by Rachel Aukes
Critch opened a bottle of bourbon, poured a glass half full, and took a seat.
Reyne took in the Spartan quarters while Critch drank the expensive alcohol, noticing the sharp contrast between the two extremes.
“Now, I understand where Vym was coming from,” Reyne said. “We have to stop Myr, or else we’re looking at a full-scale war.”
Critch looked up from his glass. “We don’t stand a chance against Myr’s warships. They’ll slaughter anyone foolish enough to try.”
“If we don’t stop Myr, they’ll take control of the fringe stations,” Reyne said. “Whoever controls the fringe controls the Collective. The Uprising has always been about gaining equal rights in Parliament. But it’s bigger than that now.”
“It’s about survival now,” Critch said. “Thanks to Vym’s data, we know Myr is sitting on a fungicide that can kill the blight. If they continue on the path they’ve already started down, they can clear out the fringe stations and bring in stationmasters loyal to Myr.”
Reyne nodded grimly. “Vym seemed to think Myr planned to try out the blight on Ice Port. When that backfired, they went to Plan B on Sol Base and involving the CUF. The only safe place for us now may be Playa and the Space Coast, but both depend on food and supplies from the other colonies. Myr may as well own Sol Base now, and who knows what they have in store for Spate and Terra.”
“Stopping the blight has to be our first priority.” Critch said. “As long as Myr has the blight, they hold all the cards.”
“We need to get our hands on the fungicide,” Reyne said and then he rubbed his temples. “I can’t get it through my head that the Founders exist—and, that they still think they can control the Collective.”
“They’d make a powerful ally,” Critch said. “But, reading Vym’s messages, it’s clear they see us fringe as only pawns. We’d never be able to trust them.”
“Agreed. You saw the messages. Vym was going against her fellow Founders to stir up a new Uprising. But, if Demes can track down their names, we’ll at least have information we can leverage.” Reyne sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t see how we can go against Myr without help from them or the Alluvians. Vym was right. We have to get her tablet to the Arcadia.”
Critch downed his drink and refilled his glass. “Exactly how do you propose we do that? My ship was designed for avoiding warships, not becoming a bull’s-eye in front of one.”
“We won’t have to. I’m sure Demes can figure out how to send a message from Seamstress to Baker to arrange a meeting.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. “Where do you propose we meet him? Here?”
“At Tulan Base? Hell, no. This is the last place I want anyone associated with the CUF to know about. I was thinking that Nova Colony would be neutral territory.”
Critch barked out a laugh. “You expect a CUF commandant to make it to the center of the Space Coast without getting killed?”
“Yes.”
“You realize that every person living on Nova Colony hates the Collective with a burning passion.”
“I do.”
The pirate thought for a long moment and took a drink. “I’ll let Demes know. If this Baker doesn’t get himself killed on the way to the meeting, it could be an interesting conversation.”
Reyne found himself smiling.
“What?”
Reyne looked up. “I finally realized something.”
“What’s that?”
“The Gryphon and her crew are all dead. We were killed by the Trinity during the bombing of Ice Port.”
“How is that good news?”
Reyne’s grin widened. “Because they’ll never be expecting us when we rise from the dead and strike back.”
Chapter Seventeen
Faded Liaisons
Heid
Heid lounged in her quarters as the Arcadia made its slow way to meet up with the Trinity along with the rest of the CUF fleet docked between Alluvia and Myr. She could’ve been there days ago, but chose instead to set a long course at sub speed. Ausyar had ordered all warships to convene in three days—she had to get creative to come up with plausible reasons for the Arcadia’s delay.
She needed the time to think.
Her comm chimed again. The fourth time in under an hour. She didn’t need to look to know it was from her first officer. She ignored the ping, already knowing exactly what the request would be. Laciam was growing anxious and hounded the commandant to move the Arcadia to jump speed, but the Myrad wasn’t commandant…yet.
Once the Arcadia reached the rest of the fleet, Heid would lose her command, giving Ausyar another warship to use against anyone who chose to oppose his bid for power. If she refused, it meant becoming a mutineer to the CUF as well as to the Founders, both of which had meant everything to her.
Not anymore.
Mason had made his intentions clear the night of Sebin’s initiation. She wasn’t to disobey Ausyar’s orders, because her sedition could force Alluvia to choose between protecting one of their own—a senior dromadier officer—or allowing Ausyar to hunt down the Arcadia and kill Heid and her crew. Mason had the gall to call her foolish for arguing with him.
However, Myr had also made their intentions clear the moment they created the blight. It had been pure luck when Mariner intercepted word of Myr’s plan to use it at Ice Port to quell dissension. The Three Founders believed that by unleashing that same package at the same Genics Corp facility in which it was created, Myr would rethink their strategy and back down. Instead, the attack had the opposite effect. Myr pushed up their plans to disrupt all imports from the fringe stations and take control of Parliament.
Even now, after the destruction of Sol Base and Ice Port, Mason refused to act outright. He wanted the Founders to stay in the shadows, guiding change with a twist of an arm here or an assassination there. The War—their greatest achievement—had brought Myr and Alluvia together. When they orchestrated the first Uprising in an attempt to bring peace across the Collective, they discovered the fringe brought too many players to control, which had led to mistakes being made. The Founders had very nearly failed in preventing the fringe from upsetting the balance of power.
Heid had been a young girl during the Uprising, and had few memories of the battles and events. Everything she learned came from Mason, and she was an excellent student. She understood the need for shadow games. Unlike him, she also knew the time for shadow games was long past.
She tried to convince Mason that the only way to peace—true peace—was equality across the Collective, but he never listened to anything she had to say.
She wasn’t the only one. Aeronaut had voiced Seamstress’ plan, which included forming a new Uprising. While Aeronaut was ever the diplomat, Heid—as Baker—was vocal. Despite her attempts to persuade her father, Mason remained strongly against Seamstress’ actions. Heid wondered what role Mason played in Ice Port’s undoing. After all, Mason had proven on multiple occasions that he had no qualms sacrificing lives if it served his purpose.
She wasn’t blind. She knew Mason—and possibly the Founders as a whole—no longer had the Collective’s well-being at heart. Over the past twenty years, she’d seen egos swell and ambitions rise. She’d watched Mason manipulate the Founders, filling the ranks with those who followed him without question. No new colonists had been inducted into their ranks in over twenty years. Hell, that was the only reason she was brought into their ranks. As Mason’s daughter, he assumed her loyalty was absolute.
Her loyalty was absolute…to the Collective.
While Mason’s loyalty was only to himself. She had no doubt he fantasized about ruling the Collective. She also had no doubt that Myr’s current actions were feeding into Mason’s dark, selfish plans. Knowing she shared his bloodline was a constant dagger to her soul. Mason was a betrayal to everything she and the original Jacob Mason stood for.
She had a decision to make. She could continue to faithfully follow Mason, like she’d done her entire li
fe. Or, she could follow the message she’d received from Seamstress to see where it led.
She read the encrypted message for the hundredth time.
Baker –
I’m interested in ordering a cake for my daughter’s birthday party. Would like to see your catalog. Please join me for dinner at Nova Colony at 28720319.2530. My treat.
– Seamstress
Heid chuckled, though she felt no humor in her predicament. Aeronaut couldn’t contact Heid directly since she reported to Mason, and he oversaw the colonies. And so she’d exchanged plenty of personal messages from Seamstress in the past. The old Founder had been trying relentlessly to recruit Baker—and thus, the Arcadia—into her Uprising, mistakenly convinced that if Baker joined her cause, Mason and the Alluvian branch would then follow.
As for the latest message, she knew there was no way it came from Seamstress. For one thing, she suspected Vym Patel was dead. From what she’d heard about the Trinity’s attack on Ice Port, there would be few, if any, survivors. The second and more telling sign was that this message had too much style for Seamstress’ usual bluntness.
That “she” wanted to meet in person was a third red flag. Founders in different branches only met in person for ceremonies. Meetings put each other at risk in case one Founder’s cover was compromised.
Then, there was the location for the meeting. Nova Colony was outside Collective control, and there was no Founder stationed there. Aeronaut had tried multiple times, but had never succeeded in identifying a candidate who Mason or Mariner approved.
Heid could only assume Seamstress handed her tablet off to someone, which was against every Founder protocol. Even then, no one should’ve been able to access the message system. Someone had managed to hack through the encryption walls—an impossible task, making Heid all the more curious.
Who was behind the message? Were they using intel they acquired to wipe out the Founders one by one? Was Baker first on their list? Or, did they have something else planned?
She didn’t contact Mason to see if anyone else had received a similar invitation. She knew Mason would order her to disregard the message, and he’d get involved, destroying any chance she had at finding answers.
She smiled even as nervous chills flitted across her skin. She made her decision. She was sick of being played by Mason. Her response was brief.
Seamstress –
Dinner sounds lovely. See you then.
– Baker
She took a deep breath, slid the tablet into her pocket, and headed straight to the bridge. As soon as she entered, Laciam jumped to his feet. “Commandant, I’ve been wanting to talk with you.”
“One moment.” She walked over to the navigator. “Nolin, set a course to fringe sector seven-seven-seven-three-zero-five. On our way there, locate a fringe ship for a standard dock check.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you doing?” Laciam fumed. “We’re under orders to immediately return to the fleet. You’re intentionally delaying our trip. If you change course, you’re disobeying a direct order from the corps general.”
“Watch your tone, First Officer,” Heid responded calmly despite her simmering anger. “I will continue to carry out my duties as a commandant in the Collective Unified Forces until we reach the fleet. Feel free to lodge a complaint with Adjutant Reinhardt, who will see that it gets posted. Until then, I expect you to do your damn job.”
“Yes, sir,” Laciam said stiffly.
“You’re dismissed.”
He headed off the bridge without another word, and she knew he was walking straight to his quarters to draft an exceptionally detailed complaint, or—more likely—continue a draft he began hours ago. She knew she would have to deal with Laciam soon and Ausyar’s directive after that. First, she needed to meet this Seamstress, and she needed a fringe ship to do it.
Chapter Eighteen
Distant Dreams
Reyne pounded on the door to Critch’s quarters in Tulan base.
“Hold on, for chrissakes,” came a voice from the other side. After the sound of shuffling, the pirate opened the door.
“Pack up,” Reyne said without any sort of welcome. “Baker replied. The meeting’s on. The Gryphon is launching within the hour.”
“The Honorless will lead the way.” Critch slammed the door shut.
Reyne scowled at the closed door before heading to the control room, where he left instructions for the torrents who were remaining on the base. He then pinged Sixx on his comm. “Wake up, sunshine. Get to the ship for immediate departure.”
Sixx mumbled something Reyne couldn’t make out but assumed was a verbal nod. He wasn’t about to go looking for the man. Sixx had slept with at least two of the torrents already, and who knew where he’d slept last night. Evidently, now that they weren’t all cooped up on the ship together, Sixx found them far less annoying.
Throttle, Boden, and Doc all stayed in their bunks on the Gryphon, none yet trusting Critch’s crew or the torrents at Tulan Base. Reyne broadcast to the ship as soon as he stepped on board. “Heads up, crew. Prep the ship for departure. We’re heading to the Coast.”
The first person to enter the hallway was one of Critch’s crew, hopping as he pulled on his boots. A man whose name Reyne couldn’t remember, not that he tried to. The pirate brushed past Reyne.
“You better hurry,” Reyne said. “Your ride is powering up as we speak.”
Doc’s door was left open, and Reyne peeked inside to find her tugging on clothes, her hair a disheveled mess. His brow rose. “Wild night, huh?”
She gave a weak smile and pulled her hair into a ponytail. “Pirates,” she said as if that single word was explanation enough.
He headed down the hallway. Since Sixx was inside the base, Reyne knew no one besides Doc had had a “sleepover” on the ship. Despite Demes’ flirtations, Throttle seemed to only have eyes for Boden, who only had eyes for sweet soy.
The man was currently in between bouts with his addiction, making him bearable to be around and a talented mechanic. When he was on the soy, that was another story. He’d lead Throttle on one minute and crush her heart the next. The guy was a bastard when he was high. After the last binge, Reyne had given him an ultimatum. Stay clean or get off the ship. Fortunately, Boden had stayed clean so far, but Reyne wasn’t confident things it would last.
Reyne hoped Boden stayed clean, because he had no idea where he’d find another mechanic who would be willing to work for Aramis Reyne, the fringe’s most notorious traitor.
Sixx rushed onto the ship, the circles under his eyes conveying how little sleep the man had gotten the night before. “It’s too damn cold out there,” he said through shivers.
“Where’s your coat?” Reyne asked.
Sixx gave an exasperated sigh. “Kristen was sleeping on it. I didn’t want to wake her.”
“Who’s Kristen?”
“She’s the one with purple hair.”
“Ah.” Not that Reyne cared. “Get back to the cargo hold to make sure everything’s battened down for takeoff.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Sixx headed down the hallway the opposite direction of Reyne, who headed toward the bridge. Throttle wheeled out of her quarters at the same time Reyne reached her door.
“So, we’re going to the Coast again?” she asked.
Reyne couldn’t miss the anticipation in her eyes. “Yes. We’ll be flying back with the Honorless.”
“Ooh, maybe we can fly formation,” she said and wheeled quickly ahead of him.
His heart panged with sorrow for her. A girl with a passion for adventure imprisoned in a broken body. When she was young, he’d told her he’d get her spine fixed. However, neural repair was expensive, and credits were hard to come by. First, it was a cracked propulsion system. Then, it was a snapped solar sail. Big expense after big expense popped up, and Reyne had never managed to buy the one thing he wanted Throttle to have most in the universe.
She never complained, though. If anything, no
t having the use of her legs made her work harder to improve her flying skills. She had become the best pilot Reyne had ever known. With her skill, she could’ve been making thousands of credits a month piloting a Collective ship. He’d even hinted at that more than once. But she made it clear. She would never serve the Collective.
She dreamed of flying in a new Uprising.
Little could he have guessed she’d get her chance.
From the bridge, he could see the Honorless had already initiated its launch sequence. A row of ten lights on the launch pad was down seven lights already. The engines of the larger ship reverberated through the Gryphon, which sat next in queue for takeoff.
The launch pad sat at the bottom of a volcano that burned out long before Playa’s surface froze. Reyne assumed Vym had been the caretaker of this base, keeping it functional and even upgrading the technology throughout the years. She must’ve used this base regularly to warrant such a cost. He wondered if she used the base purely for her personal, less-than-legal activities, or if she’d had grander plans for it—for the torrents or for the Founders. He supposed he’d now never learn that answer.
When the last light blinked out on the countdown sequence, the slingshot launcher threw the Honorless upward at ten-plus Gs, and the ship’s engines roared. The slingshot was an old technology that was reliable and torturous to use. Most crews blacked out on takeoff from these launch pads, having to rely completely on autopilots. Critch, Reyne suspected, had his eyes wide open and hands at the controls the entire time.
As soon as the Honorless was away, Reyne keyed in control of the launch pad system.
“Pre-launch completed,” Throttle said. “I’m punching in coordinates to the Coast now.”
Reyne nodded. He pinged Boden. “How are we on engines?”
“Green light.”
“Good.” He then announced to the ship, “Buckle in. We’re up for launch.”
Reyne initiated the launch sequence. A conveyor belt transferred the Gryphon onto the launch pad as gears locked into place. All ten lights lit up on the countdown, dropping down to nine lights almost immediately.