by Rachel Aukes
Six
Collective Gridlock
Parliament, Myr
Corps General Barrett Anders stood at the podium before Parliament. The last time he’d stood in that place, he’d been stripped of his command and they’d declared war on the colonies. While he knew they had far less power this time, he didn’t set his expectations very high. Parliament had been ineffectual two years ago, and the news showed it’d only worsened since the colonies left the Collective.
“The Collective is failing,” Anders began. “In the past year, the colonies have broken off to create the Alliance of Free Colonies. Our economy is the weakest it’s been in over two hundred years. We’re not failing because the colonies became independent. We’re failing because we didn’t plan for that inevitability. Even now, we’re still focused on the colonies. You’re spending all your debates and energies on how to use the colonies—through trade and negotiations—to make the Collective strong. You’re searching for water in a dry creek bed.”
Murmurs arose from the senators.
“And just what do you propose we do?” a senator yelled out.
Anders continued. “You need to quit clinging to the past and look outward to a sustainable future.”
The discontent grew in volume.
Anders tamped down the air. “The Collective began with two planets. The two then grew into three, then four, and eventually to six planets. Now we’ve returned to two.”
“Get to the point,” someone yelled.
“We grew through colonization,” Anders said. “There’s nothing from stopping us from colonizing once again.”
“It’s impossible!”
Anders scanned the crowd to see the senator who’d spoken now standing. “How so?”
“All the colonies are within our star system. To colonize into another system would take years and resources we don’t have.”
“Colonization missions would take years, yes,” Anders said. “Longer now that nearly all fuel production facilities were destroyed in the war. But we have more than enough resources. We have many times the resources the first colonists had when they reached Alluvia. In fact, we have an entire armada of resources.”
Senators laughed, yelled, and complained.
A senator slapped her microphone until the room quieted. “Corps General, are you proposing we give up the only thing we have that keeps the Alliance from seizing our lands and people?”
“I’m not proposing leaving the Collective without a peacekeeping force,” Anders responded. “Although I believe you are making a rather large and misinformed assumption if you believe the colonies will turn around and do to us what we did to them.”
More murmurs of discontent ensued.
“As its leader, I understand the capabilities of the Collective Unified Forces better than anyone else. The truth is, we have more ships than we have dromadiers to crew them. I propose the CUF be split into two branches: the Collective Unified Forces, the peacekeeping force as we understand it today; and the Collective Exploratory Forces, for establishing colonies in new systems.”
“That’s ludicrous!” a senator shouted.
Anders cocked his head. “Really? Yet, the Alliance has already sent a colony ship beyond our system.”
Complete silence fell over Parliament. He found some level of satisfaction at realizing they hadn’t known.
“The Alliance of Free Colonies is looking at expanding their empire. If you don’t look at expansion, then you’d better get comfortable with the idea that your children and your children’s children will be part of a fading Collective and will one day beg to become a part of the Alliance.” Anders took a deep breath. “I’m not asking you to make a decision today. I’m asking you to consider the proposal. Now, how many of you are open to discussing the Collective’s expansion through new colonies?”
Only a few hands raised before a cacophony of complaints and disagreements erupted.
“You’re too focused on maintaining your current standard of living rather than looking at what’s needed for the future,” Anders said, though he suspected none could hear his words above the bombardment. After watching the crowd of monkeys slinging shit before him, he scowled. “You’re useless to me.”
Another thing Parliament didn’t yet know was that Anders had long since pulled all the strings he had across the armada to claim and quietly retrofit seventeen CUF ships for a long-term mission. He stepped down and strode from Parliament without a single glance over his shoulder.
Seven
Charred Ruminations
Tulan Port, Playa
Reyne kicked a melted bot across the blackened floor. Around him, everything that’d been in his office was either ashes or charred clumps of debris. The stone walls, covered in soot, were otherwise fine. Durability of infrastructure was one of the few nice things about living in Playa’s underground tunnels. A consistent temperature was another nice thing, but at the moment Reyne wasn’t paying much attention to that.
Sixx tsked. “What a perfectly good waste of Terran whiskey.”
Reyne rubbed a burn near his elbow. “Better it than me.”
Boden did a three-sixty, taking in the room. He walked over to the vent, knelt, and examined it.
Bree picked up a scorched spider bot and juggled it in her hands. “I can’t believe someone’s trying to kill you.”
“But I’ve been saying it all along,” Sixx said.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, but you always think someone’s out to kill us.”
Sixx lifted his chin. “And have I ever been wrong?”
“You really want me to start a list?” she countered.
Boden returned and faced Reyne. “Are you sure the bots were sent to kill you? Maybe they were sent into your office to steal something, and you were there.”
“Not a chance,” Reyne said. “Those little bastards came right at me. They weren’t acting erratic like wires got crossed somewhere. Those things were programmed to come into my office and kill me. You should’ve seen them. They were like tiny maniacal killers on eight legs.”
Sixx cocked his head. “If these were the same bots we saw working the Collective wing, it narrows down our list of suspects. I haven’t seen any other groups around here supplement their workforce with spider bots.”
“Agreed,” Reyne said. “I’d bet my life that these bots were Legacy Star bots, which means I need to talk with the two Collective representatives here in Tulan Port.”
Sixx mused. “Simon? I could see that. Hadley? She seems too nice.”
“Those are the ones to watch out for the most,” Bree said.
Reyne frowned, neither liking the idea nor discounting it. “We have to assume it could be either or both of them, or anyone on their staff.”
“It could be an attempt at a coup,” Sixx said. “The best time for the Collective to take control of Tulan Port is before we have our defenses in place.”
“Or, it could be someone trying to make it look like a citizen is trying to kill you,” Bree said. “No one would think twice about a citizen doing something like that, so it’d be a perfect cover if it was a colonist.”
“Why would a colonist try to kill Reyne?” Boden asked.
Bree shrugged.
“There are plenty of reasons,” Sixx said. “Someone blames you because their kid died during the war, someone doesn’t want you as a stationmaster, someone craves your job, someone simply doesn’t like you—”
Reyne feigned disgruntlement. “Who wouldn’t like me?”
Sixx eyed him. “Maybe it’s not even personal. The war’s over, but the Alliance is new. Maybe it’s just someone trying to make a statement by taking out a stationmaster.”
“That sounds very personal to me,” Reyne said.
Bree sighed. “Instead of sitting around and talking about who tried to kill our friend, how about we start asking around to see if anyone saw or heard anything.”
The crunching sound of burnt debris brought everyone’s atte
ntion to the doorway to see Hadley step inside. She looked around, mouth open, while the others watched her with distrust. When she saw Reyne, she approached. “I came as soon as I heard there was a fire. What happened?”
“Seems some of your bots thought to pay me a visit after you left yesterday,” Reyne said.
“What?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“He’s saying your little spider bots tried to kill him right after you left him alone,” Sixx answered, tossing a melted unit toward her.
She caught it and stared, seemingly genuinely confused. But Reyne no longer knew what to think about her. He’d liked her right off the bat, but her charisma could just as easily have been an act. He’d been a poor judge of character in the past. And had paid the price.
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know how they could do something like that. They’re specifically programmed for simple, repeatable construction tasks.”
“Maybe they’re programmed for more than just construction,” Sixx said.
“They are not preprogrammed to kill, if that’s what you’re trying to say,” she snapped at him.
“Where are your bots now?” Reyne asked.
Hadley turned back to him. “Ten are with the crews, laying wire. I sent the rest to assist Simon at the docks this morning. All my bots were accounted for at that time. I can have them returned if you’d like to see them.”
“No,” Reyne said, not wanting to see one more of the creepy-crawlies ever again.
“Yes. Bring me one,” Boden countered. “I want to go through its code.”
“Of course, though I don’t know if it will do you any good,” she said.
Boden’s features tightened as he thought. “Can you also provide us Legacy Star’s shipping manifests that show how many bots were delivered to Tulan Port?”
“I’ll run an inventory on all bots in operation. I’ll get those numbers to you this morning.” She noticed the burns on Reyne’s arms, and her eyes widened as she rushed closer. “You’re hurt! Are you okay?”
“Injuries sometimes happen when someone tries to kill you,” Bree said drily.
Hadley ignored her. “I don’t understand why someone would do this to you. Doesn’t everyone understand that you’re trying to make things better on Playa?”
“Obviously not everyone’s a fan,” Reyne said, taking a step back, not fully convinced that Hadley didn’t know more than she was letting on.
She noticed the movement, and her lips thinned. “Well, please know that I do care, and I’ll have the bot and numbers sent over right away. You know how to reach me.”
She left the room.
“You know,” Sixx began, “if she’s not trying to kill you, you’ll have some apologizing to do.”
Reyne shrugged.
Bree scowled. “Hadley was the only person besides Sixx who knew you’d be alone here.”
“Are you saying that I’m a suspect?” Sixx asked.
Bree thumped his shoulder. “Not this time, sugar. Hadley tops my list.”
Sixx then turned to Boden. “You realize that any bot Hadley delivers will have been wiped clean. The same with any numbers she provides. There’s no way she’d give us anything that might implicate her or her employer.”
Boden shook his head. “There are always footprints left in bot programming. If she wipes it, I’ll see it.”
“And the numbers?” Sixx asked.
“If she’s not lying, and I know that’s a big if, I want to see if the bots that went after Reyne were listed on the manifest. If all the Legacy Star bots are accounted for, then we have to assume there could be many more out there.”
Reyne winced. “You think there could be more murder bots scurrying around Tulan Port than the ones on the construction crews?” He shivered.
“That’s just creepy,” Sixx added.
A man stepped into the office. He wore the black jumpsuit of the construction crews. “’Scuse me, Stationmastah. We’s starting on yo’ office now. We’s have it fixed within a day”
Reyne motioned him inside. “It’s all yours.”
Reyne, Sixx, Bree, and Boden left the office for the construction crews. On his way out, Reyne turned back to the Playan. “Oh, and when you replace the vent covers, be sure to use rilon.”
The man frowned, then shrugged. “Sho’ thing, Stationmastah.”
Reyne joined his friends in the hall.
“Rilon will keep bots from coming through the vents,” Boden said, “but we need to ramp up security on any access point to your office. I think your door should also be rilon, since we have plenty of it here on Playa.”
“Just because we have plenty of it doesn’t make it cheap,” Reyne said. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m all for it.”
Boden had always been a good mechanic. That attention to detail had flooded over into other aspects of his life since Throttle left. It was as though Boden kept his mind off her by trying to keep it busy all the time. Reyne had expected Boden to run back to the Sweet Soy. The Alluvian had surprised him and stayed clean, though Reyne wondered if that was more due to the fact that Sweet Soy was nearly impossible to find on Playa than anything else.
Boden nodded. “I’ll give some thought to what else we can do. We have to fortify your office. Same with your apartment. When they come after you again, you might not be so lucky.”
“Lucky?” Reyne guffawed. “It wasn’t luck. I fought them off with pure skill…and maybe a touch of luck.”
“Let’s not count on luck next time,” Sixx said. “We’ll rotate shifts. Boden, Bree, and I will each take ten-hour shifts every standard day.”
Reyne frowned. “I don’t need to be babysat.”
“If something happens to you, I’m out of a job,” Sixx said. “Who’s going to hire a thief with outstanding warrants on every planet?”
“Ex-thief,” Bree corrected.
“Sure,” Sixx said, not inspiring confidence in his changed ways.
“You?” Boden said. “How about me? No one in the Alliance will hire an Alluvian drug addict, and no one in the Collective will hire an expat citizen.”
“I have you both beat,” Bree said. “No one would hire me, since I’m listed as deceased on all records. Hard to hire a corpse.”
Sixx turned back to Reyne. “See, boss? We’re not babysitting you; we’re looking out for our own well-being.”
Reyne cocked his head. “Now I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t make my hiring requirements a bit stricter when taking on new crew members.”
“Nah,” Sixx said. “I think you’ve got them at just the right level.”
Reyne sighed. “Okay, illustrious crew, let’s go find ourselves an assassin.”
Eight
Unpaid Debts
Devil Town, Spate
Devil Town had been built on gambling and prostitution, so it was no surprise that Debtor’s Row was the largest wing of Devil Town’s prison. When tourists didn’t return home, chances were they were either dead or locked up in Debtor’s Row, which wasn’t much better. There, debtors worked off their obligations through hard labor, mostly cutting through rock to enable Devil Town’s expansion. Working outdoors day in and day out, wearing breather masks, would be hard on even the healthiest person. Add vigs to the mix—vicious rodents the size of swine—and every hour outdoors was dangerous.
Spate, for its sizable human population, was a desolate world with an atmosphere devoid of oxygen and carbon. Every building, including the massive city gardens, were sealed ecosystems. Outside the protective biospheres, Spate was as rocky as Terra but had nothing else in common with Critch’s home world.
There was a reason the first colony on Spate was called Devil Town. It drew in its victims with promises of pleasure, only to take their souls—and all their money.
A debtor had to work one year for every thousand credits owed, which meant many of the current inmates would die long before their debts were written off. The punishment was harsh, but living in a
colony without air was harsh. Colonists had a hard enough time scraping by as it was, though Critch suspected the economies across the colonies would improve now that the Collective no longer played puppet master.
Devil Town’s prison stood tall on the colony’s outskirts. Critch removed his breather mask after entering the prison. He ignored the stares and whispers and approached the front desk. The guard didn’t look up from his screen.
“I’m here to pay off someone’s debts,” Critch said.
The guard looked up then, recognized Critch, and after a brief startle, spoke. “Sure. What’s the debtor’s name?”
“Gabriel Lang. He’s a Darion.”
The guard swiped through several screens. “There he is. Looks like he owes eighty-three thousand two-hundred and fourteen credits.”
Critch’s jaw slackened. “Sounds like he had a good time in Devil Town.”
“He did. He owes three casinos, two brothels, and a hotel.” The guard then tapped a small pad on the counter. “You can send payment through here.”
Critch tapped the amount on his wrist comm and held it near the pad, which chimed as soon as the transfer processed.
“Looks like we’re all good here. I can have him brought to you.”
“I’d rather go see him first.”
“No problem.” He returned to the screen in front of him before looking back up to Critch. “Vance is coming to bring you to your friend.”
“He’s not my friend,” Critch corrected.
The guard hesitated but didn’t speak.
A door to Critch’s right opened, and a young guard stepped through. He couldn’t have been over eighteen. He stopped when he saw Critch. “You’re—”
“Here to pick up my crew member,” Critch finished for him.
“Oh, yeah, of course. This way.” He motioned to the hallway on the other side of the door. They departed the main entrance. Offices and interrogation rooms lined the long hallway, all with doors closed.
