by Rachel Aukes
Aramis Reyne let the ice-cold winds blast him for a long second before hustling back inside and closing the door. He shivered but felt invigorated.
Jeyde Sixx looked up from the chair in which he was comfortably reclined. His brown eyes twinkled. “I can never figure out why you want to live here. This is exactly what I envision hell frozen over would look like.”
He smiled. “It’s not so bad. The air’s crisp, there’s no pollution, and the lower gravity can add a whole new level to sporting events.”
Sixx nodded toward the door. “Crisp? Out there feels damn near as frigid as Mary, the Myrad madam.”
Motion twenty feet behind Sixx drew Reyne’s attention. It wasn’t the construction crews working on the tunnel’s walls. Their movements had become a part of the background over the past several weeks. It was the pair walking toward them in tailored clothes draped over their gravity suits. Only citizens wore clothes that nice.
He turned back to Sixx. “The thing I’ve always liked best about Playa is that it’s the farthest world from Alluvia and Myr. In the past, the distance helped keep the citizens away.”
Sixx turned to look. He pushed off the chair and to his feet, moving to stand protectively near Reyne’s side. He was as tall as Reyne, thirty years younger, and well-built; a formidable defensive force. “Looks like they aren’t wasting any time getting their claws into the new fringe station.”
Reyne sighed. “Not when there’s a chance for someone to get rich off someone else’s hard work.” He glanced at Sixx. “Make sure the dock operators notify us of all landings, especially Collective ships.”
“You got it, boss.”
The men watched the man and woman approach. Neither had bluish skin, indicating they were from Alluvia, which meant they’d at least be slightly easier to work with than the ever-snobbish Myrads. Reyne had even become friends with a few Alluvians over the years. Boden, when he wasn’t on a Sweet Soy binge, made a damn fine mechanic on the Gryphon crew. Then there was Boden’s pal, Kason, who’d found Reyne plenty of jobs when they still operated as runners.
Most citizens didn’t like interplanetary mingling. Kason had been killed because of his association with colonists. Just like Gabriela Heid, who’d sacrificed everything to fight for the colonies’ independence. As for the two approaching citizens, he suspected they were like all the other citizens he most certainly didn’t like. Even though the colonies had broken free from the Collective to form the Alliance of Free Colonies, many citizens continued to act as though colonists existed to work for them.
Being a citizen used to mean having more rights than a colonist. Now, being a citizen simply meant someone was from Alluvia or Myr, the only two planets remaining in the Collective. When the Alliance was formed, its members quickly chose to keep the title of “colonist” as a source of pride.
On Playa, the planet farthest from anything and anyone, the only citizens Reyne had ever seen on its surface were trying to either get rich off it or destroy it. With the newcomers’ expensive-looking clothes, this pair was after the former.
They came to a stop before Reyne. Both looked to be in their thirties, but with the medical benefits the Collective provided its citizens, each could be anywhere from thirty to seventy. Their skin was paler than Reyne’s dark skin. The woman was attractive except for an overly rigid posture, like tension from a life spent looking prim and proper had fused her bones together. The man moved smoothly, but his gaze bore a hawkishness that reminded Reyne of a ship mechanic who’d once tried to triple-charge him for an engine overhaul. He didn’t like this man already.
Reyne told himself that, as Playa’s only stationmaster, working with citizens was necessary. It didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. “I didn’t expect to see Collective representatives here for at least another week.”
“As we’re responsible for establishing the Collective properties at the docks and in the stationhouse, we wanted to be here as quickly as possible.” The woman’s words came out softer than he’d anticipated. She smiled. “Stationmaster Reyne, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m Hadley Goldsberry and this Simon Tate. As you’ve already surmised, we’re representatives of Legacy Starporation, and will be your primary contacts with the Collective here at Playa Station. Simon is overseeing the construction of the Collective concourse at the docks, while I’m overseeing the construction of the Collective wing here in the stationhouse.”
“Tulan Port,” Reyne corrected.
“Pardon?” Hadley asked.
“Playa Station was just a working title until the Playans voted on its name. They chose to call it Tulan Port, since it’s being built between where Ice Port and Tulan Base stood.”
Her brow furrowed. “They named it after two colonies that were destroyed by bombings? That seems rather…dark.”
“They chose the name to remember the families and friends they’d lost in the fight to win their freedom,” Reyne corrected.
Simon rolled his eyes. “Those you talk of were insurgents responsible for murdering innocent citizens.”
Sixx snorted behind Reyne, but didn’t speak. Yep, Reyne did not like that man.
“Ah, so you’re Jeyde Sixx. The infamous thief,” Simon said, turning his attention from Reyne to Sixx.
“Those thievery claims are completely substantiated,” Sixx said with a wide grin.
“You have outstanding warrants for theft on every world.” Simon took a deep breath. “You also have something of mine I intend to get back.”
“And just what might that be?” Sixx asked.
A sneer filled Simon’s face, but he didn’t answer.
“Simon, please,” Hadley said before turning back to Reyne and Sixx. “I’m sure there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure that’s all it is,” Reyne said, though he knew differently. Sixx had been a professional thief for nearly his entire life. He’d made more than a few enemies over the years.
“I apologize for any tension,” Hadley said. “I don’t want to get off on a rough start. I meant what I said before: that I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’ve followed your exploits and respect your dedication to improving the welfare of colonists. While I may have been born on Alluvia, I’ve been fascinated with colonist affairs since before the Uprising.”
She was closer to his age than he’d guessed. He admitted that he found her intriguing. She could’ve said those words to placate him, but he sensed honesty in her. Still, he reminded himself that she represented the Collective, which meant he had no interest in continuing the conversation. “It’s nice to meet you both. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“I understand. We have plenty to do as well,” she said. They turned to leave, but she paused. “I’m sure we’ll talk often as the space docks and stationhouse are built. I’d love to have tea sometime with you to talk through my ideas.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I think I can make that work.”
She smiled and dipped her head. “I look forward to working with you.”
Simon left without giving Reyne any acknowledgement.
Tension tightened Reyne’s muscles. He shook his heads. “Citizens.”
Sixx mused. “She doesn’t seem that bad…for a citizen, I mean. And she clearly doesn’t think you seem too bad.”
Reyne chortled. “You think she’s interested in me? A citizen going for a colonist? That’ll be the day.” He waved Sixx off. “Besides, I don’t have time for that.”
“Maybe you should make time for that. You could use something to take your mind off things.”
“You mean, take my mind off things like what you stole from Simon Tate?”
Sixx held up his hands in surrender. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.” When Reyne continued to look at him dubiously, he added, “I mean it. I’ve never seen or heard of him until today. I’m not saying I haven’t stolen something from him, I’m just saying it’s not ringing a bell.”
Before Reyne could scold
Sixx for bringing on another problem courtesy of his kleptomania, Reyne’s wrist comm chimed. He read the message that ran across the screen and sighed. “Ah, damn it. A dock worker just broke his leg. I’d better get down there.”
“We’d better get down there,” Sixx corrected. “After all, it’s my job to keep you alive.”
Reyne chuckled. “The war’s over. It’s safe to say no one sees this old man as a risk anymore.”
It was Sixx’s turn to chuckle. “You keep telling yourself that, boss.”
Reyne fastened his cold weather gear. “Fine. Let’s go. You can check in on Boden at the Gryphon then.”
Sixx frowned. “Why me? You’re the captain.”
“Because the last time I checked in on him, he chewed my head off for asking him why he had one of my engines taken apart into a hundred pieces.”
Sixx winced. “I almost miss the days he was on the Sweet Soy.”
“I don’t,” Reyne countered, remembering Boden as a drug addict, so desperate for his next fix he’d steal anything or hurt anyone.
“He’s taking Throttle’s leaving hard,” Sixx said.
“We all are,” Reyne said softly before he put on his facemask and stepped outside.
An hour later, Reyne and Sixx returned to the stationhouse.
“This damned place never gets any warmer,” Sixx said as he broke ice off his gear.
“You done yet? You haven’t stopped complaining since we left the docks.”
“I’ll stop once the tunnel’s completed between the docks and stationhouse. When’s that again?”
“Not soon enough.” Reyne had to admit that even he, a lifelong Playan, felt chilled. Even though the docks were less than a half kilometer away, that was farther than anyone could survive outside without proper gear. At any time of day, the wind speed was higher than the temperature. After dark, during the “dead hours,” the winds became so intense as to blow anything weighing under a ton into the frozen abyss. There was a reason everyone on Playa lived below ground or within its mountains.
Building a colony from scratch was a lot of work, but it was far easier than trying to clean up the bombed-out colonies. Reyne had briefly considered building at Tulan Base, but the entire mountain had been flattened, ruling it out. And he didn’t want to go near Ice Port. His childhood home was a ghost town, its thirty thousand residents entombed in its frozen tunnels for eternity.
Reyne tried not to think about the friends he’d lost at Ice Port. Instead, he headed straight to the stationmaster’s office, which was just to the right of the stationhouse’s main entrance. Sixx had cautioned Reyne against being too accessible, but Ice Port had never been a highly populated colony and he expected Tulan Port to be no different.
Before he reached the door, one of the construction managers hustled toward them. The woman was well over seven feet tall, and thin. She wasn’t quite a stretch, but her grandchildren would likely be born with a stretch’s fully-mutated genes. Generations of Playan genetic lines that had gone without wearing gravity suits could no longer survive on any planet with higher gravity.
“Stationmastah,” she said, with a strong local accent, “we got big problem.”
“What’s the problem?” Reyne asked.
She pointed in the direction of the tunnel where the Collective wing was being built. “They got bots, an’ we got dropped. They say they got no need for us no more.”
“Show me,” Reyne said, and she led the pair of men to the tunnel.
“What’d she say?” Sixx asked quietly at Reyne's side.
“Seems our new friend, Hadley, brought in her own robotic workforce and fired all the local workers.”
“They’s creepy bots,” she added.
As they ventured through the rocky tunnel, Reyne saw soon enough that the manager’s words rang with truth. Tiny arachnid-like robots were running electrical cabling along the walls. Flat, circular bots, covered in hairy feelers, seemed to zigzag across the floor as they weaved the electromagnetic wiring that would be used to generate artificial gravity. He looked up and jumped a step back when he saw more of the circular bots working on the ceiling.
“Those are damn creepy bots,” Sixx said.
“Told you so,” the manager replied.
Reyne sighed. “Tell your crew to go home for the day. I’ll get your jobs back.”
She patted his shoulder. “You good man, Stationmastah.”
She strode off, leaving the men standing alone with the army of robots.
One bumped Sixx’s foot and he kicked it, sending it skidding a good twenty feet. It skittered back to work without pause. “Want me to fry their circuits? Because I can do that.”
“No.” Reyne sighed. “Seems I’m having that tea with Hadley after all.”
Three
Déjà Vu
Rebus Station, Terra
Seda Faulk was in the middle of negotiating a trade deal when Hari entered the room and zeroed in on him. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you, Mr. President,” she said, not sounding the least bit apologetic.
With a sudden sense of unease, he stood. He turned to the citizens and colonists sitting on opposite sides of the large conference table. “Please continue. I’ll return shortly.”
He followed Hari out of the room. “What is it?” he asked as soon as the door closed behind them.
“You’ll never believe it,” she said as she rushed him down the hallway, “but a call has just come through the tablet.”
He frowned. She spoke of his Founders tablet, a device he hadn’t used since Mason pulled a coup, killed Seda’s wife, and tried to have him killed. The Founders who’d broken off the larger group and joined the fringe, like Hari and Seda, knew better than to use the tablet for communications. When they broke away from the organization, they no longer considered themselves Founders. Seda had even considered destroying the tablet on more than one occasion. “Who’s the caller?”
She looked around before answering in a hushed tone. “Mason.”
Seda came to a stop. “That’s impossible.”
She tugged him forward. “I know.”
They entered his office and closed and locked the door. Hari lifted the tablet she’d been hiding within her jacket and handed it to him.
He entered his passcode, and the screen came to life. While the account was Mason’s, Gabriel Heid’s was certainly not the visage that appeared on the screen. Seda’s eyes narrowed. “Corps General, what game are you playing?”
“No game,” Anders replied. “I have a question for you. I believe that once you’re a Founder, you’re always a Founder. Do you agree with that statement, Seda, or should I say, Aeronaut?”
Seda thought for a long moment before answering. “I agree…Mason.”
Anders nodded, then smiled. “Good. Then I have a tremendous opportunity for you.”
Four
Bug Infestation
Tulan Port, Playa
Hadley came to Reyne’s office, since hers was still being dug out from Playa’s thick bedrock. She’d changed into a more casual tunic with feminine flowing pants. She walked less stiffly, or perhaps, because her hair was down, she seemed more approachable.
He motioned toward the couches off to the side of his office. “Have a seat, Citizen Goldsberry.”
“Please, call me Hadley.”
“Then you can call me Aramis. Or Reyne, or whatever suits your fancy.”
“Aramis it is, then.” When she sat, her smile morphed into a frown as she tried to smooth the fabric over the barely visible gravity suit she wore underneath her outfit. “It will be so nice when we finally have full gravity throughout the stationhouse. These suits are rather chafing.”
“We expect to have it in the main tunnels and offices within the week; at least, the ones that have been built,” he said. “Not having full gravity speeds up the heavy construction work, so you’ll see it turned off every now and then as we build out the tunnels.”
“I shouldn’t com
plain,” she said. “Lower gravity has its perks. My hair has never had as much body as it does here.”
“It looks nice. I meant to say, you look nice,” Reyne said sincerely.
Her smile grew. “Why, Aramis, I never took you for the complimentary type.”
“I’ve been known to hand out a compliment or two.” He strode over to the bar. “I had to do some digging around to find some tea around here, but I can’t say I’ve ever had tea before.”
“No, I don’t suppose you have. I pictured you more as a whiskey man.”
“Brandy is my preference,” he said. “But whiskey has a nice burn to it.”
He picked up the two cups he’d prepared and handed one to her before taking a seat on the opposite couch.
She took a drink, then winced slightly.
“Not a fan of the tea?” Reyne asked.
“It’s a tad bitter, but not bad. How long did you let it steep?” she asked, and took another drink, this time without wincing.
“I don’t know, maybe a half hour or so.”
Her lips curled upward. “That explains it then.”
He shrugged. “Tea has to be imported, and they typically send the crap out here. Playa’s underground gardens are restricted to growing only the essentials for survival, and tea’s never been considered an essential.”
Hadley chuckled. “My mother would disagree. She loves her tea so much that she bought a tea boutique in First City.” She paused. “But you don’t have any interest in learning about me.”
“You’re wrong. I wouldn’t mind getting to know you.”
“Really?”
Reyne stammered. “Sure, in a work capacity, of course.”
“Of course.” She inhaled. “So, what’s on your mind—in a work capacity?”
Reyne put his mug down. “Well, the local workforce, for starters. Playa’s not an easy place to live. As I’m sure you’ve already noticed, credits don’t exactly flow out this far in the fringe. That’s why we help each other out whenever we can around here. That crew you let go today? They needed those jobs to put food on the table.”
