Fringe Runner (Fringe Series Book 1)

by Rachel Aukes

  They ran.

  Critch motioned to fungicide. Birk grabbed a crate. An alarm blared. When Critch stepped forward to grab a second crate, his gaze fell on the single metal box stored within a refrigerated unit next to the fungicide. Making a split-second decision, he grabbed the box, and they ran.

  They sprinted to catch up with the other workers, blending into the small mob by the time they were out the front door. The first police craft had already arrived. Critch and Birk stayed with the group of workers until the mob slowed to a stop on the street. The two pirates broke off and ran toward the nearby alley.

  Someone called out after them, but they kept running. A second later, the shouts were drowned by an explosion. Critch and Birk were thrown to the ground, and a massive wind of heat blew over them. With his ears ringing and suffering from vertigo, Critch climbed to his feet and then helped Birk to his feet. They grabbed their cargo and closed the few remaining feet to the alley where they found Chutt waiting for them.

  He bore a wide grin. “Nice boom-boom, eh?”

  Critch peeked around the corner to see a pile of burning debris where the warehouse had stood seconds earlier. Bodies lay strewn across the street, though no one was moving. He turned back to Chutt. “You blew up half the viggin’ block.”

  Chutt shrugged. “You said to cover our tracks.”

  “That you did,” Critch concurred.

  Birk eyed the box in Critch’s arms. “That’s not the fungicide.”

  Critch glanced down. “No, it’s not. It’s Plan B.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Best Laid Plans

  Zara Wintsel, president of Genics Corp, lived like a queen. The opulence—the sickening wastefulness—made Reyne want to be off Myr and out in the fringe where things made sense. “Let’s make this quick,” he gritted out. “I want to be on the tram and on our way back to the ship as soon as possible.”

  “You don’t need to twist my arm,” Demes said.

  “I should’ve brought a bigger bag,” Sixx said, entranced by the fortunes on display everywhere.

  Reyne eyed the large duffle. “Your bag is plenty big enough.”

  He turned his attention back to the mission at hand. If there was evidence of Myr’s plans for the Collective, Heid said it would be stored on Dr. Zara Wintsel’s personal computer. Heid’s friend—one who called herself Mariner—had seen the files for herself and had shared the details with the Founders. Rather than going for the data, the Founders chose instead to release the blight at Genics Corp’s Moon lab. Unfortunately, the attack did nothing to sway Wintsel and her Myrad coconspirators from moving ahead with their plans.

  Heid suspected that the Founders would assassinate Wintsel and destroy any proof of the Myrad’s involvement to help prevent war. With no proof, the conspirators behind Ice Port and Sol Base’s destruction would never be punished. And that was something Reyne couldn’t abide.

  He analyzed the silver-plated mansion that sprawled across the pristine landscape. Fountains and bushy trees dotted the lawn, providing plenty of coverage to approach the house from the back. A smattering of tenured house staff came and went. Four security personnel arrived and made rounds shortly before Wintsel landed late into the night in a hovercraft. One of the guards escorted her into her house.

  An hour later, several house lights remained on, but Reyne had seen no signs of movement. “How’s the security look?” he asked Demes who lay on the ground in between Reyne and Sixx.

  Demes ran a scanner as Reyne looked over his shoulder. Dots lit up at the mansion’s entrances but nowhere else. “Piece of cake.”

  Reyne shook his head. “Let’s hope that scanner is accurate.” He rose to his feet and stretched. His joints were constantly reminding him how much stronger gravity was on Myr than on Playa.

  “Demes, you stay between me and Sixx,” Reyne ordered.

  “Oh, come on. I’ve been through a lot deeper shit before.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to listen to Critch’s incessant complaining if you get yourself killed,” Reyne snapped back. “Now, follow me.”

  He took the lead, weaving between fountains and under thick trees to stay in the shadows. It was late, the time Wintsel would be soundly asleep and her guards snoozing on the job.

  The trio moved slowly and carefully as they approached the mansion and made their way to the house. Reyne, still in lead, peeked around the corner. He counted three windows down to the one that would be the office window. He bit his lip to keep from cursing, and he turned to face Demes and Sixx.

  “There’s a light on,” he whispered. “Which means she may or may not be in there. Sixx, I need you to check it out.”

  Sixx gave a quick nod and moved quickly in a half-crouched pace toward the window. When he reached it, he flattened against the wall, and gingerly peered around the pane.

  As Sixx hurried back, Reyne scanned the yard to make sure they were still alone.

  “She’s in there all right. She’s sitting at her desk reading a book, just on the other side of the window, facing away from us. The room is small and the door is closed.”

  Reyne grimaced. “Doesn’t that woman ever sleep?”

  “What’s the computer look like?” Demes asked.

  “It looks like a computer,” Sixx answered.

  Demes rolled his eyes. “If it’s a tablet, I can grab it and go. If it’s a built-in house system, then I can’t do that now, can I?”

  “Oh. It’s a big one.”

  Reyne noticed Demes’ frown. “Demes, how much time do you need to break into her system and copy her files?”

  He shrugged. “Depends on her security protocols. Could be thirty seconds. Could be thirty minutes.”

  “You need to do it in under three minutes.”

  Demes looked like he wanted to but wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Reyne contemplated for a brief moment. “Sixx, I need you to draw her away from that room to buy time for Demes to hack her system. Think you can figure out a diversion?”

  Sixx grinned. “My pleasure.”

  Reyne clasped Sixx’s shoulder. “Be careful.”

  “Always am.”

  “You never are,” Reyne muttered as the man ran toward the front of the house.

  Reyne turned to Demes. “Let’s do this.” He grabbed his plastic-cutting tools and slid along the outside of the house to the office window, ducking under the two windows before it. He stopped and waited, watching Wintsel for any sign of movement.

  He needn’t have watched her. A hovercraft alarm pierced the air, and Reyne chuckled at Sixx’s flamboyant diversion. He counted to three before glancing through the window, and found Zara Wintsel walking through the door.

  He carved a giant circle into the pane. Demes wore sticky gloves and pulled the pane out, keeping it from crashing. Demes crawled through first, and Reyne followed. He landed on the floor with a grunt, rolled to his feet, and quietly shut and locked the door that Wintsel had left wide open.

  Demes sat at the desk. He set a small black dome over the keyboard. Gray lights flashed across its surface, before turning yellow, then finally green. “I’m in.”

  A woman’s voice emanated from the hallway. “Be sure to report it in, and line up the house staff. I’d bet credits one of them thought they could steal my Selta.”

  Reyne glanced at Demes. “Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  The handle jiggled, followed by a woman’s frustrated voice. “Guards, why is this door locked?”

  “I don’t know why, ma’am. Did it lock on its own?” a man responded.

  “No, it wouldn’t lock on its own, you dolt. You young fools have no concept of how antique handles work.” Someone pounded on the door. “Hello? Who’s in there? Patrice, if I find out that you’ve let your filthy daughter roam in my house again, I swear you both will go straight to the Citadel.”

  “Demes, hurry,” Reyne warned.

  “Almost seventy percent copied.”

  “Move to the side, m
a’am,” the same man who’d spoken before said.

  Something slammed into the door, and Reyne leaned against the wood, attempting to keep the frame from splitting. As he held the door shut, he took in the shelves lined with priceless crystals. A portrait caught his eye. Zara Wintsel stood in a loving embrace with a CUF officer, who also had blue-hued skin. This wasn’t just any officer. This older man bore the insignia of the corps general. Reyne’s breath froze in his lungs. “Ausyar,” he muttered, and everything suddenly made sense.

  “Eighty percent.”

  Reyne glanced at Demes who was tapping his fingers on the panel. Movement outside caught his eyes. “Sixx,” Reyne said in relief.

  Relief was short-lived as another slam against the door rattled Reyne’s body.

  “We’ve been compromised,” Reyne said aloud, pulling out his gun. “Watch your back.”

  Sixx nodded and looked from side to side before dropping below Reyne’s line of sight.

  “I hear you in there!” came the woman’s voice. “Guards, open this door right this instant. I’m being robbed!”

  “Ninety percent.”

  The sound of a photon blast fractured the air, but Reyne held the door.

  A sharp coldness pierced his left side, and he looked down.

  “Son of a bitch.” They’d shot the door lock, and the laser-like shot had sliced right through his. The initial cold sensation from his burnt morphed into an intense burning.

  Something slammed into the door, and he flew back, narrowly catching himself before falling.

  “Demes, get down,” Reyne shouted as the first guard toppled inside.

  Reyne shot him point blank. He swung around and fired off continuous shots at the guard on the other side of the doorway. The man stood, shocked for a moment, before collapsing in a heap. Behind that guard, Reyne found Wintsel. “Aw, shit.”

  She was leaning against the wall, fighting for breath that would never come. One of Reyne’s shots had gone clean through her trachea and carotid artery. She’d be dead in seconds, but still she desperately fought for the last vestiges of life.

  “Got it,” Demes said, coming to his feet, pocketing his hardware.

  Reyne tore his eyes from the dying woman to make sure no one else was coming down the hallway. He turned and clenched his teeth through his inhalation, every breath and movement becoming more and more painful. Fighting through the agony, he motioned to the window. “Move.”

  Demes eyed Reyne’s wound. “You’re shot.”

  “A clean through-and-through. I’m still in this fight.” He followed Demes to the window, concentrating on not touching the open wound. The photon blast cauterized the wound, but it would easily become infected without treatment.

  Demes tumbled through the window. Reyne followed, with help from Demes and Sixx. Outside, he discovered the two other guards, each dead with headshots.

  “Tell me you got the data,” Reyne said.

  “I got the data, but I won’t know if it’s worth anything until I look at it,” Demes replied.

  “Wait. I need to grab some souvenirs,” Sixx said.

  “No time.”

  “But all four guards are down,” Sixx argued.

  “No time,” Reyne repeated.

  “You’re killing me here,” Sixx replied. “Fine, but don’t you think it was odd she had only four guards for a house the size of a castle?”

  “She didn’t need more guards,” Reyne ground out. “No one in their right mind would trespass on this property. Wintsel was Ausyar’s lover.”

  “Uh oh,” Demes said. “And, you killed her.”

  Sixx’s eyes widened. “Oh. That won’t go over well.”

  “No it won’t,” Reyne said, knowing full well that he just drew first blood from a vengeful man who bore the strength of the entire CUF armada.

  An orange glow lit the sky in the distance, and all three men turned.

  “Wow, now that’s an explosion,” Demes said.

  “That came from the direction of the docks,” Sixx said.

  Recognition of the most likely source of that explosion sent shivers across Reyne’s skin. “We need to get back to the ship now.”

  Zara Wintsel’s hovercraft made quick time back to the ship. The explosion at the Genics Corp warehouse reddened the twilight sky, and Reyne knew they’d be lucky if the docks weren’t already under lockdown.

  Reyne, the only pilot in the group, had to fly the hovercraft, even though his side was now on fire. He none too gracefully parked the hovercraft outside a café. Demes and Sixx helped him onto the space dock.

  Critch, Chutt, and Birk were already walking up the ship’s ramp. Reyne and his crew hustled the remaining short distance. Reyne pulled free and headed straight for the bridge, where Critch was already strapped in and powering up the engines.

  “Dock Control,” Critch transmitted as Reyne took a seat. “This is Eagle II hauler Myr-Four-Six-Seven-Four-Five. We’re ready for departure.”

  “Myr-Four-Five, please hold.”

  “Shit,” Critch muttered as they waited. “They’re onto us.”

  Another response came long seconds later. “Myr-Four-Five. You are cleared for launch. Moving you onto launch pad Delta Three. We’re expecting multiple inbound ships shortly. Be careful out there.”

  Critch lifted his brow, and he cocked his head. “Will do, Dock Control. Thank you and have a nice day.”

  “They must not have been notified yet to go under lockdown,” Reyne said.

  “This place is seriously lacking security protocols,” Critch said. “Releasing the blight on their Moon was one thing, but they felt all cozy and safe behind their space barrier.”

  Reyne grunted when the ship was jostled over to the launch pad.

  Critch noticed. “You need Doc to take a look at that gunshot.”

  Reyne winced. “Once we’re safely out of Myr’s airspace.”

  Critch gave a small nod. “Did you get the data?”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope Demes finds something useful in it. Did you get the fungicide?”

  “Birk and Chutt are stowing it now.”

  Now that Reyne was no longer on the move, his side began to throb, and darkness crept into his vision. He slumped forward, not finding the strength to lean back.

  “Doc, you’d better get up here,” Critch said on the intercom.

  Reyne vaguely sensed someone moving him. He heard voices but couldn’t make out any words. As he was dragged—or maybe he was floating—he faded into oblivion.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Corrupted Illusions

  Critch

  Critch watched as Doc and Sixx lugged Reyne to the medical bay, and wondered if the old captain would pull through. Even with the blue stain, Reyne was too pale, and his hair clung to his face.

  The pirate waited for the launch countdown to finish. Beyond the launch pad, all he could see was water. He imagined how much easier life on Terra would’ve been with this much water.

  He grimaced. He hated thinking of Terra. He hadn’t lived there since the Uprising, and his final days there—the worst days of his life—haunted him still.

  They’d been safe and secure at Broken Mountain. They’d even been planning an attack that would’ve changed the entire course of the Uprising. But then, the CUF snuck through the tunnels in the dead of night. The torrents never stood a chance. The CUF never would’ve found those camouflaged tunnels on their own, and no sensors could’ve picked them up. That the CUF came through all the tunnels at the same time meant one thing. Someone betrayed the cause.

  Coincidentally, Reyne had left the day before with several medics to check on civilian injuries. At the time, Critch had assumed Reyne had been killed. It wasn’t until after the attack when he put two and two together.

  Reyne was the traitor.

  Critch became a hardened leader that day after learning a final and the most valuable lesson from his mentor.

  Don’t trust anyone.

  For many years, he’d
wished for Reyne’s head on a platter, for some kind of retribution. Only now, seeing Reyne weak and injured, he found a strange feeling of sympathy toward the traitor.

  The panel chimed, signaling the countdown was nearly complete. Glad to focus on the launch, he brushed aside memories that only complicated things and worked on getting them off Myr and to Alluvia.

  *

  Reyne woke to a pleasant numbness.

  “You’re awake.”

  He turned groggily, and Doc’s blurred slender form sharpened into view. “How long have I been out?”

  She cupped his face with warm hands. “Three days.”

  “Too long.” He started to sit up, and placed a hand over the tender bruise on his side. He pulled up his shirt to find a bright pink scar buried under a clear, gel-filled shell.

  “Be careful.” She touched his chest. “I kept you under for your body to mend faster, but you still need time.”

  “We’re clear of Alluvia’s space barrier, courtesy of our buddy, Boden. Prepare for landing.”

  Reyne pushed off the table to his feet and stabilized himself against the spinning room.

  “You need to rest,” she said, holding him steady.

  When the room slowed its spinning, he held an open palm out to her.

  She pursed her lips, looking down at his hand and up at his face. After a short battle of the wills, she relented. She opened a drawer, tore off a strip of pills, and placed them in his hand.

  Her hands went to her hips. “You’re a fool if you think you should be moving around. You should stay in bed.”

  He grabbed an additional strip of pills and wagged it at her before pocketing it, then headed toward the bridge without a word. When he entered, he found Boden at his seat and Critch in the pilot’s seat. The mechanic was the first to notice Reyne, who tilted his head in a silent greeting.

  Reyne leaned against the back wall. “Did Demes find anything useful in the data?”

  Critch threw a glance over his shoulder, giving Reyne a once-over before turning back to his controls. He gave a long, slow nod. “More than a dozen video transcriptions of Dr. Zara Wintsel and Corps General Michel Ausyar planning their takeover of the entire Collective. Seems the pair had the lofty goal of becoming the Collective’s first emperor and empress.”