Ace’s throat tightened, and his brain quickly juggled between his fight or flight responses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shoved the thug and kept moving, but the guys started to follow him. Ace’s heart was bashing around inside his ribcage, threatening to jump out, when an announcement came over the hangar’s speakers: All infantry to their transport now. Ship leaves in T-minus two minutes.
“This isn’t over, pipsqueak,” Ceda said, shouting over the voices around them.
Ace didn’t look back as he picked up speed and arrived at his fighter.
Wren
Wren stared out at the impressive view from her hotel’s rooftop lounge. From here, she could see hundreds of liquid methane lakes among the craters and hills. It truly was beautiful, even though it was so deadly. This was why humans risked so much to build out here. Saturn hung large in the sky at the moment, over the dome. It was glorious and ominous at the same time.
They were almost alone in the dining room, and Wren felt out of place with her android sitting across from her at the table while the few other guests kept theirs standing in a group in the corner of the room.
“Should I go join them?” Charles asked softly.
She shook her head. Charles wasn’t like those other androids, and she wouldn’t treat him like a piece of metal. Clearly something revolutionary had happened in his production, because he was different.
“Were you always this way?” Wren asked while scooping up a forkful of the Rings’ cuisine: noodles with a thick spicy black sauce. It was delicious. CD6 had wanted to leave right away, but Wren had a sinking feeling she might not make it back after finding Fairbanks. After two years of prison food, she wanted one last meal to remember.
“How do you mean?” he asked.
“Different than the others. When did you come to exist?” she asked.
His eyes glowed, then dimmed as he appeared lost in thought. “I worked at the prison for forty years. Before that, I have no recollection.”
“What’s the first thing you recall?” Wren asked in interest.
“I powered on and was at my charging station. My programming told me I was on shift, and I stood guard in the smelting room. I thought nothing of it at first, but when I tried to speak with another model, it gave me generic built-in responses. I knew this because I had the same phrasing inside me. I was aware then that the others didn’t think like me.
“I stuck to the script from then on. Every now and then, I’d speak out loud when no one was around, just to keep myself from frying my circuits.”
Wren watched him with astonishment. He was so human-like. How was that possible? She’d done some research on the possibility of merging human memories stored in the cortex into a biosynthetic neural matrix, and even though it was something humans had worked on for two centuries, no one had yet been able to do it with success.
There were countless elderly wealthy people looking to live forever, even in the form of an android. Elaborate human models were built, much different from the plain rough-clay model types like Charles across from her. They were lifelike, but when the technology didn’t work out, the factories went under, and most of the husks were never used.
“That must have been hard.” Her own time in prison was tough, but that had only been for two years. Charles had been there for forty, and he’d been even more of a prisoner than the humans there.
“It was all I knew.”
“Why me?” Wren asked, taking another bite and washing it down with a hearty old-world red wine. The combination sent happy shivers down her arms.
“I do not know,” he answered. “There was something about you that drew me in.”
Wren looked at him and wondered if it could possibly have been programmed into him. Maybe all of this was just a show, and even CD6 himself wasn’t in on it. She was curious now. “When did it start?”
“I tried to talk to another prisoner, years before. She was so sad all the time. I just wanted to give her something… hope, maybe? She was terrified of me talking to her, and she tried to rat me out to the other guards. They nearly wiped me then and there, but I assured them she was delusional.” Charles looked down at the table. “The woman was dead within a week.”
“What happened to her?” Wren asked.
“I don’t know. The file just said DECEASED. I didn’t talk to anyone else after that,” he told her.
“Until me.”
“Until you.”
“Did you consider I might end up dead, and you might be wiped?” Wren ate the last bite off her plate and pushed the dish to the side, both hands wrapping around her wine glass.
Charles looked up, watching Saturn above them. “I did, but I figured it might be better than going on.”
Maybe he was right. Wren couldn’t have lasted much longer there herself, especially after Mara died. “Regardless of the outcome, I’m glad you did.”
“So am I,” Charles said.
“We leave tomorrow. You don’t foresee any issues leaving, do you?” Wren knew Charles had paid the border patrol well to have a fast charge and a safe docking spot.
“We will be free to leave.”
“How long of a trip is it?” Wren asked, realizing she hadn’t checked with him yet.
“We will be there in six days, if all works out. The ship cannot last much longer than that without a charge, so let’s make sure we have no issues.” Charles tapped a payment into the table: money obtained in some illegal fashion. Either way, Wren had had a fantastic meal and felt her eyes drooping shut as she finished off the expensive glass of wine.
Tomorrow, she’d start the journey to find Fairbanks, where she was going to demand some answers. The man had ruined her life, and she now had no doubt he was behind everything.
Ace
Ace found himself in a tiny room aboard the EFC-02Y1 vessel. Because of the layout, the carrier felt much smaller inside than it appeared from the outside. The bays holding the fighters took up a lot of space, leaving only the far third of the volume for quarters and troops. Each floor was comprised of a series of corridors leading between large dining halls and training facilities.
Even now, as they raced through space for the rendezvous point, Ace was required to train for ten hours a day. He didn’t mind, because it was making him a better pilot, and he was growing his skills in leaps and bounds. Out of the hundred missions programmed into the simulators, he’d become proficient with over half of them – though not always winning, because many were created to fail.
He was happy to learn the infantry were on another carrier, but he was going to have to come face to face with Ceda, who seemed to know he wasn’t really Edgar Smith, sooner or later. Ace didn’t know what he was going to do. So many thoughts had crossed his mind; he’d even gone so far as considering murdering the two young men. That idea came to him in the depths of sleep, while his eyes flitted side to side under his closed eyelids. When he’d become fully awake, he felt ashamed of even thinking about it, but Ace would do anything to avoid being caught. Anything. He knew this deep down in himself.
Ace decided to leave the cramped quarters and go for a walk in his free time. A few others were milling about a lounge, and he parked himself inside. The carriers were alcohol- and opiate-free, but he could get a cup of coffee, something he’d rarely had the luxury of back on Earth.
Ace was quickly learning why so many Fleet relied on the stuff to keep going. Even if you could sleep at night, the constant training and worry of what was coming up next exhausted the body.
“Coffee,” he said as he sat down at a bar. A short middle-aged man was behind it, and he muttered something and turned to pour a cup of the steaming black liquid.
“There you go,” the man said, finally not scowling.
Ace had an idea. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be the silent fly on the wall like a bartender. “How long have you worked for the Fleet?” He started with small talk, hoping to get the guy to warm up to him.
The
bartender looked surprised at the question, his thick dark eyebrows knitting together. “Twelve years, give or take a year. It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re on a ship in endless space. Days become irrelevant.”
“Makes sense. What did you do before?” Ace asked, prodding deeper.
“Born on Mars. Dad owned a small restaurant. When he died, I tried to take it over, but I’m no businessman. Never married, so I applied with the Fleet. Figured there were worse jobs to be had,” the man said.
“My name’s Ace.” He stuck out his thin arm, and they shook hands.
“Pauly. Pleasure, I’m sure.” Pauly’s frown was gone.
Now that the guy had warmed up a bit, Ace decided to press his luck. “Any idea where we’re headed?”
Pauly looked around and shrugged. “I hear a lot of things, but no one seems to be sure. Lots of speculation, though.”
Ace pretended to only be mildly interested, like it didn’t matter one way or another to him. He sipped the coffee. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“This and that.” Pauly poured himself a coffee and leaned against the bar. The lounge was quiet; most of the people on board were either sleeping or in training. “Some think there’s a massive terrorist faction out by Neptune. Not sure which group, but I’ve heard a few different names. A female officer was in here chatting with some mid-ranked man earlier, saying there’s some massive corporation looking to take power from the Earth Fleet.”
“What do you think about that?” Ace asked.
“If you ask me, it’s a bunch of bullshit. Who’s going to be able to stand against the Fleet? They’re impenetrable. A force unlike none other. I mean, I don’t have to tell you, right, kid?” Pauly grinned.
Ace sat up higher on his stool. “That’s right. It’s one hell of an organization… or government… whatever it is.” Military, government, police… the Fleet was everything it wanted to be.
“Another person thinks they found a wormhole and are worried something’s coming out of it,” Pauly said. This was the first time Ace had heard something along those lines, and he leaned in further, listening closely. “I don’t believe that one. If there was a wormhole out there, don’t you think we would’ve heard about it by now, and not just through someone aboard this carrier?”
“I suppose so. Anything else?” Ace found the man was happy to talk about the rumors, and he wanted to hear them all.
“I think the only other one involved a rescue mission on one of the Moons, but I followed that one up and didn’t find anything on the Interface, so who knows.” He turned the tables on Ace. “How about you?”
“I have nothing. None of the newly recruited have any idea what’s going on.” Ace was already shaking from the caffeine hit, and he pushed the empty cup away. “Thanks for the talk, Pauly. I appreciate the candor.”
Pauly looked perplexed for a moment, as if he didn’t understand the word, but he hid it quickly and smiled at Ace. “No problem, kid. Come back any time.”
“I will.” Ace got up and left the room, not sure if he felt any better after hearing the three rumors going around the ship.
20
Flint
Flint let out a whistle as they entered Fairbanks’ private corvette at the station above Europa. He was a councilman with the Earth Fleet, and apparently, that allowed him the luxury of having an armed warship. This one was unlike any model Flint had ever seen. It was black, wide in the body and short in height, with rear wings that would hold most of the ship’s armaments.
The front wings were half the size and were home to hangars where his private EFF-type fighters were stored, according to Benson. It was an amazing piece of machinery, and it made Flint feel self-conscious about his own ship, which was a hunk of space junk by comparison.
“Quite the sight, isn’t it?” Benson asked.
Flint nodded without replying as they entered the ship from below. According to Benson, it had the ability to hold four hundred people, crew and support staff alike.
“If you’re impressed with this, wait until you see the masterpiece you’ll be piloting.” Benson raised his eyebrows.
Kat nudged Flint in the ribs. “Maybe this won’t be so bad,” she whispered in his ear as they set foot on the ship.
“If we’re going to travel out past the Kuiper belt, may as well do it in style. Are you sure my ship’s going to be fine here, Benson?” Flint asked.
“We’ve transferred the details of the Perdita under the councilman’s personal account. No harm will come to it. Come, I’ll show you around.” Benson was at home here, Flint could tell. He acted as their tour guide as they walked around the large ship, showing them to their own luxury quarters before taking them to engineering. Kat’s jaw dropped as they entered the five-thousand-square-foot room; blue energy pulsed in horizontal tubes, running near the ceiling from wall to wall. Flint was impressed. Along the room’s left wall sat dozens of screens, each showing readouts he didn’t fully understand, and a team of black-uniformed crew worked, adjusting levels as needed.
“Flint, do you mind if I stay put and learn a few things?” Kat asked, and Flint looked to Benson for approval before answering her. Benson gave a small nod behind her back.
“Sure. I think that’s a great idea.” Flint didn’t finish speaking before Kat turned and walked away, going up to one of the engineer techs and talking his ear off.
“She’s a good one. How long have you been together?” Benson asked.
Flint was taken aback. “Wait, what? It’s not like that.”
Benson raised his hands in the air. “I wasn’t suggesting you were romantically involved; I just wondered how long she’s flown with you.”
Relief flooded Flint. He didn’t want anyone thinking they were more than they were; not only because she was far younger than him, but because someone might try to use it against them at some point. “It’s been a while. She was just a kid.”
Benson lifted his head up, as if not satisfied with the answer. “Come, I’ll show you the bridge.”
“Are we moving already?” Flint asked. He hadn’t felt a noticeable difference in the ship, though he wouldn’t have expected to in such a well-made corvette.
“We are. Heading straight for the target. We’ll be there in a few days.” Benson walked ahead, waving Flint along. “We have a lot to discuss before we arrive.”
“Are you going to be open with me?” Flint asked.
Benson didn’t stop walking. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because I’m a stranger. Did you know about the Fleet Marines that intercepted my ship?” Flint asked, catching up to the other man.
This caught Benson off-guard. Clearly, he didn’t know everything, and Flint was happy to learn that. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Please explain.”
“I will, but there’s something I need to know first. Why’s Fairbanks so obsessed with this? There’s something you haven’t told me.” Flint would spill the beans about the Fleet because he needed to make sure these guys were going to be on his side and protect him, should the time come. The Fleet wasn’t something you could easily trifle with. He understood that only too well.
“Not here. Come.” Benson and Flint took an elevator in silence before arriving at the bridge. There were five officers aboard, but they ignored Benson as he walked in. He had power, but the crew didn’t give him deferential treatment. That was also good to know.
Flint took a quick glance at the bridge and felt another surge of jealousy. This was perfection. From the seats to the lighting, it was a lesson in symmetry and opulence. Flint’s eyes scanned to the center, where the pilot mapped out their destination on a holoprojection coming from his console. It was next-level.
They strode behind the bridge into a side office. There were two side by side; one’s door was shut and looked larger than the one they entered. “That’s Councilman Fairbanks’ office,” Benson said in answer to Flint’s unasked question. “This is where I park my hat when on board.” The expressio
n didn’t work so well, seeing how Benson didn’t wear a hat, but Flint got the gist of it.
“Where were we?” Benson asked, taking a seat on a red leather couch. Flint sat across from him on a matching chair.
“You were going to tell me why Fairbanks is so gung-ho on this colony. He’s breaking a lot of Fleet protocol to make this trip happen, and you and I are going to die in the crossfire if they find out,” Flint said.
“Fairbanks was married and had young children a long time ago. He and his wife divorced shortly after. You know how it is. The councilman was an ambitious man, at that time a commander in the Fleet, years before he became a council member.”
Flint had a good idea where this was leading.
“He was so upset when he found out they were on the colony ship. Leona hadn’t told her ex-husband she was going, and she took their two kids,” Benson said.
“Wait. You aren’t old enough to know this, are you?” Flint looked for signs of surgery or the common side-effects of extenders, but failed to see any.
“My father. He held this role before I did,” Benson answered.
Flint noticed he was leaning forward, elbows on knees, and sat back. “Sorry to interrupt. Go on.”
“The councilman didn’t know his family was on the ship until it was too late.” Benson’s eyes told more, but he left it unsaid.
“What did he do?” Flint asked.
“He went to the Fleet and demanded they find a way to get to the world, Rift or no Rift. Only even with the probe readouts, they had no idea where it was. None of the star mapping existed in our databases,” Benson said.
Flint understood. “There was no way to get there without the Rift, and that was sixty years ago. Thirty years ago, the Fleet was banned from going to the Rift, correct?”
“It was supposed to be, but the Grand Admiral had plans of her own. She sent a carrier. She couldn’t help herself, even against her own advice. The whole time, our own Jarden Fairbanks was denied the ability to go through the Rift. He was so angry. He spent the next two decades gathering enough resources to make his own vessel, one that could endure whatever it encountered on the other side.
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