by Rachel Aukes
“That’s a lofty goal,” Reyne said.
“They couldn’t do all this work in a silo,” Critch countered. “They never would’ve used the blight without the blessing of Myr’s leadership. This is obviously an effort by the entire elite class.”
“I wish I could see the looks on the faces of the Alluvian citizens when they see the broadcast,” Boden said.
“Speaking of Alluvians, any word from Heid?” Reyne asked.
“Nothing,” Critch replied.
“She’ll pull through,” Reyne replied. “Her Myr intel was good. We can trust her.”
Critch focused straight ahead. “We may want to consider a backup plan.”
“She’ll pull through,” Reyne repeated. He hadn’t expected much from a CUF officer, but her intel on the Myr heists was spot-on, and she’d given her word that she’d connect them with a news reporter on Alluvia, who would then broadcast any evidence they acquired at Wintsel’s residence.
Reyne shot a sympathetic glance to Boden. “If we still don’t hear from Heid by the time we land, we might have to head to Boden’s to regroup.”
“We can’t go there. My parents still live there,” Boden said quickly.
“We might have no other option,” Reyne said. “We can’t stay on this ship. It won’t take the CUF long to put the pieces together, especially when a Myrad ship is using Alluvian codes. The faster we ditch this junker, the better chance we have.”
Critch nodded to the blue world filling the view screen. “We’ll be landing soon, but you don’t look to be in any condition to leave the ship.”
“I’ll be fine.” Reyne popped a painkiller, pushed off from the wall, and headed toward his quarters to gear up.
By the time he checked his weapons and grabbed some food, Critch had them on the ground in a space dock. Though, on Alluvia, “ground” wasn’t entirely correct.
The space docks, along with every city, were built on massive, floating platforms. The entire planet’s surface was covered in water, with giant reed forests reaching upward toward the sky. The water was peaceful and gorgeous and deadly.
When the early colonists arrived from Myr, they brought with them DNA for many of Earth’s species. They cloned hundreds of species to provide their food supply, but they failed to take into account that mutations to adapt to new climates were inevitable. What had been large, harmless fish used for food on Earth evolved on Alluvia over the centuries into deadly predators.
Because of the danger, tenured were used for fishing. Boden’s parents had been fishermen, but had managed to buy their freedom. Reyne didn’t know the story behind how they acquired enough credits, but he knew that story was the same reason Boden had left and never spoken to them again. With Boden’s staunch loyalty to the fringe, Reyne suspected that Boden’s parents were the last people they wanted to get involved in their plans.
“We’re docked,” Critch announced to the ship. “Grab all your gear. Birk, pack up the fungicide for Sol Base. We’ll be finding another ride home.”
“Still no word from Heid?” Reyne asked after they all met at the airlock.
“We’re on our own.” Critch headed down the ramp. He wore a cloak over his clothes, as did everyone from the ship. Tenured walked freely on Alluvia. The crew took no precautions to disguise themselves, hiding only their weapons, which were outlawed for all non-citizens.
The painkiller had kicked in, and Reyne found himself feeling better than ever, with even his arthritis muted. He strode down the ramp and met Critch at the bottom. Before them stood an ancient-looking, sharp-dressed Alluvian.
“Gentlemen, I am your driver,” he said. “I will deliver you to your destination.”
Critch eyed Reyne, who looked every bit as surprised as Reyne felt.
Reyne said quietly, “Guess she pulled through after all.” He then looked back to the driver and waved his arm. “Lead the way.”
The old man led them at a snail’s pace through the docks. They walked under a huge glowing sign that read Welcome to First City. On the other side, the driver motioned to a white luxury hovercraft before opening the door and stepping inside. Reyne followed, staring at the dozen seats covered in real leather. Bowls of fresh fruit and bite-sized chocolates sat at each seat. He had to remind himself to focus on the mission to keep from tearing into the decadent treats.
He took a seat near the driver, and Critch did the same. The rest of the crew climbed inside, each making sounds of awe and wonderment. Critch rubbed the leather.
“Knowing Alluvians, it’s probably human skin,” Boden said from behind them.
Reyne and Critch glanced back to see Boden looking all too serious. Reyne returned his gaze to the front, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“It’s fish skin. He’s just messing with us,” Critch said softly, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
While their crew savored the delicacies, Reyne and Critch watched out the windows to see where their strange host was taking them. The ride was shorter than expected, with their driver stopping a mile or so from the docks, in the warehouse district.
The hovercraft settled onto the ground and the driver turned off the engine. “We have arrived.” He walked through the craft and opened the door. Reyne shot Critch a quick glance to see the pirate unclicking his holster. Reyne did the same and led the way.
“Hang in there. This will all be done soon enough,” Reyne said to their crew who had tensed visibly once they stopped.
The driver’s short steps made the walk long from the hovercraft into an unmarked warehouse. Reyne took quick glances behind him to see his crew antsy as they scanned the area.
Critch grimaced. “I’m starting to grow a serious dislike for warehouses.”
Reyne stopped at the doorway. “Try not to blow this one up.”
The pirate shrugged as he stepped around Reyne and inside.
The driver shuffled down an aisle with crates stacked along each side. Critch gaped. “Biome kits, air converters, rations. They could colonize an entire new world with this supply.”
“I’m more curious why they’re stockpiling,” Reyne noted quietly.
The old man motioned to the doorway at the end of the aisle. Reyne swallowed, tension cutting through the painkillers, heightening his senses. The doorway was wide enough that he and Critch stepped through together into the cube-shaped room, where a lone man stood.
“I don’t like this,” Critch whispered, his gaze darting around. “One door, no windows. This looks more like a cell than a meeting room.”
“Agreed,” was Reyne’s quick response, noticing their driver was nowhere to be found, and the door was now closed. “I’m starting to doubt Heid’s good intentions.”
Critch shot Reyne a wry look.
“Welcome to Alluvia,” the newcomer said, taking a step forward. “You’ve had quite the journey.”
The man stepped directly under the light as he scrutinized the crew. The Alluvian looked to be in his forties—around Critch’s age—which meant he was likely older than even Reyne. He wore a business suit and had slick, short hair. There was something familiar about him, even though Reyne was confident he’d never seen the man before.
The man continued. “You’ve brought me information that, if broadcast, would change the Collective forever.”
Reyne narrowed his gaze. “Yes, and you’re going to help us.”
The man smiled. “Of course. But we must be careful. The Collective is in a state of flux. You’ve all sensed it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be risking your lives. However, this is not the first time many of you have risked your lives. I wonder,” the stranger began as he slowly paced in front of the crew. “What two torrent marshals, working together again, bodes for our future.”
“We’re not here for sweet talk,” Critch gritted out. “Now, can you get us a reporter—with confirmation that it’ll be reported—or not?”
“You were always the headstrong marshal,” the man said, avoiding Critch’s question. “Followi
ng your gut first.”
“It’s kept me alive this far,” Critch said, and Reyne could feel the tension rolling off the pirate. “And it’s telling me right now that we walked into a trap. So, what’s to stop me from killing you right here and now?”
The man pursed his lips.
Reyne’s blood ran cold as the pieces fell into place. Mason looked familiar because he had the same eyes as Heid and carried himself much like she did. Or, rather, it would be the other way around, with Heid gaining those traits from her father. He recalled the pleas Vym had written to a Founder on Alluvia, and that Founder’s negative responses.
“You’re Mason,” Reyne blurted out.
The man straightened in surprise.
Critch motioned over his shoulder. “Birk, check that door.”
Birk yelled back a couple seconds later. “It’s locked, boss.”
The man’s features smoothed. “You know, there was a time,” he began wistfully, “that if a neutral learned of the Founders, it meant his death warrant. Despite that history, here you are today, meeting face-to-face with me, and you’re still breathing.”
Mason walked in silence for a moment before stopping. “You see, I was at Broken Mountain the night the Uprising was crushed. I arranged the meeting for the traitor and Corps General Ausyar, though he was a commandant at that time. I didn’t intend for Marshal Reyne to be discredited. My intent was for both marshals to perish in the battle to minimize the risk of the Uprising coming back before we were ready for it.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, you survived and my concerns are becoming a reality. But, it’s not yet time for the Uprising to begin again.”
Reyne’s blood ran cold, and he pulled out his gun.
Critch spoke first. “Now, I know why I didn’t like you the second I saw you.”
Mason frowned and waved him away. “You think I’m the malcontent here? Everything the Founders do—everything I do—is to preserve the Collective. Sometimes, hard decisions need made. Innocents, like your friend, Kason Somerville, must sometimes become casualties, or else they may upset the balance.”
Reyne found it hard to swallow at hearing confirmation of Kason’s murder.
“You bastard. You’re a viggin’ dead man,” Boden said in hard words. “That’s a promise.”
“Kason never did anything wrong,” Reyne said, forcing deep breaths.
“I’ll be the first to say Lord Somerville was a gentleman, but he discovered knowledge that he shouldn’t have found. I’m tasked with the responsibility of looking at the big picture.” He paused for a moment. “I have no choice, much like the traitor had no choice on Broken Mountain. She was forced to choose between the lives of her and her compatriots or the Uprising. Isn’t that right, Aila?”
Reyne sucked in a breath as he spun around to see Doc taking small steps back from the crew. Her crystalline blue eyes watered. When they made eye contact, she didn’t look away. He stood, slack-jawed, as he struggled to fit the pieces of a puzzle together that made no sense. Finally, he said the only word he could manage to get out. “You?”
Her lips trembled. “I had no choice,” she said in the softest whisper. “They would’ve killed us.”
Doc’s teary gaze pleaded with him. He stared, finding himself unable to process what he now knew to be true.
For twenty years, he’d craved to kill the traitor of Terra—not for ruining his life but for the murder of thousands of torrents at Broken Mountain.
For twenty years, he’d worked alongside the traitor of Terra, and had shared his bed with her.
With a wince, he snapped around to face Mason. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and he raised his pistol. “Enough. You lured us here and have been biding your time ever since. It’s clear you want us dead, so what are you waiting for?”
The man cocked his head. “I concede that you are correct. It’s a simple fact that I cannot have players on the board who are unwilling to perform their roles. You’re just pawns that should’ve been cleared from the board twenty years ago. That oversight will be fixed momentarily. Accept my apologies. It’s nothing personal.”
“Oh, it’s personal all right,” Critch said just before he fired at Mason.
Mason jumped, startled.
Critch’s jaw dropped. “Son of a bitch.”
The shot had never hit Mason. Instead, it hit a transparent pane that stood between the Founder and the crew.
The man shook his head. “Always the headstrong one.”
Critch fired another shot. Reyne fired one off, too, because he was royally pissed off.
“Watch yourselves,” Mason said. “I could kill any one of you with a single press of a button.”
Reyne frowned and searched the walls until he’d found what he’d missed before. Two holes were in the ceiling, and he could make out the glint of a barrel in one. He faced Mason. “You going to slaughter us?”
“Now, now,” Mason said. “That wouldn’t serve my needs. Corps General Ausyar will be here any minute to arrest you. He’ll see that you’re all publicly executed. A video of that execution—the final vestiges of the bioterrorists—will be played throughout the Collective. With your deaths, the Collective will be in balance again.” He held up a finger. “Though, I should warn you, the corps general has developed quite a grudge against you, Captain Reyne, when he learned you had killed his beloved. Still, I do appreciate that you tidied up that loose end. Now, it’s time for me to tidy up mine.”
He craned his neck to peer around Critch to look at Demes. “You’re the talented young tech, are you not?”
“What of it?” Demes asked.
Reyne furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what Mason had up his sleeve.
Critch took a step forward, while motioning for Demes to stay back. “Leave him out of this.”
“Ah, but I can’t. I ran a scan for data chips as you walked into this room, and that man is carrying information you came here to broadcast.” He tapped a couple buttons on the remote control he carried, and a massive photon blast shot from the ceiling. Reyne protected his eyes from the scalding heat. When the heat dissipated, he looked to find a charred, blackened body, more ash than flesh.
“Demes,” Critch murmured and snapped around to face Mason.
Mason patted the air with his hands in a placating gesture. “I apologize for the primitive manner of execution, but I can’t risk anyone accessing the data he carried.”
Critch took a deep breath. He walked forward and tapped on the clear pane with his pistol. “How airtight is this room, Mason?”
The man narrowed his gaze. “What do you mean?”
The pirate smiled. “When we first got here, you ran a scan for data chips. But you didn’t run a scan for biological agents, did you?” He pulled out a test tube and dangled it.
Mason’s face blanched. “What are you doing with that?”
“As you said, I’m the headstrong one. So, tell me, if you shoot me and I drop this vial, what’s going to happen?”
Mason didn’t answer.
Critch continued. “I’m betting your little guns aimed at me aren’t enough to kill every spore before it’s airborne. I’m guessing this blight will take out me, you, hell, all of First City.”
“You’re bluffing. The blight is produced on the moon. You couldn’t have gotten ahold of any.”
“You willing to bet your life on that?”
Mason swallowed. “There are millions of innocents here. You can’t possibly—”
“Innocents are always the first casualties of war,” Critch snapped back.
The pirate threw a quick glance at Reyne before turning back to Mason. “You’re going to let us walk right out that door, and you’re not going to alert the authorities or do anything else to draw attention to us. You know why? Because before I leave this shithole of a planet, I plan to stash a vial of blight in the middle of First City. And it’ll be in a trap that I can set off on any whim. Do I make myself clear?”
Mason’s chest heav
ed, and his face turned a plum red. He held up his remote.
Reyne held his breath and waited for the blast.
Instead, the lock behind him clicked and the door opened.
“I’ll let you buy yourselves minutes today,” Mason said. “But, the CUF will hunt you to the ends of the universe.”
“Let them hunt us,” Critch said. “I guarantee they won’t catch us before I take your head.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Staring into the Abyss
Heid
Heid replayed the news segment again. She rubbed her burning eyes, inhaled, and tapped her comm. “Sebin, report to my quarters.”
“On my way.”
She was on her feet and standing by the time he arrived a minute later.
When he saw her, he frowned. “Is everything all right?”
“No. Everything’s not all right.” She replayed the news segment onto her wall panel. The volume was muted, but the pictures of the fugitives on Alluvia told the story. She recognized the profiles. Not all of them, but she’d recognize the scarred face of Critch anywhere.
She shot Sebin a hard look. “They made it to Alluvia. Yet, I never received any responses to my messages to them.”
His brow knit together. “I don’t understand.”
“They never received my messages.” She shook her head. “You betrayed me, Painter.”
He pointed to himself. “What? Me? You should know I would never betray you.”
“You contacted Mason.”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t contact him. He contacted me—”
“You were not to contact Mason!” Her fists shook. She calmed herself down with a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I gave you explicit instructions to not engage Mason under any circumstances. He could not know what we were doing.”
“But, he reached out to me right after the torrents left Myr, and said he was helping us out from the ground on Alluvia.”