Fringe Runner (Fringe Series Book 1)

by Rachel Aukes

  Reyne stared at the view screen, expecting to see everything that was on their radar, even though they were still too far out for the feeble view screen to zoom in on. “It’s too late to run. They probably locked onto us hours ago.”

  “I don’t know why they haven’t hailed us.”

  “You think they’re onto us?” Reyne asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  A chime alerted them to a new notification. Critch checked it first. “Ah, here comes an automated code request from the space barrier.”

  Reyne inhaled.

  “Let’s find out if we’re going to live beyond the next sixty seconds,” Critch said as he fed the ship’s authentication codes to the space barrier’s system.

  The tension throughout the bridge was stifling, and Reyne found his joints complaining.

  After a long delay, Critch blew out a breath. “It accepted the code. We’re approved to pass through the barrier.”

  Reyne, too, let out the breath he’d been holding and pointed at the view screen. “The bigger question is, will they let us pass?”

  Faint dots appeared and slowly grew to form ships. Not CUF patrol ships, but huge warships. From the looks of things, the entire CUF fleet was out there waiting for them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Divide and Conquer

  “Why would they be out here?” Critch asked. “The fleet base of operations is in between Myr and Alluvia. They’re on the wrong side of Myr.”

  “Heid said Ausyar was making changes to the fleet,” Reyne said. “My guess is this is all his doing.”

  “You think he moved the fleet farther from Alluvia to make it easier to control?”

  Reyne shook his head. “Don’t know, but I do know they wouldn’t send the entire fleet for a single crew of torrents. They have to be out here for some other reason.”

  “Let’s hope that reason doesn’t involve shooting us and fucking up our plans.”

  Reyne turned to Critch. “Don’t slow down, and don’t veer off course. We want them to think we’re just passing through on a regular run.”

  “You want to fly?” Critch snapped back.

  “Yeah, I do,” Reyne answered.

  Critch hesitated. “Well, you can’t.”

  Reyne eyed the pirate long and hard before forcing himself to relax. On the Gryphon, he’d have access to systems to see everything Critch was seeing. The Eagle, on the other hand, was an obsolete craft. It had few redundancies, including a single panel for piloting and navigating. It made Reyne feel downright helpless.

  “Aw, hell,” Critch muttered. “We’re being hailed.”

  “Myrad Eagle II hauler Four-Six-Seven-Four-Five, this is the Collective Unified Forces destroyer Vigor. You are cleared to pass through to Myr. Adjust course to heading seven-eight-four-point-five-point-three-two. This is to have you maintain a safe distance of at least one hundred clicks from the fleet.”

  Critch paused for a short moment before sending a response. “Vigor, this is Myr-Four-Six-Seven-Four-Five. Message received. Adjusting course to maintain a safe distance. Thank you, and have a nice day.”

  A response came speedily back. “Have a good day, and safe travels Myr-Four-Five.”

  Reyne chuckled. “Even their old junkers get treated better than colonists.”

  “Assuming they’re not drawing us into a trap,” Critch said. “This feels eerily similar to how I nabbed an Alluvian cruiser a few months back.”

  Reyne frowned. “I wish Demes could be plugged into their systems right about now to see what they’re thinking.”

  “Agreed.” Critch rubbed his hands. “Well, we’re a Myrad hauler, and we’re going to cruise right past the entire CUF fleet and through that space barrier as if we’ve done it a hundred times before.”

  Reyne cocked his head. “I never took you for an optimist.”

  “All pirates are optimists; otherwise, they’d never leave the docks.”

  “I thought you were all opportunists.”

  Critch shrugged. “No difference.”

  Silence fell on the bridge. Reyne broadcast nothing to the crew in case the CUF was picking up their radios. He knew the crew was nervous, and he considered making rounds to update them, but he couldn’t bring himself to stand. Not when the view screen was filled with several dozen warships, frigates, destroyers, gunships, and patrols.

  As they approached the fleet, Reyne and Critch shot harried glances at each other. They were easily within shooting range and could be blown into the abyss without a single chance for counter maneuvers. Not that they could make any kind of stand in this ship, as it were.

  The ships sat in loose groupings. The warships sat together, with the frigates and destroyers separated. Gunships sat closer to the barrier. Patrol ships, work ships, and mish-mash of smaller ships sat as outliers.

  A patrol ship sped toward them, and Reyne leaned forward, gripping his seat.

  The spacecraft whizzed past as it angled toward a warship.

  Reyne slumped. “Damn, cocky fliers. Reminds me of how you used to fly.”

  Critch’s lip curled up at the corner.

  Neither man spoke again until they passed the fleet and entered the space barrier.

  The barrier wasn’t actually a barrier. It was simply a matrix of EMP buoys in Myr’s orbit. It was a fail-safe protective blanket since only CUF ships had protection against EMP fields. Though, as far as Reyne knew, only warships, destroyers, and frigates had the level of protection needed from the high-intensity blasts the buoys emitted.

  No one without access codes was landing on Myr.

  Flashing lights on the EMP buoys twinkled their locations. “Those things are eerie.”

  “Yes, they are,” Critch said, and Reyne realized he’d voiced his thoughts aloud.

  “We’re almost through,” Critch continued.

  After they cleared the barrier, Reyne closed his eyes and breathed. “You won’t hear me complaining that we’re through that.”

  Critch cracked his neck. “Not a bad-looking planet. Too bad it’s full of citizens.”

  With the fleet and barrier behind them, Reyne was able to appreciate Myr’s beauty. The planet was the first colonized world after Mars and Europa, and he could see why. With a wealth of both land and water, it was a picturesque, temperate world, reminding of pictures he’d seen of Earth.

  Reyne broadcast to the crew, “Heads up. We’re clear of the space barrier. Prepare for landing.”

  Unlike the colonies, Myr had twelve space docks located around the planet. Critch hailed the Smithton docks. They directed him through landing protocols, which he handled as though he were a Myrad captain.

  Myr had a thick atmosphere, thicker than all the other planets, and the descent lasted longer and was more turbulent than Reyne expected. Even still, Critch brought the junker down with finesse.

  The space docks they landed at put any fringe station’s docks to shame. These docks, built out of silver alloy, were easily ten times the size of Ice Port’s docks, and they seemed fifty times as busy. They climbed from the surface like a glistening rainbow and took up much of the island they occupied. Critch settled the ship down gently onto her base despite her size and clumsy controls.

  “Not bad,” Reyne said. “Although, I’m sure Throttle would still give you some pointers.”

  Critch grunted. “If she’s anything like you, I’m not surprised.”

  “Everyone to the commons for final checks,” Reyne announced.

  By the time Critch had locked the ship down, Doc had finished staining Birk’s face with blue dye. He looked as though he’d gone for a swim in blueberry wine—a perfect match to the hue of Myrad skin. Doc then stepped up to Reyne and wiped the stained cloth over his face.

  Finished, Doc stepped back to admire her work. “It took me endless hours—and my fingers may be forever stained blue—but it was worth it. You and Birk look perfect.”

  Boden gave a nod. “You’re both too tall, but otherwise you could actually pass as
Myrads.”

  Reyne chuckled drily. “That’s something I’ve never had an interest in being.”

  “Ditto,” Birk added.

  Reyne grabbed the long coat he’d found in one of the Myrad’s quarters, and slipped it on, covering his armament.

  Critch was leading the other team, but with his scars, he’d never be able to pass off being a Myrad. And so Birk had his face stained and wore a coat like the one Reyne wore, playing the part of a Myrad on Critch’s crew. Since Myrads were often outnumbered a dozen to one by tenured, everyone else wore rattier tenured jackets.

  Critch slapped his hands together. “Okay, the Genics Corp snatch starts now.” He glanced at his watch. “The courtesy time limit to dock without filing paperwork is five hours, which means we need to be wheels-up before sunrise. If any of you aren’t back by then, you’ll be considered dead or a permanent Myrad fixture. Got it?”

  “Okay. Boden and Doc,” Reyne began. “Under no circumstances will you leave this ship. If you get asked by a dock patrol, make excuses if you have to.”

  “I still prefer to come with you,” Boden grumbled.

  “Can’t risk it,” Reyne said. “You’re our ticket to Alluvia. You’re staying on this junker where it’s safe.”

  Doc didn’t say anything, and Reyne knew she’d always been more comfortable staying out of harm’s way.

  “That’s not permission to sit on your asses,” Critch said. “This ship better be ready to power up within seconds of us getting back on board. It won’t take long for them to figure out something is up once we make the snatch.”

  “The ship will be ready,” Boden said quickly.

  Reyne grabbed Boden’s forearm. “See you soon.”

  Boden nodded and grabbed Reyne’s arm in return. “The sooner the better.”

  “Hurry back,” Doc said, her words hard yet containing an underlying softness.

  Reyne smiled. “I plan on it.”

  Critch patted Demes’ shoulder. “Watch your back out there.”

  Critch stood for a moment and—surprisingly—grabbed Reyne’s forearm. “Take care of my tech.”

  Reyne nodded and clasped the pirate’s arm. “You have my word. I’ll look out for him.”

  Critch stepped back. “Let’s do this. Chutt, Birk, let’s see what Genics Corp has to offer.”

  Reyne turned to Demes and Sixx. “Ready to tour a Myrad mansion?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Silver-Coated Problems

  Critch

  The six men separated into their two groups after they left the docks. Critch’s team had the more dangerous job, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. His team was headed to Genics Corp’s Smithton warehouse, where the organization stored its incoming and outgoing inventory near the space docks. Heid’s Founder friend believed the fungicide was being stored there.

  There were far too many unknowns in this plan for Critch to be comfortable. They had only an address to go on. No map of the place, no intel on security procedures. Hell, he didn’t even know if this warehouse had a night shift. The way he saw it, they were running into a potential cluster fuck with their eyes closed and both hands tied behind their backs.

  Nonetheless, if anyone could pull off two concurrent heists within the heart of Myr, these two crews could. He, Chutt, and Birk had worked alongside one another in close quarters for years. He trusted them and knew he could count on them to follow his lead.

  Critch noticed how stiffly the older man moved now. Nevertheless, he knew Demes would be safe, because he had Sixx there to look after him. Critch had sparred with the runner back on the Honorless and found the man had the heart of a pirate. Critch knew he could count on him as long as he paid him well—and he promised to pay him plenty to keep the young tech safe.

  He worried more about the risk of Reyne selling them out to the CUF. Critch clenched his fists, thinking about the man he would’ve gladly given his life for at one time. Vym had asked Critch to give his old mentor another chance. Critch had given his word, but that didn’t mean he’d trust the runner.

  He pulled up his collar against the damp winds blowing in from the sea. The sidewalks Birk led them down weren’t busy at this hour, lowering the risk of someone noticing them as off-worlders. They walked a dozen blocks, past silver skyscrapers that pierced the sky like swords, until they reached the address they were looking for. The narrow, four-story building bore no logo.

  “This is the one,” Critch said quietly but loud enough for Birk to hear. Years spent as a pirate taught him that when someone downplayed their property, they were intentionally trying to avoid attention. That was the property he’d always go for first. The same was no different tonight.

  Birk gave a quick nod and led them to the alley between the buildings across the street. Once in the shadows, Critch held up a hand to silence his men while he ran a scan for sensors. Several moments later, he let his hand drop. “Alley’s clear.”

  He nodded toward the Genics Corp building. “They have motion and audio sensors at all windows and doors on the ground level. Looks like they don’t want company coming in from the street.”

  Chutt smiled. “I’d say, let’s drop in.”

  Critch looked up at the roof. “My thoughts exactly.”

  The trio spent the next two hours breaking into the taller building next door and sneaking through hallways and up elevator shafts to get to its roof. From there, they shot a zip line over to the roof of the Genics Corp warehouse.

  As Birk retracted the line, Critch scanned the roof to double-check for sensors. “It’s clear.”

  He walked casually to the roof access door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He almost laughed at the ease of entry. The Myrads were too cocky for their own good. Sure, they had a space barrier, but he was still surprised no one on the surface felt like becoming a thief—or even a vandal—for the hell of it. He imagined Myr’s police forces were likely focused entirely on catching runaway tenured.

  “Easy pickings,” Chutt said from behind Critch.

  He turned to face Chutt and Birk. “Warehouse personnel are likely all tenured, so they won’t put their lives on the line to protect inventory. Still, there’s no need to draw any attention our way.”

  “No problem,” Chutt said, and Birk nodded.

  He wagged his finger ahead. “Let’s go.”

  They crept down a short stairwell to the fourth floor. Critch frowned as he took in the layout. As expected, each level had shelves lining its walls, with walkways around them. The problem lay on the other side of the innermost walkway, where a large opening cut straight through the center of the building. A machine on rails ran up and down all four stories as it moved crates from one floor to another floor.

  There was little opportunity for them to move around without being in the open. He entered in new search criteria on his wrist scanner and then scanned the building’s interior. Dots highlighted the only active sensors—all concentrated in a corner on the second floor. He crawled to the open center, got down on his stomach, and peered over the edge. Roughly a few dozen tenured workers, all in white lab coats, were inventorying and moving crates. Another four men wore familiar blue uniforms. Critch flattened himself on the floor and crawled back to Chutt and Birk’s position.

  “I counted four dromadiers down there.”

  Chutt scrambled to pull out his gun. “What the hell are they doing here?”

  “Doesn’t matter. The mission is still on,” Critch replied.

  “What do we do about them?” Birk asked.

  “We take them out first,” Critch said. He scanned the warehouse for ideas. His eyes locked onto the massive machine moving up the center of the building.

  He smiled.

  “I have a plan.”

  *

  It took Critch, Chutt, and Birk fewer than ten minutes to work out the details of Critch’s startlingly simple plan.

  On third floor, they acquired three white lab coats to blend in. Unfortunately, the tenured work
ers they came across didn’t volunteer their jackets as easily as expected and had to be quietly drifted by breaking their necks.

  Once they had their camouflage, Chutt split off from their group and headed down three flights to the ground floor in search of the janitorial closet, also known as a demolition expert’s workshop. Critch and Birk hid for five full minutes before they took the stairs to the second floor to play their parts.

  They found it easy to walk around the floor as long as they kept a wide berth from other workers. Walking side-by-side, they performed quick reconnaissance. Two guards stood at the corner where their payload would be while the two other guards separately made their rounds, walking opposite directions of one another, across the floor.

  Ready to make their move, Critch nodded to Birk, and they split up. Critch meandered toward their payload while Birk headed for the opposite end of the floor, which was the only spot where the two guards making rounds would pass one another.

  Critch looked down to not draw attention to his scarred face. He came to a stop before the dromadiers when he saw their boots.

  The soldier to his left waved him off. “Move it, chump. This area’s off limits.”

  Critch lifted his face. The two soldiers grimaced. “Damn. What happened to—”

  As soon as Critch heard Birk’s first shot, he fired both his guns at the same time. The pair of dromadiers fell, dead, with shocked looks on their faces. He pulled his guns out from his lab coat. Each pocket now bore a burnt hole.

  Someone gasped nearby, and he swung around to find a tenured watching him, her eyes wide.

  “You scream, you die,” Critch said calmly, leveling his guns on her.

  She nodded before taking slow steps back from him. After several paces, she turned and ran.

  Critch holstered one of his guns and pinged Chutt. “Now.”

  “Boom-Boom is on the machine. You have sixty seconds.”

  “Good,” Critch reported. “See you at the RP.”

  “Ready?” Birk asked as he reached Critch.

  Shouts erupted across the floor, and he noticed that more workers had discovered Birk and Critch’s handiwork. He yelled out to the tenured workers. “This place is going to blow. You’d better run.”