Starbreaker

by Amanda Bouchet

  “People of the eighteen Sectors,” the Overseer began from what looked like his home office. I glanced at Tess as she watched. Her blue eyes had gone glacial, as cold and hard as an ice-coated planet. She crossed her arms. Her chin jutted forward.

  “In a continued effort to protect you and keep this era of peace and prosperity thriving, I have decided on a new measure of human and family recognition. Never again will a kidnapped child be lost forever. An accident befalls you far from home? With my new program, your loved ones can always find you. You’ve forgotten your code to a little used bank account? A simple scan can verify your identity. From newborn to fourth age, every citizen of the galaxy is to be assigned a new galactic identification number. Your GIN will be encoded into a tiny microchip specifically designed to flow harmlessly through your bloodstream. It will be in constant motion inside you. No nefarious person will be able to lock on to it or cut it out of you.”

  “Unless they slit your throat and drain you,” Fiona said with a snort.

  “Only officially issued GIN scanners will be able to read your microchip or locate specific signals across the Sectors. This is your galactic government protecting you. From near or far, we can find you.”

  Tess’s mouth popped open on a gasp. She glared at the screen in utter disgust, two hot spots of color flagging her cheeks with fire.

  “No fucking way,” Jax ground out. Merrick echoed that, his jaw ticking.

  “That’s what we’ve been saying since yesterday,” Frank muttered.

  I shook my head, not quite believing the Overseer’s new measure. It was the equivalent of branding the entire population of the galaxy. For life.

  I glanced at Mwende. Shock blared from her expression, her eyes almost apocalyptic with anger. She obviously knew nothing about this, which meant the Overseer had gone rogue, setting a major scheme into motion without consulting Bridgebane.

  “Over the next six universal months, your local Dark Watch will be rolling out a program to issue every galactic citizen their new GIN. This is not the same as your birth record or Sector ID number. Everyone must get their GIN. Anyone found without a GIN six months from now will be automatically arrested and imprisoned.”

  “That bastard, stinker, shit-faced… Argh!” Fiona growled. “Babies… Kids… They won’t have a choice! They’ll grow up and can literally never go off-grid.”

  “Your lifelong security is of the utmost importance to me. I will protect you from those trying to take this hard-won peace away from law-abiding galactic citizens like yourself. Anyone not willing to claim their GIN is a criminal. Those criminals will be found, incarcerated, and forcibly put to work for the greater good.”

  “Holy shit.” Tess turned to me, anguish graying her face. “A needle into every vein in the galaxy. This whole thing is orchestrated to gather blood samples and track anyone who meets his criteria.”

  Fuck. She was so right. The Overseer was searching for A1 blood, and these new GINs would lead him straight to anyone who had it. Once his plan was in motion, it meant a staggering potential for super soldiers.

  “Why would he want that many blood samples?” Nic asked.

  Novalight started talking again before Tess could answer. The asshole loved to pause dramatically and stare at the camera, his dark eyes beady and menacing.

  “Connect now to projectyournewgin.gxy to find your local GIN center and choose a convenient time slot for your injection. Parents and legal guardians must make appointments for their children and charges. Spacedocks will be provided with traveling GIN units. Anyone without a permanent residence is required by law to request an appointment at the location of their choosing. Select the Temporary Visitor option. You have exactly six universal months from this day forward to claim a galactic identification number. Anyone found to be noncompliant six months from now will be hunted and arrested.”

  “Where will he put everyone?” Tess whispered in horror.

  “Nine Circles still has three entire underground levels that are empty,” Mwende said. “The place is huge and could accommodate hundreds of thousands.”

  “Holy Sky Mother.” Tess’s too-wide eyes swung from Mwende back to the screen in Frank’s hand. A tremor went through her. She already knew firsthand the kind of hell that waited for inmates on Hourglass Mile. Nine Circles was a descent into misery few people could imagine. Convicts didn’t come out of that place intact, if they ever came out at all.

  “Claim your GINs. Help our galaxy stay safe and prosperous. It is your duty to encourage your neighbors to fulfill this new galactic obligation. It is also your duty to report anyone who fails to comply. Outlaws will be punishable under AGL 1409, the GIN Standard.”

  The Overseer stood there for a moment, looking rigid and smug as he stared out at our entire galaxy from his big undecorated office. He’d had the exact same look on his face after he shot Miko and grabbed Shiori. It was his I one-upped you smirk, and I couldn’t help wondering if this one was directed at Tess also.

  “All newly issued GINs will be checked off against galactic birth and death records spanning the last century and a quarter. We’ll know who doesn’t claim a number. And we will find you.”

  On that ominous pronouncement, the screen went dark. PROJECTYOURNEWGIN.GXY took the Overseer’s place in big white block letters. They flashed a few times to really get the viewer’s attention and then went static again, staring out at us.

  Frank powered down the tablet and slipped it back into his pocket. “And there you have it. Pretty soon, the Dark Watch will be able to scan people on the streets, and if you don’t pop up with a GIN, they’ll fucking jump out and arrest you.”

  “I’m going to kill him. Then kill him again,” Tess murmured.

  “What’s this about blood samples?” Nic asked a second time.

  Her features screwed up in fury, Tess told them about the Overseer’s super-soldier serum, how it was based on a rare blood type that otherwise boosted healing, and how she’d stolen his entire supply and turned it over to the rebel leaders. She didn’t mention having A1 blood herself or knowing anything about where it came from. “So basically, this is my fault,” she finished hotly. “If I hadn’t stolen his whole batch of enhancers, he wouldn’t be hunting for more A1 blood, which seems to be the one thing he can bind his chemical cocktail to.”

  “First of all”—Frank’s hands dropped to his hips, and he looked fixedly at Tess—“nothing that tyrannical psychopath does is your fault. Second, what are Loralie and the rebel council doing with the enhancers?”

  “I don’t know.” Tess scraped her hair back, twisting it into a knot that fell down again. “Hopefully nothing but keep it away from the Overseer.”

  “But they could potentially make rebel super soldiers?” Frank asked.

  Tess nodded, her eyes haunted.

  “How many?” The crew of the Unholy Stench echoed Frank’s question.

  “Thousands,” Tess answered, a thin catch in her voice. “There were thousands of prepared injections in that lab.”

  “And what would be so bad about that?” Frank asked, his brow furrowing. “That sounds like just the boost we need to finally do something about that bastard.”

  “I know.” Tess spread her hands, looking as conflicted as ever about the enhancers. “That’s why I gave it to them instead of blowing it up. It’s just… I brought the stuff to the rebel leaders. I’ll feel responsible for whatever happens to anyone who uses it.”

  “Okay, as much as I love you, Bailey, you’re not that important.” Frank softened his words with another light punch to Tess’s arm. I couldn’t mind—not when it brought a reluctant smile to her lips. “Your choice was to hand it over. Whatever happens next is not your choice. It’s Loralie’s, or whoever decides to use that enhancer.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Despite her quick agreement, worry still shadowed Tess’s features. More than once,
I’d caught her brooding over the idea of rebel soldiers being lied to about the enhancer’s effects on their bodies, or being forced into it. She had that look again now. “If there’s a bloodbath, though, I’ll feel like I’m swimming in it. And now, there’s this whole GIN thing to worry about.”

  “We’re all outlaws anyway,” Jax said.

  Fiona glanced at him, scowling. “Yeah, but we couldn’t get flagged on the street just for walking by without registering on some hidden scanner.”

  “That’ll make missions a lot tougher,” Jax admitted, scraping a hand down his jaw. His frown deepened.

  “How will we go anywhere? Get supplies? Do anything?” Tess snarled.

  Macey, who didn’t seem to say much otherwise, came out with a humdinger. “We won’t. And there won’t be any new rebels to keep the fight going. He’s putting a leash on the entire galaxy. We either end this—end him—before the GIN Project is final, or the rebellion dies forever.”

  Chapter 11

  TESS

  Shade and I were both too keyed up after learning about the Overseer’s GIN Project to go to bed. He grabbed some tools and went to look at the glitchy lighting in Cargo Bay 2, and I took my tablet from the bridge, scooped up Bonk from his bed on Jax’s old sweater, and shut myself in my bedroom for some much-needed cat snuggles and news from Starway 8.

  I wondered how Mareeka and Surral had taken the fact that all their kids were about to get branded. It enraged me, so for them, I imagined some forced meditation had been in order. And possibly a sedative—or three.

  I should find them a cat. Bonk’s purring was already doing wonders for my anxiety level.

  I checked that my encryptions were all in place and opened up my messages, hoping to see something from Starway 8. I wanted to know how the children were recovering after the epidemic, especially Coltin.

  I could still picture him perfectly as a baby and then as a toddler: sandy-blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, pale, and sickly. His breathing had always been a problem, and I’d rocked him through more nights than I could count while he struggled and wheezed, not knowing if he’d be alive in the morning.

  Coltin had been too sick when he was orphaned for his uncle Asher to take care of him. Surral had been the infant’s best chance at survival, and I’d taken on the role of replacement mother. I’d never done that with any other child. He’d just seemed to need me, and as he got older, I became more of a sister to him. And then I’d left, knowing he was in the best place he could be, with the best possible people.

  If only I’d known when he was a baby that some of my blood could have helped him. Then again, I didn’t actually know if type A1 blood could fight intense asthma the way it fought diseases and infections.

  I did know now that it could have saved my mother. But for what? For more unhappy years under the Overseer’s watchful gaze, in his oppressive home, under his terrifying bootheel? His fists hadn’t flown often, but when they had, they’d hit hard. To be honest, I’d been more scared of being dragged around, poked with needles, and shoved into stark rooms with the lock thrown behind me and no clue when I’d be let out again. Mom and I had both gotten away from him. Death had been our escape, although mine hadn’t been a real one. Maybe my escape wasn’t real, either.

  Nathaniel Bridgebane had stripped me of my identity, abandoned me halfway across the galaxy from the only home I’d ever known, and scared the crap out of me in the process. He’d saved my life eighteen years ago. I’d hated him for his choices, for not being my Uncle Nate anymore, for choosing the Overseer’s dark cave of tyranny and intolerance over staying the fun guy who’d let me ride on his shoulders and whose biggest smiles were always for me and my mother.

  But the man who’d once been a rebel hadn’t bought into autocratic evil when he’d followed his stepsister to Sector 12, had he? He’d been trying to control it.

  There wasn’t a message from Starway 8 waiting for me, so I wrote to Mareeka with a quick update and asked for news from the orphanage. After sending off my note, I curled up with Bonk and flipped through the pages of the book Susan had given me on the Mornavail from her bookshop on Albion 5, looking for clues as to who might have A1 blood like I did, and where in the galaxy they might be hiding.

  Just as with the first time I’d read the fairly recent but archaically presented book, I didn’t get much out of it. It could have been myth, history, or just some nutcase’s handwritten ramblings. “They” were in the Fold. “They” were a light in the darkness. “They” were “Incorruptible”—which I now understood wasn’t referring to morals or integrity but rather to the fact that their health couldn’t be corrupted by the usual illnesses that plagued others. All in all, I still had more questions than answers after revisiting the flowery, long-winded text, which unfortunately hadn’t magically become more fun to read since the last time I’d slogged through it.

  Before we’d gone to Korabon, I’d asked Fiona why she thought a large increase in white blood cells would benefit my health rather than causing problems. Any internal imbalance was bad news, as far as I knew, but she’d insisted that I wasn’t out of balance. I was simply built that way from the start.

  “If someone were to experience a sudden increase in abnormal white blood cells,” she’d explained, “that would cause problems. Potentially severe ones, even fatal. Your cells are healthy and normal. There’s no bad crowding out the good. There’s just more good, and it’s always been that way. That’s your internal design. That’s the engine that keeps you running.”

  Whoever the Mornavail were—and I was starting to believe they were really out there—they were like me, with the same slightly different composition from everyone else. But where were they? Not in the Fold. I would know, wouldn’t I?

  My tablet dinged softly. I closed the book and shoved it under my bed, its frustrating obliqueness making me give it a hard push out of sight. I grabbed the tablet and checked my incoming messages, seeing Surral’s name and a Starway 8 address.

  Dearest Tess,

  Mareeka and I are so relieved to hear from you and know that you’re all right. With your recent losses, I know that “all right” isn’t really what you are, but I’m glad to hear that you and your remaining crew are safe. Please know that we took care of Miko for you. She’s a beautiful bright color in the Rafini Nebula now and will always help watch over the children for us.

  Tears burst to my eyes, hot and sudden. My breath shuddered. I sniffed the tears down, blinking rapidly. My grip tightened on the tablet.

  Mareeka needs to deal with some new deliveries, which is why I’m writing you back in her place. I’m finally able to breathe after clearing the last of the children from sick bay only yesterday. We suffered no more losses after you brought us your new cure-all. We’re so grateful. We’re so sorry, though, for what it cost you. I know that Miko and Shiori were your family as much as we are.

  My eyes watered. I sniffed again, the top of my nose burning. Surral was staying vague and discreet in written correspondence, but I’d seen before leaving Starway 8 that she’d figured out that my blood was in those cure-alls. She’d understood that I was somehow connected to the Mornavail, whom she’d heard of but believed were legendary.

  Supplies are coming in with a vengeance now that cargo ships aren’t afraid of the virus anymore. Mareeka is being run off her feet, but the older children are helping out, as they do, and as they should. This leaves the middle children to help more with the little ones, which is always interesting. It keeps them out of the usual trouble they are wont to stumble into, but creates new…shall I say…challenges?

  I smiled through a lingering blur of tears, imagining the fierce bickering, the dressing-up, the games, and the messes that would probably make even my hair curl. Coltin was a middle child. I hoped he was well enough already to be leading pirate raids and inventing magic spells.

  I got a new supply of scrubs in for my nurses.
They’re electric orange and lemon yellow and light up our hallways fabulously. You’d love them.

  My smile widened. Surral and her scrubs. I thought she got them from people she still knew in her native New India Conglomerate, although she’d never told me specifically. Electric orange wouldn’t be my best color, but bright, bold tones went perfectly with Surral’s bronze-hued skin, black hair, and deep-brown eyes. I’d never seen a color that didn’t work on her. Mareeka wasn’t so lucky. With her white-blonde hair, milk-toned complexion, and ice-blue eyes, plain dark clothing looked best on her. The differences between the two women always interested the children. Babies were especially fascinated, their early vision delighting in contrasts.

  Mareeka and Surral had both worn wedding rings for as long as I’d known them, although they’d never technically married. The Overseer had banned gay marriage about thirty years ago, around the time he’d coerced my mother into tying herself to him in exchange for stopping a genocide.

  My face scrunched up, the unholy stench of the Overseer reaching me even here. I continued reading.

  And now for the news you’ve been waiting for. Coltin is fine. He’s been quite heroic, helping out in the infirmary. He recovered much faster than the others, perhaps due to that double dose you gave him. (Yes! I saw that!)

  I bit my lip. Mareeka had insisted we vaccinate ourselves against the highly contagious virus. I hadn’t wanted to waste a shot on myself, so I secretly gave it to Coltin.

  Or not so secretly. Surral had eyes like a hawk, and apparently, I wasn’t that stealthy.

  He was very disappointed that you had to leave so quickly, but I explained a bit about the situation, and he understood your urgency. I told him you specifically said to work on his math, and I must say, he’s been applying himself. But now you’ll have to tell him to work on his writing, because the better his calculations get, the worse his penmanship. I’m starting to wonder if there’s an inverse relationship there that I should begin studying.