So Fisher helped out, coordinating shipments and keeping the station operating as much as was possible given the need for Ned’s gene-lock to keep the life-support systems running. And Ned was trapped, far away from the front lines of a war he was desperate to take part in, and had to settle for smuggling rebel miners through the station’s Well to send them to the front.
“You’ve arranged for a Net?” It was paranoia, but it was always something worth confirming.
“The shipment is expected,” Ned replied. He had just enough star-sense to be absolutely terrified at the idea of being marooned in deep space. “They’ll be here for six hours while they pretend to off-load ore, and then they’ll jump.”
“Six hours isn’t a lot of time,” Fisher said. He knew the limits of Brannick’s people as well as their equipment: He could feel it in the sparks.
“Tell the Harland you rushed it to accommodate them,” Ned suggested. He took a drink. “Our more reliable merchants always get preference, even when they don’t make berth first.”
“I never would have thought of that,” Fisher admitted. He made a note in the file.
“My charm lends itself to conspiracy,” Ned said, waggling his eyebrows. “Yours just makes people want to do their best for you. We’re basically unstoppable, and the longer the Hegemony doesn’t know that, the better.”
Their parents had been a good team too. Ned Brannick the Elder, husband of Catrin, had held the station to higher standards of operating than a Brannick had done in decades. They were efficient, respected, and the Hegemony had summoned them through the Well eight months ago to be the new genetic hostage. With Ned the Younger to hold the gene-lock, they had no excuse to refuse, and so they had gone.
It took a few days to get from Brannick Station to the Stavenger system, even if you didn’t pause at the other stations along the way. Centuries ago, the ruling class of Stavenger’s main planet had built the stations as a way to reach the Maritech system. Having more or less expanded as much as they could in their own solar range, they wanted to plunder someone else’s. The stations—and more important: the Wells—allowed them to ricochet through the vast empty blackness between the two systems. Unfortunately, for them, the inhabitants of the Maritech planets had been less than welcoming, and had driven them back out into space.
The original Stavenger Empire was long gone, fractured into pieces that the Hegemony tried to keep in line, but the stations remained. They were mostly a dead end, with Brannick Station at the end of the line. A few explorers came to use the Brannick Well, but no one knew if the Maritech Net was still intact, and the lack of returning travelers seemed to indicate it wasn’t. If a ship used a Well and missed the Net, there wasn’t enough rocket fuel in the galaxy to slow the ship down before the crew ran out of food. Fisher’s parents would have had adequate supplies and a known route through the Wells, but none of them had expected a happy ending when the family separated. Either they would never see each other again, or their return would herald an invasion.
The burden fell hardest on Ned, who was responsible for keeping the station alive. Fisher knew he wanted revenge, wanted to join the fight that had been picking up speed since they’d been born, but until there was another Brannick on the station with the right chromosomes, there was nothing either of them could do.
So they compromised. Fisher tried to keep their parents’ hard work from falling apart and Ned supported the rebellion in whatever way he could. It wasn’t enough for either of them, and it wouldn’t be enough for Brannick Station in the long run, but right now it was all they had. And while they held the line, Brannick Station bled out slowly: losing loyal people to the front and resources to the various criminals who moved in to take their places.
The Stavenger Empire had gone to Maritech for resources and failed to establish a foothold when they invaded, but the space around the stations wasn’t as empty as they’d first thought. There were asteroids to mine and gasses to trap. Moreover, there were creatures in the void, drawn to the wells, and those creatures were a resource too. As long as there was something to exploit, the stations were worth holding on to. And as long as there had been stations, they had been trying to break free.
This was the true cruelty of the Hegemony’s gene-lock. It affected only one or two people directly, but it gave those few incredible power over the lives of thousands, and some were not suited to bear that weight. The cost of open rebellion was simply too high. The network of Wells wasn’t much, in the face of the Hegemony’s power, but it was absolutely necessary for the survival of the stations, and it couldn’t afford to lose another link. The whole station hung on Ned’s every inhalation, and Fisher both envied and pitied him for it. It was a balance. A stalemate. And they both did the best they could, refusing to let the Hegemony push them apart.
Stalemates were never good for people like Ned Brannick. Which meant they weren’t good for people like Fisher Brannick either, because for good or ill, they came as a pair. Ned was too smart to risk the station in an open fight, especially with the open wound that was their missing parents, but Fisher wasn’t sure how much longer Ned would be able to control himself, and if the station would be ready for whatever Ned tried.
So: mining ships. Some with ore, some with rebels. A middle ground that left neither of them entirely pleased, but still let them feel like they were doing something about their situation. A light on Fisher’s terminal began to blink.
“Please be the Cleland,” Ned whispered.
“It is,” Fisher told him. “They’ll be here in four hours and they say the Harland is right behind them.”
“Dammit,” Ned said.
“I can stall for six hours,” Fisher promised. “If we have to, we can actually break something.”
“Give them a food bonus,” Ned suggested. “We’ve had a good season in hydroponics, and those merchant ships always run tight on calories.”
Ned’s sense of the stars was about as strong as Fisher’s sense of electronics: Enough to know there was more out there, but it still required the occasional caloric bump if they tried anything. A merchant ship ran on more than manual labour, and Ned was right. They always needed more food.
“That should make them happier about the wait,” Fisher said. “I’ll grant them full access to the station as well.”
“Spacers never come aboard,” Ned pointed out. “It’s against their religion or something.”
Fisher only shrugged. “Charm, remember? Granting access they won’t use literally costs us nothing, but it makes you look good. I’ll open the hatches and arrange for a moderate decon.”
“I miss Mum and Dad,” Ned said. It seemed like a bit of a non sequitur, but Fisher understood what he meant. It was a lot to keep track of, and only eight months of practice made them feel like they were just keeping enough oxygen in the tank. An emergency could blow them sideways.
“We have each other,” Fisher said, and began to run the pre-clearance so that the approaching ships could land.
10.
THE CLELAND MADE BERTH just as the station’s darklight shift took over. It couldn’t have been better if Ned had planned it, but Fisher knew they’d been lucky. Well-ships came in on schedule, ready for the Net the instant they predicted. Sublight ships arrived whenever they arrived. Any manner of things could go wrong in space, and a rocket misfire at any point in the trip could speed up or slow down a ship as the star-sense-led captains wrestled their vessels along a true course.
“You can’t go down and help,” Fisher said as Ned cleared the last docking regulations with his gene-print and prepared to leave the office.
“Why not?” Ned asked, already half out of his chair. “I’m in charge.”
“You never off-load mining ships,” Fisher pointed out. “It has to be the same as any other especially because this ship is not the same as any other.”
Ned made a face. It made him look younger
, but Fisher knew this was not the time to point that out.
“Fine,” Ned grumbled, slumping back. “You can go down, though. You do this sort of thing all the time.”
“I do,” Fisher admitted. “Is there anything I should be on the lookout for?”
“I have no idea,” Ned said. “I just coordinated their arrival here and made sure they’ll be able to leave through the Well.”
He sounded so morose about it that Fisher felt a swell of pity. Ned had been raised to lead, but not so soon, and losing their parents on top of all the new responsibilities was not going well for either of them. At least no one had ever really needed Fisher.
“I know you want to do more,” Fisher said. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and Ned reached up to squeeze it. “But you are literally the only person in the galaxy who can do this.”
Ned sat up a bit straighter at his terminal. They never talked about Fisher’s genetics, having decided years before that they’d arrived on Brannick Station as twins for a reason: They were a pair. They each filled in for the other where they could and made sure the Hegemony didn’t understand how reliant they were on each other.
“All right,” Ned said. “Go check on our new mine transfers. Make sure they’re equipped for their jump to Katla.”
Fisher nodded and left the office. There was no point in asking who the contact on Katla Station was. Ned probably didn’t know, and it was much safer for everyone if Fisher didn’t. Someday, Fisher reflected, they were going to have to sit down and talk about everything they ran separately from each other, but there was no place on the station that was entirely secure. The control office was swept, of course, but if they spent all their time there, it would look equally suspicious.
Main operations was running at half staff for the darklight shift. Fisher nodded to the officers on duty. They were all Brannick-born, and Ned was reasonably sure they were loyal, but Fisher maintained some distance from them all the same. Not having to be the Brannick people liked had its advantages, and Fisher enjoyed the privacy.
Fisher took the lift down, bypassing the colonnade entirely. At this time, the daylight shift would be arriving in the bars and restaurants, and the shops would be crammed full of people on their way back to their apartments. The lift cruised through the habitation levels, changing direction to accommodate for the less-than-logical station layout.
Brannick Station was the last part of the relay to be constructed. The Stavenger Empire hadn’t ever intended for the relays to be long-term habitation centres. They’d thought of them as mere layover stations to the Maritech system. By the time they built Brannick, they had it down to an art. The oldest part of the station was blocky and graceless; a huge cylinder of mooring points supported by a refinery, power-generation facility, and carbon scrubbers. As the station expanded to include areas for people to actually live, separate power sources had been built, allowing the sections of the station to function independently. This was theoretically for safety, but it opened up opportunities as well.
Fisher’s lift was for station personnel only, and Ned has used his override codes to make sure Fisher’s trip was not interrupted, so it didn’t take too long to arrive in the docking area. Fisher went over to the Cleland’s off-loading area, and waited until someone who looked like they were in a place of authority showed up.
“Excuse me?” Fisher said to the woman who seemed to be telling everyone else what to do. “I’m Fisher Brannick, station operations. Do you have everything you need?”
The woman looked at Fisher in a measuring sort of way, probably trying to figure out how much she could trust anyone on Brannick Station. She was short and her skin had a golden glow to it that wasn’t common in a spacer. Skin tended to wash out in the void. She was either someone who spent most of her time station-side or she had an amazing skincare regimen. Fisher’s face was open, if neutral, and the woman relaxed a bit after a few seconds.
“My name is Choria,” she said. She gave no further identification. “And we have everything we require, thank you.”
Fisher took a moment to look over the ship’s manifest and made sure not to smile when the rebels’ plan became clear. It was fairly simple, all told, but it would be enough. Fisher drew on the mantle that Ned wore sometimes to give orders. It made speaking in public a bit easier.
“I’m sorry to tell you that our station is not currently equipped to take on the volume of oglasa you have on board,” Fisher said calmly. “We are primarily an ore-processing station.”
“Yes,” Choria said. “I am aware. We had planned to take the oglasa on to Katla Station, if we can reach some agreement for use of the Well.”
That was smooth. The station relays had run on oglasa for centuries, but Brannick had never been the centre of operations for calorie extraction from them. They were fish—as much as anything could be a fish in deep space—and had been a primary food source for all space-going vessels until the stock was depleted from overharvesting. Now there were strict rules about collecting and transporting anything related to the oglasa harvest, and Brannick Station mostly stayed out of it by virtue of not having been involved in the first place. Sending the catch through the relay to Katla was the perfect excuse.
“I am sure we can reach some sort of arrangement,” Fisher said. “We have another ore ship coming in behind you, so I am sure my brother will want to send you on your way as speedily as possible.”
Choria smiled, her eyes brightening as if she and Fisher had shared a joke. In a way, they did. Everything had worked out perfectly for both of them.
“I appreciate that,” Choria said. “Please convey my greetings to Brannick the Younger and tell him I look forward to working with him again.”
She held out her hand for him to shake, and Fisher was not entirely surprised when a small datacrystal was pressed against his palm. The rebels had to keep in contact somehow. He would give it to Ned to decrypt, since it was probably for him anyway.
Fisher nodded, slid the crystal into one of his many pockets, and left the captain to her work.
Operations on the dock level was run out of a much tinier office than the one Fisher usually worked from, but it had its advantages. There was so much electrical interference from the power generator and refinery that covert surveillance was next to impossible. There were the station’s cameras, of course, and anyone with half a spark could tap into them, but they were used to Fisher’s advantage most of the time because he controlled where they were pointed.
Fisher watched as the Cleland off-loaded the small amount of ore it had brought as an excuse to travel, knowing that Ned was doing the same thing from his own terminal, and itching to be down here himself. The work went without a hitch, which was good because the tiny dot indicating the Harland was beeping with increased insistence as that ship drew near. After four hours, Fisher’s comm link chimed.
“Brannick,” Fisher said, not bothering to specify which one.
“This is the Cleland,” Choria’s voice sounded. “We have finished here, and would like to request passage though the Brannick Well.”
“Patching you through to the gene-lock,” Fisher said, and began to work on the pre-launch sequence. It wasn’t like Ned was going to say no.
“Ned Brannick, live,” Ned said through the comm. “My report shows that you have bartered twenty-five percent of your oglasa processing fee in return for passage. I accept. Please stand by while I coordinate with Katla Station.”
Brannick Station could activate the Well, but the corresponding gene-lock on Katla was needed to set up the Net there before the Cleland could go anywhere, or the Cleland would literally never stop going. Katla had a few celestial surprises near its Net that made it necessary to be very precise with regard to timing. It usually took about five minutes to set up, but Fisher wasn’t sure what time it was on Katla right now. If they had to wake up the station commander, it could take longer.
“Katla is ready for you, Cleland,” Ned said, exactly five minutes later. “You are cleared to go in fifteen minutes. Activating your chronometer now.”
Fifteen minutes was plenty of time for the Cleland to get itself into position. Choria hadn’t asked for help, which meant her own star-sense was enough to calculate the angle she would need to hit the Well at in order to make the jump. It was good to know Fisher wasn’t sending the ship out blind. Direction was complicated enough in space.
Fisher left the office and went to a viewing station. The Well wasn’t activated so often that anyone could get tired of looking at it. Up on the colonnade, people were probably pressed against the ports, no matter how drunk they were. Fisher was glad of the relative quiet, because that made it easier to hear the hum of the Well kicking up.
Wells were mostly natural phenomena but bound in place for use by the Stavenger builders all those generations ago. They could be activated by anyone with power, originally, but now they were locked to the genetic inheritors of each station. This was how the Hegemony controlled the stars, even as those they controlled tried to rebel against them. Only Ned could bring the Brannick Well to life. Only Ned could catch incoming ships in the Net.
Fisher felt Ned’s power stretch out from the station. Just the barest amount was needed to activate the Well, magnified through the conduits that connected the station to the universe. Then, just as the hum reached a volume where it started to hurt, the power surged and the Well flared up.
“This is the Cleland, heading out,” said Choria. Her voice was elated through the comm, and Fisher couldn’t blame her. The Well was beautiful, and her scheme had succeeded.
“Good sailing, Cleland,” said Ned.
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