Dominion Rising: 23 Brand New Science Fiction and Fantasy Novels

by White, Gwynn

  And that’s how all meals start on the Pícara.

  3

  I’m going to get me one of those robotic dogs,” Daisy announces around her mouthful of food. Today, it’s some kind of colorless mush. Venice Moon is a good cook, but we don’t give him much to work with in terms of ingredients. Usually, he’s working off MREs and recycled food.

  “A dog?” Oliver Twist asks, his eyes big and round. The boy is only around nine years old with copper skin and huge, expressive eyes. He’s the only member of the crew with his body intact. I’ll do everything I can to keep it that way. I know Daisy will too. She’s grown close to him since Louis took him in a year ago after finding him in a dumpster on a space port.

  Daisy gives him a good-natured nod. It’s strange seeing the big, scowly woman so tender with the little boy. That maternal instinct is present, even in her. Oliver’s innocence has really smoothed out her rough patches.

  “After this run, I have enough saved up,” she says to him with a wink. “Maybe one of those big brown models. Or a wee little barky one. What do you think?”

  Oliver gives an excited yip, covering up his mouth with his hands.

  “I won’t have a little shit running around the ship barking at us and marking his territory with oil,” Captain Louis mutters as he spoons out another helping of mashed something. He sprinkles some salt over it. Salt’s really hard to come by, and we only use it in extreme situations. I can tell from Venice’s frown that the gesture doesn’t escape him.

  So I keep the conversation going before the cook threatens to quit again. “If Oliver keeps an eye on the dog and trains him,” I say, grabbing a forkful of my own meal, “then that shouldn’t be a problem. Will it, buddy?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll look after him. Please?”

  I see Louis’s resolve waver and hide my grin by shoveling the fork into my mouth. Oh, that is foul. My eyes water as I remind myself that over half of my body isn’t being poisoned by this meal.

  “Fine,” Louis mutters before he adds pepper to his meal. I’m thinking about doing the same. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

  Taka eats his meal without any fuss or making a face. I think he’s probably trying to solve some sort of mathematical problem in his head. He does that when he’s quiet.

  To my right, PC eats in silence but only because he’s looking at the news on his mini-tab, a companion device that can be used to access the Net or play different forms of media. He always likes to catch up on the events that are happening in the wider galaxy.

  I try to avoid it as much as possible. Keep everything as close as possible to Clementine Jones’s world, and I’ll be happy.

  Across from me, I see Orion watching us with a curious expression on his face. As an android, he doesn’t have to eat like the rest of us, which, for once, I’m jealous that he doesn’t require mush to sustain his life. He sits bolt upright and only speaks when spoken to. I bet he wants to go back to the bridge and listen to some more Vivaldi.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask him, point-blank.

  He blinks at me. “Thinking?”

  “Yeah,” I say, twirling my fork to indicate the whole table. “It’s when your processor runs through a few different functions and computations to mull over some problems. Or it could be that you’re running through the probabilities of what you’ll be doing later. Or contemplating the bigger things in the universe. Thinking.”

  Orion’s mouth curves up slightly. “Not much,” he says cryptically.

  Of course. I nearly growl into my bowl of food. It’s been a shitty day.

  “Holy space balls!” PC shouts as he scrolls to another article on his mini-tab.

  “Language,” Louis mutters, even though he has the worst mouth out of us all. He’s been trying to teach Oliver some manners, but that’s been a challenge for him because of his foul vocabulary.

  PC doesn’t seem to hear him, though, as he scrolls through the news article. “It’s gone!”

  I frown, leaning over the mini-tab to see what the hell he’s talking about. “What’s gone?”

  “Syn-Tech Port Delta,” he says. He taps on the screen, and the mini-tab opens up a hologram in the middle of the table, illuminating all our faces and the shadows of the mess hall. In front of us is a three-dimensional map of a space station in the 4th Galactic Quadrant in the Milky Way. A few pieces of information pop up, that the space port is home to over half a million people, that they manufacture pharmaceuticals, and that over 95% of the population are Lifers—people born under the Syn-Tech umbrella.

  Then the headline flashes over the whole diagram: VIRUS KILLS ENTIRE SPACE STATION. NO SURVIVORS.

  I narrow my eyes. “What?” Daisy curses under her breath, and Taka just blinks at it curiously. Orion’s eyes are narrowed as well, and I can see that he’s saving the data in his memory banks based on the movement of his mechanical eyes.

  Space is a dangerous place. Every new territory that humankind discovers is another chance for us to encounter something deadly, whether it’s asteroids, alien-life, warped time scales due to gravity, and more. Many, many people die every day from something like this. Except usually in a space port as big as Delta, there are measures in place to protect the populace.

  It’s rare that something this big ever happens.

  PC is still scrolling through his mini-tab as he continues to read through the article. “Says that some freighters brought it with them, and it wiped out the whole space station in a matter of days.”

  “Do they know what virus?” Taka asks dazedly.

  After a moment, PC shakes his head. “No.”

  Louis sits forward with his hands clasped. “Is it quarantined, then?”

  “Says so right here.” PC looks at the diagram again. “The Feds are planning on nuking the whole place and have eliminated any escapees who could possibly carry the virus away from the port.”

  A feeling of dread settles in at that last revelation. The Feds are a cross-organizational group created for the sole purpose of law enforcement. The different corporations combined to come up with something akin to a police force to cover vast swaths of space, and they’re decent fellows for the most part. They’re already bribe-able, though, and they acquiesce to the requests of whatever corporation’s territory they’re in.

  A nuclear blast and killing any survivors is a last resort to keep the infection from spreading. No doubt there’d be space pirates like us heading there right now to strip the place clean of all information, a dangerous gamble even we wouldn’t take.

  “So they’re really frightened then,” I murmur, feeling my stomach drop at the words.

  “Any idea what the virus was?” Taka asks. “Or how it killed them?”

  Oliver makes a frightened little noise, and Daisy wraps a beefy arm around his shoulders. I wonder if there is a better place to talk about this, not around the mess table. I hate to give the poor kid nightmares. Stars know we all have our nighttime terrors.

  PC shakes his head, oblivious to the kid’s distress. “Nothing about that.”

  “Well,” Louis says, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “so long as that space port is at least a quadrant away from us, then there’s no need for us to worry about it. We’ll be fine. I think I’m done with dinner,” he says, getting to his feet. Venice’s face falls that the captain cut short his dinner, but he hopefully realizes that we’ve all lost our appetites and not just because of the food. “Daisy, Oliver,” he says softly, before turning away, “you can get your dog. But the second I find an oil slick…”

  The little boy shrieks excitedly and gives Louis a hug around the knees. “Thank you, sir! I promise, he won’t do anything. Daisy!” he exclaims, looking back at the woman. Daisy only grins and nods.

  “I think it’s time for you to get to bed,” Louis says, picking up the boy with a sigh. The boy hugs himself to the captain as he’s carried out, completely content with his life.

  At least Oliver’s attention is diverted f
rom the tragedy at hand. Still, though, I can’t get the thought out of my head. Half a million people, killed in just a few days. How does that even happen? I thought that we were more resilient than that, that there were more measures put in place to keep an apocalyptic virus like that from wiping out people.

  I shiver, even though the mess hall is hotter than a furnace. Venice likes the heat of the oven.

  I look over and see Orion watching me curiously. I meet his gaze straight on, trying to read his expression, if there is anything to his gaze. Do androids think like we do? Do they worry about their own kind of mortality like we do?

  Underneath the table, both my hands make fists, and I concentrate on how different they are. Would I be as frightened as I am right now if I were more robot?

  “I think I’m done, too,” I say softly, pushing away from the table. “PC, if you want, we can pull out some cards and play poker. I need to do some winning. I have a new leg to buy.” And I need to take my mind off Delta going silent.

  PC grins up at me. “Sure. See you in thirty?”

  I nod. “Anyone else?”

  “I’ll join,” Daisy murmurs.

  Taka nods. He’s a damn good poker player, mainly because he has a great poker face. At least, when he’s mentally present during the game. Sometimes he’s off in la-la land with his own thoughts.

  “Why the hell not?” Venice mutters. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with that instead of my cooking.”

  If I were a better person, I’d tell him that his food wasn’t that bad. But I’m not, and that food was terrible, so I just give him a thin-lipped smile, and he raises an eyebrow at my expression.

  “I’m in, too,” Orion adds suddenly. Everyone else around the table groans. The android looks at them in surprise. “What?”

  “You count cards, even when you’re not trying,” PC says, tapping his temple. “You’re even worse than Taka is. None of us are going to win.”

  Orion manages to look offended, and I chuckle mirthlessly. “I’ll leave you to it,” I say, standing. “For now, I need to get the taste of data out of my mouth.”

  I have to hobble out of the mess hall because my right leg is only working at 63.6% efficiency. I really do need to get a new leg as soon as possible. I can patch it up a little bit more, but there’s going to be a point where it falls apart around me. And I won’t be able to go on downlooting runs with everyone if I’m missing a leg. And I’m the one who downloads the information to her memory banks. We all may be cyborgs to some extent here, but I’m the only one with the tech and measures in place to keep classified information safe.

  It’s my job to board other ships and steal the information.

  I sigh as I near my quarters.

  As first mate, my quarters are near Captain Louis’s and they’re the second largest on the whole ship. Which isn’t saying much, I realize, as my door irises open. I’ve tried sprucing up my room over the years: a few succulents are underneath UV lights in the corner, my lone bunk hugs one wall, and I have a small desk and chair. A small window overlooks the vastness of space beyond. When I was younger, space used to terrify me, with all of its unexplored corners and mysteries. One could travel the entire galaxy their entire lives and still only see .00001% of all there is in the Milky Way. When you add in other galaxies…

  I shudder as I strip out of my work suit and head to my en suite. It’s a wet toilet, meaning that the showerhead is over the toilet and I have to straddle the basin in order to wash my hair. With water rations on board, the shower only goes for about three minutes before it’s shut off.

  What I would give to relax in a bath, like I’ve seen some Lifers do planetside. I try to imagine what life would be like if I didn’t have to worry about water or shitty food or my mechanical body falling apart around me.

  It’s hard, as this is the only life I’ve known.

  Naked, I stand in front of the mirror, giving myself a once-over before I turn on the shower. I’m twenty-four years old, with long mousy brown hair that I usually wear in a ponytail. Most of my face is human—many people, when meeting me, don’t even know that I’m really a cyborg until they shake my right hand. My right eye is green while my left eye is mechanical, and I have a few pieces of my brain that are hardwired. Then my torso becomes a mess of both flesh and metal. My left arm and leg are still biological, but the rest…

  Well, that’s why I’m 52.8% cyborg. Parts of me are falling apart, and I’ll need to replace them if I’m going to be useful to anyone. I set my teeth and comb my metal hand through my hair.

  “Clementine Jones,” I murmur to myself in the mirror, “you are a piece of work.” I rub at my head, where a knot is forming where I knocked it on the ship. Hopefully that won’t have to turn into a metal plate any time soon.

  I hit the button for the shower, and a blast of icy cold water hits me, and I shriek a long string of curses together. “Dammit, Pícara!” I yell at the ship. “I had it set to hot water! Hot water!”

  The temperature increases but only a little bit. I scowl around me.

  Captain Louis may not think his ship is alive. But I know it is.

  And I think she hates me.

  4

  Read ‘em and weep.”

  PC sets down his cards. A full house, which far outdoes my three-of-a-kind. Everyone around the mess hall table groans as they all fold. I give him a pointed glare as I throw my cards down. He cackles dramatically as he pulls the holographic chips his way. They aren’t really there, only as illusions, but the money he just won is real.

  Dammit, that’ll set my new leg back by another run or two.

  Daisy, Venice, PC, Orion, and I are the only ones playing poker. Captain Louis never joins in our games, and Taka said that he had something in his head that he had to get out. I suspect that, in the morning, there will be marker all over his quarters as he tried to work out some sort of problem. Poor Oliver will have to clean that.

  “You cheated,” Venice mutters, combing a hand through his bad combover. “You cheated, you bastard.”

  “Did not!” PC glances at Orion, who has been sitting out of every poker hand. By popular vote, the android is not allowed to play tonight, so he’s just been watching our hands as we exchange money, poker chips, and barbs. “Did you see me do any nefarious shit?”

  Orion’s handsome face pinches, and then his eyes flick to me, as if he senses my eyes on him. A smug smile plays about his lips as he answers. “No, there was no cheating from PC. But Daisy did.”

  “Lot of good it did me,” she mutters, puffing on her vape. Tobacco has been extinct for decades now, so electronic cigarettes are the only things around. Captain Louis hates it, and she never smokes around him, but when it’s just the five of us, she has no problem blowing smoke up our asses.

  “Aw, poor, beautiful Daisy,” PC croons. “You know that cheating never pays off.”

  Daisy rolls her eyes, muttering a stream of curses under her breath.

  I look down at the digital counter for my holographic poker chips. I’m down. By a lot. Maybe I should call it a night. Not that it’s never not night when you’re in space. But the ship’s lights flux with artificial light to simulate daylight hours. We may have been born and bred in space, but we’re still stuck with the circadian rhythm of old Earth.

  I take a swig of Venice’s homebrewed moonshine and grimace with a cough. The old man watches me amusedly. “Don’t like the grog, Clem?”

  “It’s pretty foul,” I admit through tears in my eyes. “I think it fried some of my circuits.” My still-human stomach roils as the liquid sloshes around. A warning sensor pops up on my retina, telling me that my blood alcohol content is .007%. That’s what happens when you have less than 50% of a body for blood to flow around in.

  “I think I’m going to head to bed,” I say, clicking off my poker chips. With that, I know that the money PC won from me is deposited from my bank account directly into his, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.

  I give a small
wave of defeat and hobble towards the door. “Night, you assholes.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay, Clem?” PC asks tauntingly.

  “Fuck you, too.”

  He only laughs as I step through the door, and it closes behind me. I finally let out a sigh, the tightness in my chest loosening. It was stupid to play for as long as I did. It’s just that, once I got down by a few chips, I thought I could win it back. After all, Orion wasn’t playing tonight, and I thought that maybe…

  The door irises open next to me, and Orion ducks through the doorway. I feel my pulse quicken at his stealthy, beautiful frame. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.

  I shrug. “You want to hang out with a sore loser?”

  “Defeat is such an interesting concept,” he muses, sticking his hands in his uniform pockets as we start walking.

  “What, they didn’t program you to feel shame and guilt?”

  “They did not program me to lose.”

  I laugh softly. “At least they got you a sense of humor. Venice could use some of that.”

  He quirks an eyebrow, and if I went just off his face, I can almost believe that he’s fully human. “So much of Venice’s personality is his angry disposition.”

  I have to give him that. Trying to imagine Venice Moon with a smile is like trying to imagine a corporation with a soul. It just doesn’t happen.

  I lick my lips as I look down at my feet. I’m wearing slippers, although the slipper on my right foot is too big. I haven’t upgraded my mechanical foot since I was fifteen, so there is a two-size difference between my feet. Most of my parts are hand-me-down or secondhand or cobbled-together by Taka to work somehow.

  I’m like a mismatch of different parts and pieces. And do I make up a unified whole?

  That remains to be seen.

  “You know,” I murmur softly, “I thought I had a chance to make up some ground tonight.”

  “How do you mean?” Orion sounds genuinely curious.

  I pat my right leg, which is working, but I still have that noticeable limp. “I thought I could win enough of the other’s wages so that I could get a new leg. You weren’t playing tonight, so I thought...”