by Rachel Aukes
The deafening ringing in his ears was the only sound he could hear, and his eyes opened to reveal a world in vertigo. He clenched his eyes closed until he had forced several more breaths. When he opened them again, the world still spun, but he could make out snapshots: an open space where the stairs had stood, millions of dust motes in the air, no sign of anyone—dead or alive.
He moaned again when he tried to push himself to his hands and knees, only to collapse. He felt himself being pulled up. He tried to look, but the movement caused his vision to swirl. All he could do was fight to retain consciousness as he was dragged away. His consciousness soon faded to numbness.
Critch awoke to find himself on his back in a place he didn’t recognize. A subdued voice was speaking in the background. He held back his inclination to move in order to get his bearings. His body felt like he was on a planet with a gravity of at least 3g. His ribs protested with every breath, but they gave dull aches rather than sharp stabs, which meant none were broken. Much of his body throbbed, but his left shoulder bore a familiar pain. Not again. He squeezed his left fist, and his shoulder burned. Yeah, the damn joint had been thrown out again. At least it had been reset, so he didn’t have to deal with that experience. Still, his arm would be useless until he got meds and tape.
He stared at the cracked white ceiling above him until the room quit spinning. Pieces of the paint were missing, either from disrepair or from the recent bombings. Without moving his head, he scanned as much of the room he could. It was tiny—likely an apartment—with a kitchenette off to the side of the living room where he lay. A small wall-screen was playing the news, which explained the voice he’d heard.
Unless the CUF had taken him to someone’s home, he was most definitely not in the hands of the dromadiers.
Using his right arm to brace himself, Critch tried to push himself up, but his body refused to move. He glared at the ceiling. “Fuck me.”
“Be careful, Marshal. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Startled, Critch turned toward the voice to see a young man approach. No more than sixteen and dressed in the baggy brown canvas coveralls worn by nearly all Rebus Station workers.
“Where am I?” Critch asked, wishing he could sit up.
“You’re in my apartment. Well, it’s my family’s apartment, technically. I’m Kassel.”
“How’d I get here?”
“I found you. My friends and I were scavenging through the warehouses when the droms showed up. We were hiding on the second floor and then there was this huge explosion. We went to take the stairs to leave, but they were gone, and you were there. We saw more droms coming down the street, so we grabbed you and brought you here.”
“You shouldn’t have taken me,” Critch said. “They’ll shoot you for helping me.”
Kassel shrugged. “They’d shoot me anyway, just because they can. They’ve been treating Rebus Station like a shooting range ever since you blew that destroyer.” He walked over to the wall-screen and turned up the volume. “It’s been all over the news.”
Parliament had proven time and again that the citizens had no interest in treating the colonies as equals, even though most of the Collective’s resources came from the fringe. When Seda had negotiated the cease-fire, Critch had let himself believe there was hope without war. Parliament had wasted little time in proving him wrong.
He scowled and turned to the screen. A reporter was standing outside the Parliament building on Myr.
“As of ten o’clock Myrad sol time, Parliament declared war after this week’s slaughter of five citizens on Terra. We are now in a civil war between the Collective’s foundational worlds—Alluvia and Myr—and its colony planets—Terra, Darios, Spate, and Playa. The Collective Unified Forces, now under command of Corps General Maximus Laciam, has taken control of Rebus Station on Terra, and we expect to have control of Devil Town on Spate this week. Sol Base of Darios remains under CUF control. As you may remember, Ice Port of Playa was bombed last year in retaliation for bioterrorism and is no longer in operation. Once the CUF has secured control of the remaining fringe station, all other colonies on each planet are expected to submit with minimal resistance. Senator Gabriel Heid, the co-chair of Parliament, is pushing for a fast resolution to minimize impacts to our daily lives. To support the CUF, Parliament has initiated the draft on Myr and Alluvia, and has extended service indefinitely on all colonist conscripts currently serving the CUF. Senator Heid has requested that all citizens remain calm, as Alluvia and Myr are protected from attack. This broadcast will repeat every thirty minutes or as new updates arrive. I’m Willas James with DZ-Five News. Stay safe, stay united.”
Critch’s jaw tightened more and more while the broadcast replayed. He knew of only two Heids. Gabriela Heid was dead. That left the other Heid. Gabriel Heid, leader of the clandestine Founders, murderer of his own daughter, and number one on Critch’s kill-list.
“See?” Kassel said. “Us colonists mean nothing to them. We’re disposable.”
“The idiots never learned they need us to survive, not the other way around. But they’ll learn soon enough.”
Kassel balked. “You saw the news. They’ve already taken Rebus Station, which means they have control of the space docks. All the other Terran colonies will fall without any kind of space support.”
“If they fall, it’ll be temporary. Heid was wrong about one thing. Alluvia and Myr aren’t safe,” Critch said. Using every ounce of energy and too much exertion, he pushed himself up into a seated position. “Because I’m taking the war to them.”
Four
Ghost Town
Sol Base, Darios
“This is creepy,” Sixx said.
“You won’t hear me tell you differently,” Reyne said as they passed an empty food cart in Sol Base.
“The last time I was here,” Sixx continued, “the street was so crowded, I couldn’t even see who grabbed my ass.”
“Don’t you mean who tried to pickpocket you?”
“Same difference.”
The pair strolled down Main Street. What was once Darios’s largest colony, and home to the busiest fringe station, was now practically a ghost town. The blight had cleared out the entire population. After Reyne had sprayed fungicide over the colony, eradicating the deadly blight, the CUF had wasted no time in securing the fringe station and its space docks.
With the CUF fully in control, few colonists had any interest in settling the colony. The planet produced a huge portion of the Collective’s food supply, including all the philoseed and cavote, two bean-like staples in every civilian and colonist’s diet. Alluvia and Myr depended on Darios, making Sol Base the CUF’s most closely-guarded colony. Darios’s value to the Collective also meant it was the most highly regulated, with over eighty percent tariffs on all exports.
It had taken offers of free housing and guaranteed income to draw in even the minimum few hundred colonists required to get the fringe station and its space docks back up and running. Before the blight, Sol Base was the home to over seventy thousand colonists. Now, all the dromadiers, traders, and colonists totaled less than one percent of pre-blight numbers.
Anything the blight had touched had to be decontaminated. A massive hole, a mile in diameter, was dug to burn and then bury all the bodies in. Bulldozers and trucks ran nonstop for over a month cleaning out the colony. It took contractors another three months to sanitize the buildings and streets. Now, everything glistened like new construction.
Reyne looked to the horizon, where the mass grave stood—a hill covered in new prairie grasses. There were no signs, no structures to memorialize the area. That would cost money, and Parliament never saw fit to spend money on the fringe if it didn’t net a return. Parliament should’ve not only built a memorial but also paid a token to the relatives of those killed. After all, it was Senator Gabriel Heid who’d been responsible for dropping the blight on Sol Base. Heid had never claimed credit for the massacre; hell, he’d even spun the story and put the blame on the torr
ents. The puppet master was behind every major event that had taken place in the Collective over the past few years, and Reyne would see that he was stopped.
Reyne scowled and turned away from the mass grave.
“A lot of good people died that day,” Sixx said.
Reyne noticed his friend had been watching him. “You mean folks like Double-jointed Sally?”
Sixx shook his head. “She was talented, but she wasn’t good. That woman beat on kids. No, I’m thinking of folks like Lamitie.”
“The constable who arrested you for theft?”
Sixx shrugged. “It was my fault I got caught. Lamitie—he was one of the good ones. He was always looking out for those who needed looking out for.”
“Yeah. I remember,” Reyne agreed as images of other Sol Base residents passed through his mind. Some he’d met once, some he’d known for decades, and some he wished he’d had the chance to meet. All of their deaths were a part of a political ploy to bring public opinion down on the fringe. “They’re the reason why we fight: to stop the Collective from doing things like this again.”
“Preaching to the choir, boss.”
Reyne chuckled. “Like you’ve ever been to church.”
“I have. Once. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
Sixx pinched the brim of his hat as they met a pair of dromadiers coming from the other direction. “Ladies,” he said.
They continued without sparing a glance to either Sixx or Reyne.
“Careful,” Reyne cautioned.
“Always am,” Sixx replied. “Those two were clearly colonist conscripts. If they recognized us, they’d just as likely let us pass. But right now, even our own mothers wouldn’t recognize us.”
They each wore the full beards commonly worn by Darion men. Sunglasses and hats also helped hide their features while blending them in perfectly as Darions.
“All it takes is a single drom to report us and we’re busted,” Reyne said. “Plus, there are so few colonists in Sol Base, the droms might recognize any newcomers.”
“When did you get all unadventurous?” Sixx asked.
“Since my profile topped the CUF’s Most Wanted list.”
“I think Critch may still be one above you. Taking out that destroyer this week amped up his notoriety a few notches.”
“He can keep it.” Reyne stopped, turned, and looked at the business front before them. “We’re here.”
He led Sixx into the tourist shop. The shop was empty of tourists, and only a single cashier stood at the far end. She was young, barely a teenager, and didn’t look up from her comm screen. The two men strolled down the center aisle, which was lined with snacks containing philoseed or cavote, some using the staples in rather creative ways. Reyne paused every few steps to check out the merchandise.
“Pickled philo is surprisingly tasty,” Sixx said.
Reyne wrinkled his nose and continued without comment. Near the back of the store, he found a bin of multipurpose tools. He rummaged through and pulled out a tool with a rainbow-colored handle. He brought it over to the counter and set it down. The cashier glanced up only to scan the tool.
Sixx dropped two shirts on the counter.
Reyne lifted the clothing. “What’s this?”
“I promised Lily I’d pick up a souvenir for her from every colony I visit.”
“And the other?”
Sixx shrugged. “I think Bree would like it.”
Reyne let out a sigh, even though he inwardly gave Sixx kudos for thinking of his daughter-of-sorts and their newest crew member. He motioned to the cashier to scan the items, then held up his wrist comm for payment. After he paid, Reyne grabbed the tool and tossed the two shirts at Sixx.
“You should see our newest inventory; they’re nesting dolls. Each one’s hand-painted.” The girl pointed to a wall display without looking up from her wrist comm.
“Oh. Okay.” Reyne walked over to the display and casually examined one of the dolls. He set it back down after a minute. He looked around, but there were still only the three of them in the store. Their contact should’ve been there by now. He took another look at the tool. He’d chosen the right one. The message had said to buy a rainbow-colored tool for the all-clear sign and a red-handled tool if they’d been followed. Reyne may be old, but his memory was still sharp as ever.
“Lily might like one of these dolls,” Sixx said as he opened one.
Reyne frowned. “Lily? She’s obsessed with everything tech. She’d hate these. You should get her a tablet.”
“Vym’s already got her one,” Sixx said. “She’s basically adopted Lily as her granddaughter.”
Before Reyne could respond, a man walked into the store. “Bob? Is that you?”
Reyne smiled and headed over to the newcomer. “Buddy! It’s been ages.”
The man closed the distance. “I thought it was you through the window, so I stopped in to see.”
They embraced. When they stepped back, Sixx came to stand next to Reyne.
The other man spoke first. “How’s your family?”
“Everyone’s good. Yours?”
“Good. Kathy’s pregnant again. That’ll be number three for us.”
“Congratulations,” Reyne said.
“Crops looking good this season?”
“As good as can be expected,” Reyne said. “Yours?”
“Same.” The man looked around. “Well, I guess I’d better get back to it. You take care.”
“You, too.” Reyne shook the man’s hand.
The man departed. Reyne and Sixx left the store and went back onto Main Street.
“You ever see that guy before?” Sixx asked quietly.
“Nope,” Reyne replied. He stuck his hands in his pockets as they continued their walk down Main Street. His fingers in his left pocket brushed against a metal key, a key that hadn’t been there before. He gripped the key as they walked three more blocks until they reached the housing complex.
The complex, known as the Villages, consisted of eight buildings Parliament had allocated to new Sol Base colonists. They weren’t the worst condominiums in town, but they were nowhere near the most luxurious. Parliament’s always has to show the fringe where they stand in the big picture.
What the complex lacked in amenities, it made up for in its autonomy. The CUF, believing it had Sol Base locked down tight, had turned over security to local constabulary forces while the droms remained focused on the station and its docks. Reyne couldn’t see a single dromadier within the entire block. If everything went as planned, that decision would prove to be a very bad mistake for the CUF stationed on Darios.
Unknown to the CUF, Sol Base was about to become the tip of the torrent spear in the fight for freedom.
Reyne headed to the second building on his right. Above the door hung a sign that read Harvest View–Building 3. The pair entered and took the stairs up to the third floor. Like the rest of Sol Base, this building smelled of disinfectant. They came across no one as they walked down the hallway, even though it was in the middle of the workday.
“Quite the bustling community,” Sixx said as he stayed close to Reyne’s side, his hand near his waist, where Reyne knew Sixx had a blaster holstered.
Reyne stopped when they reached a door with the number 3-35 imprinted on the metal. Reyne pulled out the key, confirmed the number on the key, and unlocked the door.
Sixx entered first, pulling out his blaster the moment he was through. “We got company, boss.”
Reyne stepped in and found an attractive woman lounging in a chair, a guard standing on each side. “It’s okay, Sixx. You can lower your weapon,” Reyne said without taking his eyes off the woman. “It’s good to see you, Hatha.”
She smiled and motioned for Reyne to take a seat. “Aramis, it’s been far too long.”
Reyne took a seat, thankful to rest his arthritic joints, while Sixx remained in a guard position at his back. “I’ve been a bit busy.”
Her brow rose. “Just a bit? Betwe
en helping out refugees and recruiting for the war, I’m surprised you could fit in time to see me.” She gave a knowing smile. “But then, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? So, which of those two things do you need my help with?”
“Both,” Reyne replied quickly. “And from what I hear along the space-line, you’re already deep into both refugees and freedom fighting.”
She sobered. “That awful blight wiped out my beautiful city, along with my husband and three children. We all know it was created by citizens and delivered by citizens. Who could blame me for wanting anyone associated with Alluvia or Myr off my planet?”
“I certainly wouldn’t blame you.”
Her gaze wandered as sad memories seemed to take her to another place. After a moment, she took in a breath. “I’m short on time today. Tell me what you need, and let’s see what we can do for each other.”
Reyne leaned forward. “I’ll lay all my cards on the table. I need you, Hatha. The Darion resistance reports to you. Every colonist on this world respects you and would do anything you ask. I know you’re planning to take over Sol Base, and I’m here to offer up as many resources as I can muster to help you accomplish that.”
She leaned forward. “I thought the torrents were split across all the other fringe worlds.”
“They are,” Reyne said. “But I’ve been talking with Seda Faulk and Vym Patel. We believe that if we can take and retain Darios, the Collective will be forced to negotiate.”
“Or else they’ll starve,” she said.
“Or else they’ll starve,” he echoed.
She steepled her hands. “Exactly what kind of resources are we looking at?”
“We’ve been printing munitions nonstop for over a year. We also have roughly twelve thousand torrents on Spate and Playa who we can begin transporting to the dock you’ve been building near Thunder Canyon.”
