The Fringe Series Omnibus

by Rachel Aukes

  “I understand, but I receive direction from my superiors at Legacy Star. They sent the bots with Simon and me, and they expect them to be used.” She shrugged. “And from a budgetary standpoint, the bots are a godsend. They work nonstop for minimal maintenance costs. With them, I can finish the wing two months faster and at nearly half the cost than if I pull from the Playan workforce.”

  “I understand, but we’re talking about people’s livelihoods here. If you crap on them now, what do you think is going to happen when you no longer have the bots and you need to hire staff to maintain your wing or whatever else you’ve been brought here to do?”

  “A resort,” she said. “That’s my dream, anyway. I took the stationhouse job in exchange for managing the resort. I plan to draw in tourists. Tourism brings jobs and money.”

  Reyne laughed. “Tourists don’t want to vacation on an ice world.”

  Her chin jutted upward. “They will if we can give them a serene winter wonderland. And the faster I can get a resort up and running, the sooner Playans prosper.”

  He shook his head. “Playans may find service jobs at your grand resort, but they won’t prosper. Whoever owns the resort is who’ll get rich.”

  She frowned. “There are many good careers involved in running a resort.”

  “And how many of those jobs will go to Playans?” Reyne asked.

  “Over eighty percent,” she countered. “But you’re focused on the small picture. Tourism brings in people spending money at local businesses. Tourism is good for everyone in the area.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Tourism is good for the area if tourists actually leave the resort. With the weather around here, I’m guessing your resort is going to be all-inclusive.”

  “It has to be. We can’t have tourists walking around outside and freezing to death.” She sighed. “I really do want to see Tulan Port thrive. I plan to make my home here, but my hands are tied. If Legacy Star doesn’t think I’m working in their best interests, they’ll replace me. I worked my entire life for an opportunity like this. I need this job.”

  They sat in silence for a length.

  Reyne considered their options. “I think we can find a solution that both includes local crews and meets your bosses’ expectations so that you keep your job.” He tacked on with a grin, “After all, I much prefer your company to Simon’s.”

  “Oh, you’ll still get to work with Simon plenty at the docks.” She sobered. “His best friend was killed a year or so back and it changed him. And not for the better.” Her smile returned. “On the bright side, I believe Simon plans to return to Alluvia as soon as the Collective concourse is fully operational.”

  “Then we’d better make sure his project finishes on time.”

  “We’ve found something we agree on,” she said with a grin.

  “It’s a start. I’ll take it,” Reyne said. “As for our current dilemma, I think we can help each other out in ways that don’t break your budget.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve seen your drilling bots. They’re inefficient. I have drilling machines and crews that have some scheduled downtime. I can see that you have access to them to drill out the remainder of your wing. A few hours with a drill team will cut days off your schedule.”

  “That may work,” she mused. “But the budget will be tight.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “This isn’t space. The Collective doesn’t have to operate in a vacuum here.”

  Her lips curled upward. “I know. But now that the colonies are independent, everything’s up in the air.”

  “We’ll make it work. Together,” Reyne said. He leaned forward. “So, does that mean the crews can return to work tomorrow?”

  She gave a tight smile and nodded. “Yes. I can’t speak for Simon at the docks, but yes, I give you my word that I’ll leverage the Playan labor force here at the stationhouse. I’ll look into ways to utilize the bots that won’t replace human labor or put my timeline at risk.”

  “Good,” he said. “I was hoping we could work together rather than against each other.”

  She smiled. “I hope for the same.” She pushed to her feet. “Thank you for the tea.”

  He winced. “Oh, there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Business permits.”

  “Business permits? I don’t understand.”

  “All business permits in Tulan Port must be approved by the stationmaster. That’d be me. But until you mentioned building a resort, I’d never heard a thing about it. And that sounds like a pretty big thing I should’ve heard about.”

  Her jaw slackened. “I didn’t know.”

  “No problem. Get an application to me. Then we can bring in the number crunchers and start addressing the nonnegotiables, like how it’s going to be a joint Legacy Star-Tulan Port project.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, Aramis. I don’t think that will go over very well with my investors.”

  He shrugged. “Just tell them, ‘Welcome to the Alliance of Free Colonies.’”

  She cocked her head. “You underestimate the stubbornness of Legacy Star.”

  He smirked. “I bet we can make them come around.”

  She returned his smile. “You do make things interesting.”

  He walked her to the door. “Maybe next time we can take a break from talking about work stuff.”

  She touched his hand. “I’d like that very much.”

  He closed the door behind her and leaned against it, savoring her last words before heading back to his bar. He drank the brandy straight from the bottle. Hadley was decent enough, but why had he ever agreed to be the stationmaster? He hated politics and red tape, so what had he done? Found a bureaucratic job that ensured he spent days and nights behind a desk and talking work.

  He needed to get Tulan Port up and running so he could retire, and perhaps even find time to enjoy a woman’s company.

  Taking the bottle to the desk, he sat and checked his messages. The tension in his shoulders dissipated when he saw one from Throttle. He ignored the other messages and opened hers.

  Dad—

  We hit a milestone! Jump fifty is done. We went beyond the Collective charts two weeks ago, so now we’re running off our own scans, which means it takes longer between jumps to set up our next coordinates. I’ve attached our current scans in case you find yourself on a colony ship with a ton of juice.

  The crew’s getting along great. Our intrepid colonists are another story. How can grown adults nitpick over the most trivial things? Today, it was the Spaten group accusing the Darions of keeping the good cavote spices to themselves. Yesterday, it was who got bathroom duties. I’m going to kill them! (Just kidding, I’m not going to kill them, even though Birk isn’t convinced.) Anyway, I’ll send you another message after our next jump. Hope you’re staying warm on Playa (ha ha, like that’s possible).

  —Throttle

  Reyne’s smile faded when he saw the timestamp. The message had been sent four days earlier. It’d been nearly a year since she left the fringe to fly into the unknown. The time lag grew as the distance between them increased, and his heartache deepened as Throttle flew farther away.

  Flying a colony ship into the unknown was an unthinkable risk. Without charts, she could jump through an asteroid. Once the ship ran out of juice, it would be dependent on solar sails. By then, it would be a matter of chance of the ship finding a habitable world before the food on board ran out. Reyne tried not to think about the odds Throttle faced.

  Instead, he typed out a reply, being careful to sound upbeat. She had enough to deal with. She didn’t need the worries of an old man to add weight to her shoulders. Finished, he leaned back in his chair.

  He read through her message again, trying to imagine what her days were like on board the Gabriela. Lost in his daydreams, he barely registered a metal-on-metal sound in the air vents.

  He cocked his head and listened. Sure enough, the odd skittering sound came from the vents, an
d was growing louder. He walked over to the vent in the wall near the floor. He knelt to look inside, only to jump back when a small spider bot slammed into the metal screen covering the vent. It reversed, only to ram into the screen again, reversed, and kept repeating the process.

  Reyne let his breath out. “Seems your programming got messed up, little guy, to get yourself stuck in the vents.”

  A second small bot joined the first, and the pair dented the screen. Reyne frowned. Then more bots arrived, all ramming against the screen, bowing it outward more and more with each approach.

  Reyne reached for the photon gun on his thigh before realizing that he’d quit carrying it while working at the stationhouse, since Sixx was always at his side. But he’d sent his friend home early today because of his meeting with Hadley.

  He spun on his feet and lunged to his desk. The bots broke out of the vent with a screech at the same time he opened the desk drawer and pulled out his gun. He yanked it from its holster, swung, and blasted away at the tidal wave of bots pouring from the vent and racing toward him. Each bot was only a few inches around, but there were so many that he wiped out several with each shot.

  He kept firing nonstop at the bots nearest to him, but they were closing the distance. As he fired, he took steps back. They blocked off his escape route. He continued backpedaling until his heel bumped against a couch. The first bot reached him and leapt onto his leg. Its pincers, used for cutting and soldering wires, pierced Reyne’s pants and his skin, sending a stab of fire through his thigh.

  “Son of a—” he cried out and tumbled over the couch, using his gun to scrape the bot off him. He rolled to his feet as the bots climbed up the back of the couch and over. An idea struck him, and he continued to fire as he dove for the bar. He reached for the bottle of Terran whiskey Critch had given him and threw it at the approaching horde. The bottle shattered. Reyne fired at the bottle, and the high alcohol content in the liquor started a fire with a whoomph. The fire quickly spread to the couch, engulfing much of the bot army.

  The fire alarms sounded, and Reyne was thankful that the fire suppression system wasn't scheduled to be installed for another two days.

  He shielded his face from the heat while he shot the bots not caught in the fire. The air became harder to breathe, and he jogged around the spreading fire, in which the bots crackled like damp firewood in the flames. He reached for the door, and it opened to reveal a fire responder, who grabbed him and pulled him from the room.

  “Is anyone else in there?” she asked.

  Reyne went to answer but coughed. He shook his head.

  She nodded, released him, and headed into the room, followed by several more responders carrying suppression tanks.

  Reyne walked several steps to find fresher air to breathe, though nothing soothed his raw throat. Through his teary, burning eyes, he saw Sixx running toward him. Within seconds, Sixx grabbed Reyne’s shoulder.

  “You okay?” Sixx asked.

  “Fi—” Reyne coughed.

  Sixx noticed the gun still in Reyne’s grip. He scowled, then shrugged. “Things were getting downright dull around here. I figured it was just a matter of time before someone would try to kill one of us.”

  Five

  Scavenger Hunt

  Devil Town, Spate

  Critch left his breather mask on as he walked through the sparse bar, even though the air inside was fine. The two drunks at the bar checked him out but returned to their drinks, unimpressed. The bartender kept an eye on him as he crossed the bar and headed straight for the stairs. He could still feel the bartender watching him as he climbed the stairs, though he knew he was doing nothing out of the ordinary aside from leaving his mask on.

  Without the mask, everyone on Spate would recognize Critch’s scarred face. Most of the fringe thanked him for their independence. Most of the Collective blamed him for a costly war and wanted him dead. He’d heard the price on his head had gone up since the war, which was surprising since that number had already been the highest in history.

  He didn’t take off the mask until he reached the top of the stairs. There, he found a petite woman—more of a girl than a woman—sprawled sideways in a chair, reading a tablet. She looked up and stared at him for a moment, and then her eyes widened. “You’re Drake Fender.”

  Another woman stepped out of her room. When she noticed Critch, she grinned and rushed over to him. “Critch! Sweetie!”

  Both women clung to him like leeches, albeit sexy and attractive leeches. Each murmured in his ear, telling him what she’d do to him should he buy her particular services. His brows raised. The younger woman must be incredibly flexible.

  “Back off, girls. He’s mine,” a voluptuous brunette with a booming voice said as she approached Critch. The other two women promptly released him and stepped away.

  “Been a long time, Lucy,” he said to the madam.

  “Too damn long.” She wrapped herself around his waist.

  He embraced her and kissed her cheek, brushing his lips closer to her ear. “I need some information,” he whispered.

  “Mm. Of course.” She pulled back with a smile, took his hand, and led him down the hallway. Before they entered her room, she turned to the pair of women still in the hallway. “No one disturbs us, not for anything. Got it?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer before tugging Critch into her suite. As soon as they were inside, she released him, but not before patting his butt and giving him a wicked grin.

  “Have a seat.” She closed and then locked the door. She walked over to a table and poured two drinks.

  Critch took a chair near the fireplace vid screen. “Why’s the bar so empty?” he asked after accepting the glass of whiskey.

  Lucy sat comfortably on the chaise in front of the window. “Business downstairs hasn’t been so good since the war. Things in Devil Town are the best they’ve ever been. The CUF’s no longer stealing half our income, so people are working longer hours by choice. There are more jobs than workers. But mostly, we no longer have to worry about our kids being taken away. Divorce rates are dropping, and people are spending more time at home. But they still come after their work shifts, more to socialize and celebrate than to drink away their sorrows.”

  “And business upstairs?”

  A sensual smile curved her lips upward. “Better than ever. Bad times, good times, people always want to add a little spice to their lives. How’s business treating you at Nova Colony?”

  He took a drink. The whiskey was good, but it was no Terran whiskey. “Can’t complain. I’ve left it in capable hands while I take a vacation.”

  She belted out a laugh. “In all the years I’ve known you, how many vacations have you taken?”

  He shrugged.

  “None,” she answered for him. “And I’d lay a safe bet that you’ve never taken a vacation in your entire life. So, what brings you to Devil Town—wait, no, let me guess. You’re looking for your ship?”

  He eyed her. “What have you heard?”

  She leaned back onto the chaise and propped her head on her hand. “I heard your good-for-nothing pilot ran off with your ship, leaving you stranded in the middle of a battlefield surrounded by the whole damn CUF army.”

  He gave a simple nod. “That sounds about right.”

  She continued. “I heard he used up all the ship’s juice jumping from the armada as well as your specters. He ended up here on Devil Town, assuming we’d already beaten the CUF. He was wrong.”

  He swallowed. “What happened to my ship?”

  “The CUF commander here was going to blow it up, but then the peace treaty happened, and we Spatens made sure every citizen hightailed it out of here posthaste. Those who didn’t leave fast enough, well, let’s just say they’re no longer doing any kind of anything anymore.” She grinned. “We accumulated a nice collection of cars and apartments that were abandoned. If you really want to have a bit of vacation, you and I can have some quiet time at my new place on Summers Place if you’d like
.”

  He ignored her. “Where’s the Honorless now?”

  She waved him off. “At the impound lot. Most people know not to mess with your stuff, but I can’t guarantee it’s still in one piece.”

  He downed the whiskey, set the glass on the table, and stood.

  “Don’t you want to know about your pilot?” she asked.

  “Where’s Gabe?” he asked, baited.

  “He got himself arrested for trying to skip out on paying what he owed. He’s still down on Debtor’s Row in case you’d like to pay him a visit.”

  Critch’s lip curled upward. “I think I’ll do that.”

  He looked down at his wrist comm and tapped out several commands. “There. That should cover our time together.”

  She glanced down at her wrist comm and smiled before looking back up. “Next time, don’t wait so long before coming back for a visit.”

  He tilted his head in her direction. “You take care of yourself, Lucy,” he said and let himself out.

  He hustled down the stairs, donning his mask along the way. Several more patrons had arrived, and the bar had a life to it that it hadn’t had earlier. A few tables were filled, and many of the barstools were now occupied. His step hitched when he noticed a patron at the bar who didn’t quite fit in. For being alone, he didn’t seem drunk, and he didn’t watch the wall screens.

  Critch continued through the bar, heading straight for the door. He stepped through the inner doorway and into the airlock chamber, opening the outer door as soon as the first door sealed shut. Once outside, he hustled down the sidewalk, making a sharp turn at the end of the block. There, he waited.

  After a couple minutes, Critch resumed his walk, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that the man in the bar wasn’t there for a drink. Critch’s gut instincts had never steered him wrong, and they were currently telling him that he was being followed.