid, the black hair elastic holding it in place. She noticed something besides sadness creeping into her reflection. It was hope.

  Wren tapped an icon on the console in the hall. “CD6, set course for Titan.” She closed the line, whispering to herself, “We go to Titan.”

  She left the washroom and found CD6 standing facing her in the hall. For a moment, she thought she was back underground on Uranus, about to be reprimanded by a guard for some silly infraction.

  “Wren, we need to solve your ID issue.” His voice sounded like all the other guards’ voices, and it creeped her out.

  “What are you?” She asked the open-ended question, wondering how her new partner-in-crime would respond.

  “I am an android, a fourth-generation EFA-100. My designation is CD6, and I am programmed as a guard for the Uranus Mining Prison for Women,”
he said, as if it were that simple.

  “No,” she shook her head, “that’s not what I mean. Who are you? You’re clearly different than the rest, and you seem to have an awareness… a soul.” His eyes lit up as she said the last word.

  “I do not know. I have always been different. Where the others act on nothing but their programming, my mind races, thinks, sorts things out for itself. I do not know how or why it is this way; I have always just been like this.” CD6 turned, and they walked down the hall together.

  “It must have been hard.” Wren couldn’t begin to imagine having to play along with the other guards for years, when the whole time, you couldn’t talk about it with anyone. She would have gone insane if she were CD6.

  “I suppose. It is all I’ve ever known, so I got used to it.”

  They arrived at a bunk room, and each took a seat on opposite mattresses, the stars stretched out beside them through small porthole windows as they raced toward their destination. “How long were you stationed there?”

  “Forty years,” he answered.

  Forty years. That was a long time by human standards, but perhaps not as long by an android’s clock. “That’s before I was born.” Wren wasn’t sure why she said that.

  “Correct. You are thirty-two years and five months.” CD6 watched her as he spoke. His face was humanoid, though only in basic shape. He had glowing orange eyeballs sitting in his sockets, and a bump of a metallic nose, obviously only for aesthetics, since he wouldn’t need to smell. There were no visible nostrils. His mouth was a slit, with slightly pronounced lips that were the same gray color as the rest of him.

  He had the markings of an android guard: yellow lines ran down his sides and legs, and would be easily recognizable. They needed to cover them up. “We need to get you into some clothing,” Wren said.

  CD6 looked down at himself. “I hadn’t considered that. I’ve never worn any clothing.”

  Wren smiled at him. He was so polite, and after being around nothing but prisoners for the last two years, it was refreshing to speak with him, even if he was a sentient robot.

  “Let’s see what I can find for you.” Wren went to the closet again and found some options that might fit the slender android’s form.

  His entire body was the same color, and she saw lines on his back where his access panel was situated. They didn’t give his model of android much for detail. She guessed it wouldn’t be necessary for their function. She held up a pair of brown pants and a dark green shirt. “How about this?”

  “I do not know,” he said, taking the offered clothes.

  “CD6, people have android assistants on Titan, correct?” she asked. Back on Earth, her lab had a bunch of similar models to do calculations and assist on experiments. To her, they’d been nothing more than tools; computers to assist her work.

  He slipped into the pants awkwardly. “From my recent readings off the Interface, I would say that is correct.”

  “Then you can be my android while we’re there. A lot of rich people dress their androids. I’ll seem eccentric, like I’m accessorizing. I just have to do something about your name.” She tapped a finger on her lip in thought.

  “Very well. You do not enjoy CD6?” he asked, his question innocent, but it made Wren burst out laughing for some reason.

  “I think it’s too innocuous a name. If you’re to be my long-time assistant, I’ll have personalized you to my needs. CD6…” Wren’s eyes shot open wide as it came to her. “You’re a new breed of android, one that’s evolved past your programming into artificial intelligence. Perhaps not so artificial. Let’s call you Charles. For Charles Darwin, which goes hand in hand with your initials: CD6. What do you think?” She was happy with the name. She’d studied Darwin’s theories for years as a young student.

  He buttoned up the shirt, looking like a different android. His eyes glowed brightly as he glanced up to meet her gaze. “Charles. I will enjoy that.”

  “Good. Now, you were talking about changing my ID?” Wren asked, knowing it would all be for nothing if she was labeled as “Prisoner 5589” as they arrived on Titan.

  “Yes. I have studied the ID programming and give myself an eighty-four percent chance of successfully adapting the ID inside your hand,” Charles said.

  Already, thinking of him with a human name made him even more lifelike. “Those odds are good.”

  “Shall we get started? I have seen the supplies needed and can gather them in a few minutes.” Charles started to head toward the small engineering room, and Wren called after him.

  “Charles,” she urged.

  He turned, stopping in his footsteps. “Yes, Wren?”

  The way he said her name would forever be engrained into her memory. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “For what, Wren?”

  “For saving me. For choosing me to help escape that wretched place. I hadn’t said it yet, so there it is. Thank you,” Wren said.

  “You are welcome.” He turned and stepped back down the hall, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

  14

  Jarden

  Jarden Fairbanks lost his smile for the first time in weeks. Someone had been snooping, and he didn’t like that one bit. They were on schedule, the pilot would be arriving in a couple of weeks, and he’d be reunited with them soon. Yes, soon.

  The key to his plan was no one from the outside learning what he was doing out here in the middle of nowhere. Everything was hinging on their anonymity.

  Jarden scanned through the alerts and found it. Someone from Stellae had done the prodding. He’d set up alarms on multiple files on the Earth Fleet’s internal Interface, accessible only to select officers and the Council. It had to be Jish’s lackey Tob, the sniffling rat.

  It didn’t mean anything. So they’d found the funds being moved around. It didn’t mean they knew where he was, and they were running out of time. He had a month to wait them out; then he would be gone, aboard his beautiful Eureka.

  He was alerted that someone was at his door. “Enter.”

  A woman in her mid-thirties entered his office, wearing her new uniform, every inch of it perfectly pressed and white. “Sir.” She saluted him, and he waved her off. It wasn’t necessary to salute the Fleet Council, though most officers did so out of respect.

  “Hello, First Officer Barkley.” Her left eye twitched as he said her title. “Or do you prefer Heather?”

  She smiled at his casual use of her first name, and he liked her more for it. “Heather is fine. What can I do for you, sir?”

  Jarden motioned for her to have a seat at his desk. “Heather, we’re coming to the end of our deadline, and if I’m to believe all the reports I’ve been given, the ship is fully operational.”

  She nodded but didn’t speak.

  “Is that correct?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. We’ve tested a wide array of functions, even some of the more unorthodox ones in the blueprints, and everything is to specifications. Eureka is functional and ready for your mission. Captain Young is pacing around wondering where he’ll be leading it,” Heather said.

  Jarden noticed she was sitting straight-backed, only half on the chair.

  “And you?” he asked, feigning mild disinterest as he swirled the last melting ice cube around the bottom of his glass.

  “I’m excited to find out as well, sir,” came her answer.

  “What do you think of Young?” he asked, this time staring her straight in the eyes. Jarden knew he was an imposing figure, even though he was well over a hundred years old and appeared frail to the younger crew member.

  “I… uhm… Young is…” Heather stammered.

  “Young’s an idiot, isn’t he?” Jarden offered.

  “I wouldn’t say he’s an idiot, sir. He’s a very capable captain,” she said with the hint of a smile.

  “Regardless, I want you to know you have a spot on my crew.” He needed some loyalty when they all found out what was really happening, and he needed this one to be on his side
.

  “Thank you, sir.” She sat up straighter, if that was possible, and he leaned forward.

  “You don’t have a husband or children, correct?” Jarden asked.

  She didn’t seem taken aback at the question. It was all in her file, and she knew it. “No, sir. I chose to be married to the Earth Fleet. It’s my dream to captain a ship like Eureka, sir.”

  He had her now. He could tell. “You might get that chance.”

  “What will happen to Young?” she asked.

  “He’ll go back home, along with some of the others. Not everyone’s cut out for this mission.” Part of that was true. Jarden stood, and she joined him.

  “Thank you for believing in me,” Heather said, heading for the door.

  “Heather,” he prompted, and she turned to him, her strawberry-blonde curls bouncing as she waited for him to continue. “Keep this conversation between us.”

  She nodded solemnly.

  After she left, Councilman Jarden Fairbanks poured himself another drink before sitting back down at his desk. He returned to his holopapers, seeing if there was any possible way the Grand Admiral would be able to track his location.

  Flint

  Europa. Flint had been to the moon a few times over the years, maybe as many as ten, but everything had a different feel to it now as he walked out of the hangar and into the common dome. Europa was still terraforming, and was one of the few colonies still trying. They were still a century or so from stabilizing the atmosphere enough to sustain life out here.

  The major issue with colonies so far away from the sun was surface temperature. Flint didn’t think they’d solve the core temp problem without destroying the planet, but he was no scientist. He’d leave that issue for them to solve, just like they’d leave piloting a ship to him.

  He’d once done an EVA walk on the surface with a client who’d demanded he join their excursion. Flint had worn the heated suit and found he enjoyed the experience. There was something supernatural about walking on another moon or planet, and it always put things in perspective for him. Even though humans were able to travel around their solar system, the planets and universe were still the bosses. Everything out there was designed to kill life, and Flint thought their race was pressing their luck, trying to survive in all these places human life wasn’t supposed to occupy.