The Fringe Series Omnibus

by Rachel Aukes

  As they neared their destination at the Coast’s center, the asteroids grew larger, but fewer, and Heid felt herself relax. When Nova Colony emerged onto the view screen, she smiled. “Hello, beautiful,” she said softly to no one in particular. She maneuvered the Arcadia to lock on to the asteroid’s outer rock. Once the locks clicked into place, she announced, “Sylvian, has one of the landers been loaded with standard emergency supplies?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Sylvian replied.

  “Good. Prep all eight landers.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Heid stood. “Will, the helm is yours.”

  “I have the helm.” He turned around. “Captain, about what happened back there…”

  Heid placed a hand on his shoulder “You did well. No ship this size is meant to fly through an asteroid belt. Trust me. With some practice in a patrol ship, you’ll be able to handle the Coast in no time.”

  He sat a little straighter. “Thanks.” Then he added, “I’ll practice.”

  She smiled, left the bridge, and headed to landing bay One, where her lander sat.

  Her gunman, Luther, stood waiting for her. Luther had joined her crew recently, after being freed from the Citadel back on Terra. She’d gained nearly twenty additional crewmembers from that batch. Many were in poor health, but all carried heavy vendettas in their hearts. Unlike her crew she’d had since serving the CUF, these new crewmembers often questioned her orders, and she worried she wouldn’t be able to count on them if—when—things went sour. They didn’t trust her, which meant she couldn’t trust them. Luther was the only one of her new members she somewhat trusted. Even then, she’d never want to put her life in his hands.

  “From the sounds of things out there, I was beginning to wonder if you were trying to hit every asteroid in the Coast.”

  “Not every asteroid,” she answered. “I wanted to save some for our flight out of here.”

  He gave a small nod that hinted he expected as much, and then led the way onto the lander. She buckled into the pilot’s seat while Luther strapped in next to the door. Only two rode in each lander—the minimum required crew—to make room for as much cargo space as possible for transporting colonists back to the Arcadia.

  Heid’s lander departed the ship first, and the other landers followed hers into the large asteroid’s jaw-like opening. She led them through a natural cave dimly lit by a single string of lights, and finally to the colony’s docking station.

  The docking station’s doors stood open.

  Heid opened a comm channel. “Nova Colony, this is specter flight of eight, requesting permission to dock.”

  No answer.

  She repeated her request, and then tacked on, “Is anyone home?” When there was still no response, a rock settled in her gut. Were they too late? Had she waited too long to come?

  “Don’t worry,” Luther said. “Colonists are tougher than you think. They’re probably watching us right now, debating whether to drift us before or after they rob us.”

  “You think they’d shoot us when we dock?”

  Luther shook his head. “Nah. They’d never do anything to hurt the ships. They’re too valuable. These guys would wait until we all made it to the airlock and then suck out the air.”

  “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

  “You want reassurance, see a therapist.”

  She pursed her lips and remained silent as she maneuvered the lander into docking position and slowly backed the small ship into a bay. Luther stood and extended the lander’s braces. Locks clicked around the lander, securing it firmly in place.

  “Well, if they want the landers, they’ve got them now,” Luther said.

  Her jaw tightened, and she stood. “Suit up and let’s go.”

  The CUF had set up a drone blockade outside the Space Coast, closing off Nova Colony from the rest of the Collective. In the days that followed, many colonists had made a run for it. Most died, though a few had made it through the blockade without getting blown to pieces. Soon, there were no ships left in Nova Colony’s docks, leaving all the remaining colonists stranded within the asteroid. Those colonists who’d remained had estimated they had a year left—if they were lucky—before they ran out of supplies, as no supply ships could reach them.

  The blockade had been in place now for fourteen months.

  The torrent captains had wanted to send ships earlier, but their hands had been tied. The CUF had implemented martial law across the entire fringe, and it was getting near-impossible for torrent ships to travel through the system without running across a CUF ship or drone of some kind. It had taken the Arcadia two months of zigging and zagging across the fringe to make it to the Space Coast. Even with taking an obscure route, the torrent warship had had to enter stealth mode three times on their way to the Coast, burning nearly half their juice. They’d use up most of it by the time they left the Coast, leaving no room to evade or fight off any unwanted company they might run into on their return trip.

  The seven other landers positioned into docks as Heid and Luther exited their craft and hooked their suits onto the zip lines rigged into the bedrock. With no gravity in the docks, Heid shot small bursts from her suit’s propulsion system to shoot across the dock to the other side, where the airlock stood open. Luther came up right behind her.

  They disconnected their suits from the zip line and propelled through the doorway. Heid flew over to the airlock’s far side, where a screen and a large button were encased in the metal wall. She tapped the button, and the airlock door closed behind them. Air shot out from nozzles in the walls, obscuring the tiny enclosure in a cloud. Artificial gravity came without warning, and they landed on the ground with jarring thuds. As they climbed to their feet, the moisture cloud dissipated, and the monitor on the wall lit up in green.

  Heid double-checked the air level on her wrist comm. Safe, but marginally so. Guilt sat like a heavy stone in Heid’s gut. Tainted air was a common problem in ships and on space stations if the air filters failed. At this level, it would’ve taken only weeks before bronchial infections set in. She swallowed, hoping the air levels dropped only recently. If they were too late, it would be on her.

  She tapped her wrist comm. “Heid to Arcadia.”

  “Arcadia here, Commander.”

  “Notify Jovovich to prep an air filter kit.”

  “Copy that, Commander.”

  She removed her helmet, inhaled cold air, and coughed. The air had a foul flavor, like she’d been stuck in an elevator crammed with people. Her next breath was smaller. Luther removed his helmet soon after.

  The door leading to the interior opened, and the pair found themselves facing a dozen gaunt-faced colonists. Heid would’ve felt relief at seeing the colonists alive except that every single one of them was pointing a rifle in her and Luther’s direction.

  She spoke, careful not to make any movement. “I’m Captain Heid of the Arcadia, and this is Luther Jackson of Terra. We’re here to rescue you.”

  A stocky man in the group’s center looked at Luther, then turned his gaze onto Heid. He looked her up and down slowly. His eyes narrowed. “You’d better convince us right quick that you’re not CUF, or else you’re going to be taking a swim out on the Coast in three seconds.”

  A couple members of the group coughed in between ragged breaths.

  Heid held one hand out as she reached toward her suit ever so slowly.

  “Watch yourself,” the man cautioned.

  She paused. “I can convince you if you give me one moment of latitude.”

  The seconds dragged on long, until he gave the smallest nod.

  Heid reached into a pocket on her suit, and pulled out the teardrop-shaped pendant—the emblem of the torrents—and held it high for them to see. She tucked the pendant back into her suit. “I’m not CUF, and the longer you stand around with you heads up your asses, the greater chance the CUF is going to get suspicious about why so much space junk showed up all of sudden around their drone blockade.”<
br />
  The man’s lips thinned. “I didn’t believe the stories. I thought they were too farfetched. I’d never heard of a CUF commander changing sides before, let alone taking a warship with her.”

  “It’s your lucky day,” she said. “You can fly on that warship if you so choose.”

  After a moment, he glanced back to the people with him. “Put down your weapons.”

  They nearly dropped their weapons as they slumped and coughed. A few leaned against the wall.

  The man held out his hand to Heid. “I’m Stan. Operations Manager of Nova Colony.”

  Heid shook it. “Time is not on our side. The Arcadia is waiting to give anyone a lift to Playa, where we have living quarters set up for everyone.”

  “How can it be any safer than here?” Stan asked. “The last news we saw, the CUF has put the entire fringe under martial law.”

  “They have,” Heid said. “But, since they bombed Ice Port, they have written Playa off. They assume no one can land or take off on Playa.” Her lips curled upward. “They have no idea we have an operational space dock.”

  Stan eyed her for a moment before shaking Luther’s hand. “So, it’s true?” Stan asked. “There’s a new torrent Uprising?”

  Luther answered. “It’s called the Fringe Liberation Campaign, my friend, and it’s shaping up to be far bigger than the first Uprising. We’ve even managed to snag a CUF supply ship of our own.”

  “We’ll fill you on the way,” Heid cut in. “The CUF will have sent in patrol ships to inspect the blockade. We don’t have time to delay. How many colonists are in Nova Colony?”

  Stan grimaced. “Two hundred and eighty-four.”

  “Eighty-three,” a man behind Stan corrected. “We lost Jadin yesterday.”

  Heid’s heart sank. Based on all her calculations, the number should’ve been higher.

  “What happened?” Luther asked.

  Stan shrugged. “We’d already been on tight rations before the air filters started to fail. When the lung infections hit, we didn’t have near enough antibiotics. There wasn’t anything we could do.”

  “Damn, that’s rough,” Luther said.

  Guilt nagged at Heid. After all, it was she who’d stolen the warship and launched the Fringe Liberation Campaign. She knew the blame sat squarely on her shoulders for every death at Nova Colony. She’d wanted to come sooner, but it’d taken too long to build the generators for the flak, and her Spate mission had consumed far more of her time than she’d planned. But she’d chosen Spate over Nova Colony—she’d have to live with the consequences.

  Heid tapped her comm. “All lander crews are authorized to enter the colony to assist with evacuation.” She turned back to Stan. “There’s room for everyone on the landers. Make an announcement to evacuate. We’ll assist anyone too weak to walk.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Stan said. “This rock might not be pretty, but she’s my responsibility. I’m not leaving her. And I know a few others will stay. Some folks have never been off this rock and don’t intend to leave it now.”

  Heid watched him for a moment. “I expected as much, and I have a lander full of supplies that should cover your needs for a while. But I can give no guarantees how soon we’ll be out here again. You could be on your own for some time.”

  “I can live with that,” Stan said, and he turned to the people behind him. “Go on and get your groups packed up. Move the weakest first. Make sure no one who doesn’t want left behind isn’t left behind.”

  Too many hours later, the Arcadia departed Nova Colony with two hundred and forty-five additional passengers. The sickest had been sent immediately to Medical, while several of the strongest had refused to let Heid leave their sight.

  As they stood on the bridge, they eyed Heid and her crew with trepidation and sideways glances. She knew what was going through their heads. They were on a CUF ship, and though Heid and her crew no longer wore uniforms, they carried on flying the Arcadia with many of the same military processes and procedures they’d used while still in the CUF.

  To these new colonists, Heid and her crew had ties with their enemy. They’d boarded her ship out of desperation rather than trust, not that she’d expected them to trust her. Not that she trusted them—she didn’t trust anyone who was desperate. She tapped a message to her bridge crew and security teams.

  REMAIN ON HIGH ALERT. REPORT ANY ISSUES IMMEDIATELY.

  The new colonists were sick and weak, but they were also survivors. She knew a wounded coyote could be most dangerous when trapped.

  An idea formed in her mind.

  She took the controls and looked out across the Coast, out beyond, to where she knew the drones and likely several CUF patrol ships stood. She stated her order loudly and clearly. “Arm all photon guns, and fire up phase cannons one through five. We’re going to blast every drone out of the sky.”

  Her crew turned to her, eyes wide. The new passengers eyed her with surprise—hope, even.

  Will spoke first. “The CUF will know we were here.”

  Her navigator added, “They’ll know we’ve evacuated the Coast.”

  “Oh, they won’t have any reason to blockade a colony they believe is abandoned,” Sylvian said.

  “Exactly.” Heid’s lips curled into a smile. “Now, let’s have some fun.”

  Six

  Aches and Pains and Doppelgangers

  Devil Town fringe station, Spate

  Throttle

  Throttle woke in a bed instead of on a hard, cold prison floor. She hadn’t expected to wake at all.

  Her pounding head assured her she was alive. She lifted her head and immediately lowered it back to the pillow. The room swirled around her, and her tongue felt thick. Whatever they’d drugged her with was still deep in her system. Her mind was too fuzzy to process any logic behind drugging a prisoner—a paraplegic one at that. The CUF used stun guns, which were cheaper and easier to use than drugs, and droms tended to enjoy using pain-inflecting weapons more often.

  She glanced at her forearm to find her wrist comm missing. It was then she noticed she was wearing a hospital gown rather than her clothes.

  She pushed herself into a sitting position, and the room spun so quickly she became nauseous. She reached out for her wheelchair, but it wasn’t where she always left it. Her head swayed as she searched the room, squinting through her double vision. Her chair was missing. Anxiety began to clear her sight. Without her chair, the droms didn’t need to put her in a prison cell. It wasn’t like she could haul herself out of there—wherever there even was—without drawing the attention of any drom in the area. Her only chance was if they passed out from laughing so hard at the sight of a crippled girl dragging herself around Spate.

  Shoot, she would’ve laughed at the idea if she could’ve seen straight.

  A lock clicked, and Throttle turned to see the door slide open and two men and two women walk in. Two pairs of twins. No, that wasn’t right. She blinked and tried to focus her vision. One man, and one woman a step behind him. He was tall for a Myrad, with the bluest skin she’d ever seen. His family must’ve been one of the first colonists on Myr, or he’d had his skin stained. With the vibrant colors he wore and the way he carried himself, she suspected it was the former.

  The woman, on the other hand, had pale white skin—maybe even a shade paler than Throttle’s—with green eyes and dark auburn hair. She was stunningly beautiful and wore a long green gown. She was also incredibly familiar, yet Throttle was sure she’d never seen the woman before in her life.

  Throttle rested her head against the wall to help hold it steady.

  “The drugs will wear off soon,” The man said. “But I wanted to see you as soon as you woke.”

  Throttle tried to focus on him. “Why am I still alive?”

  He watched her. “You’re Halit Herley, pilot and mail runner. You earned the nickname of Throttle due to your reputation for flying fast. Tell me, Ms. Herley, why didn’t you take your adoptive father’s surname? For all intents a
nd purposes, you’re Halit Reyne. There’s no way you could remember your real parents.”

  She gritted her teeth and repeated, “Why am I still alive?”

  He smiled, an expression devoid of humor and full of arrogance. “I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Axos Wintsel, the stationmaster of Devil Town.” He motioned to the woman standing behind him, who never looked up. “And this is my consort, Qelle.”

  Ah. That’s why the woman looked familiar. The fog was slowly clearing from Throttle’s mind, but everything still felt sluggish, like she was stuck in a tank of pudding.

  “You and I have something in common,” he said, with a sly smile on his face.

  “A colonist and a Myrad have something in common?” She belted out a dry laugh. “Let me guess. You’re a cripple, too.”

  “I am not a cripple!” He stomped toward her with a raised fist.

  She braced herself for the blow.

  He took a deep breath, lowered his hand, and took a step back. “No, I am not a cripple. We’re orphans, you and me. For each of us, our only family left is our adoptive fathers, which makes me feel like we’re kindred spirits. Your parents were killed in the Uprising, as was my father. I lost my mother far more recently. Perhaps you’ve heard of her. Her name was Dr. Zara Wintsel.”

  Throttle’s lips parted, and she quickly erased all expression from her face in an attempt to hide her knowledge, though she suspected she wasn’t doing a very good job at it through the drug-induced haze. “Don’t know her.”

  He looked disappointed. “I think you do. After all, it was Aramis Reyne who killed her.” He moved closer.

  Throttle tried not to cringe.

  He continued. “Don’t worry. I don’t believe in punishing the child for the sins of her father.”

  “Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” she said.

  “It’s true. I’ll even prove it,” he said, and the slinky smile returned. Throttle would’ve sprinted from the room that exact moment if she could have.