The terminal buzzed with acceptance, and I exhaled.
“Section Six thanks you for your participation. Join us again next year!”
I bit back a laugh. The generic recording, probably made as simple as possible to accommodate all sorts of “festivities,” sounded rather morbid, since it was essentially asking someone to return next year for another death match.
Without waiting for a formal dismissal, I turned away from the computer terminal and headed straight for the small lift out of Section Six. I pressed the button for the business district, eager to escape the maintenance level as fast as possible. I wasn't going to miss the dim lighting, poor upkeep, occasional gas leaks, or rampant muggings, that was for sure.
I had earned my freedom. I could start a new life away from all this squalor, and finally see places other than Capital Station. I would've given my left testicle to stand planetside and take a breath of fresh air.
I entered the lift, rode up, and exited into the business district a few seconds later with single-minded focus.
I needed to get to the main lift and take it to Section Four—the docks—to secure a ride. Unlike the smaller, elevator-like lifts around each section, the main lift was a massive loading room, meant to carry tons of resources from one section of Capital Station to another—and it was the only way out of each section.
Not twelve meters into my trek, the lift door opened behind me. I glanced back and spotted a group of four off-station enforcers. They had followed me. I knew they would.
I picked up my pace, cursing my limited options. Every level in each section of the space station was essentially one long corridor. Sure, there were doors to shops and restaurants on either side of me, and there was a stream of people flowing like water, but I was a few centimeters taller than the average man and muscular to boot—I would be easy enough to spot.
As my adrenaline waned, my pain intensified. I gritted my teeth and slowed halfway through the district. Passersby knocked my injured shoulder, but I soldiered through, unwilling to get caught by wannabe cops. I glanced back every few meters, losing sight of the enforcers in the waves of people rushing to buy the latest shipment of MF Grain products.
The moment I arrived at the main lift, I slid my right arm over the scanner, smiling once the light flashed green.
This was it. I was going to make it.
The main lift was a warehouse. Empty, two-ton, steel cargo crates sat stacked against the walls, ready to be filled with merchandise. I could hide out until the warehouse elevator shifted over to the docks.
Before I did anything, however, I forced my left arm back into the socket. It wasn't as painful as everyone assumed, but a dull ache remained. The collar bone bothered me more, and it would prevent me from using my entire shoulder. Nothing I couldn't handle. I had gone through far worse.
“There ya are, Clevon,” a man drawled.
I turned my attention to a handful of men leaning against two of the crates. They carried plasma rifles and wore white enviro-suits. The suits could sustain a man in space, but the cheap white ones weren't as armored as the enforcer suits. Their helmets hung like hoods between their shoulder blades, flimsy until secured over the head, where they snapped into a hardened shell, becoming legitimate protection.
“I told you I was done, Reggie,” I said, counting five men in total. Two atop crates, three in front of me. They had cut a few zigzags into the shoulders of their suits, but I knew them even without the gang markings. My old “friends.”
“You don't look happy to see us,” Reggie said, stroking his oily chin. The man had all the charm of a used wares dealer.
“I paid my debts,” I said. “Our agreement was that you wouldn't come after me.”
“You didn't say nothin' about takin' credits with you.”
“How'd you think I was going to leave Section Six? It's either this or prostitution, and I'd make a terrible prostitute.”
Reggie scowled. “I never found you funny, Clevon.”
“That's why I'm leaving,” I quipped.
He hefted his plasma rifle and rested it on his shoulder, enough for me to get a good look at it. It was one of the better rifles on the market, not one of the low-power, homebrew laser guns I saw kids packing on the station.
“It's our chip,” Reggie said. “Therefore, our credits. You ain't goin' nowhere.”
“Your chip?” Damn. “You took the credits out of the account already, didn't you?”
“What didja expect? Did ya honestly think it would end well for you?”
“You should've asked yourself the same damn question while you were sitting here, waiting for me.”
“You might be good, but I saw your fight over the telecast. That was a nasty spill you had. Besides, boss doesn't want ya trying anything stupid. You're a loose end. Come back and meet him or else things are gonna get worse for ya.”
“I feel sorry for you, Reggie,” I said, tensing my sore body for a second run, “which is why I'm going to give you a chance to return my credits.”
“We ain't gonna do that.” Reggie stepped away from the crate and motioned to the others. “We're gonna—”
I lunged forward, pulled my knife, and stabbed it straight into one of Reggie's bloodshot eyes. Bastard should've kept his helmet up.
The world slowed as I took in every bit of information—I lived each quarter of a second as though in full. I dropped my knife, ripped Reggie's rifle from his dead hands, and cursed my useless arm, all before those thugs could even comprehend what was going on.
I shot twice, hitting both men next to me, the plasma bolts leaving seared holes through their faces. The remaining two men snapped their helmets into place and opened fire. I rolled to the side and took cover behind a crate, cursing the pain that flared from my cracked collarbone.
The rapid-fire exchange triggered the automatic alarms. Red lights flooded the area, and sirens screeched in short bursts. Much to my displeasure, the lift doors opened within seconds to reveal my stalkers.
Four off-station enforcers took defensive positions on the other side of the warehouse door. I scooted around the side of the crate, keeping an object between myself and everyone else.
“You have violated Capital Station's plasma rifle protocol,” an enforcer called out, her voice feminine even through the speaker of her enviro-suit. “Stand down or we'll be forced to return fire!”
Those thugs wouldn't know a good decision from a piece of toast. They fired on the enforcers, missing their targets like only shaken men could.
I slid out of cover and shot at the distracted gunrunners. I struck one in the gut, blowing a hole in his suit and stomach. He fell off his crate and hit the floor, writhing.
Served him right. If they wanted to send me to hell, they would have to drag me there.
I ducked behind the crate as the enforcers blanketed the area with a series of organized shots. Thankfully they weren't using plasma bolts, but I recognized the crackle of high-powered shock rounds. One hit could stun a small whale.
One enforcer tossed out a paralysis grenade, and I knew things wouldn't end well for my old associates. Raw, electrical energy burst from the grenade, incapacitating the last goon and killing the guy I'd shot in the stomach, but the burst didn't reach me.
With bated breath, I listened.
The enforcers hustled into the warehouse.
“Lysander, report.”
“One active, four dead, one neutralized,” a man, Lysander, replied.
“Scour the area. Incapacitate, if possible.”
Fuck.
I exhaled and stared at the duralumin wall in front of me. With off-station enforcers involved, I was sure to land myself a life sentence, or worse. And in my condition, it wasn't like I could kill them all.
Dread creeped into my thoughts.
A small part of me wanted to surrender, but I couldn't stomach the idea. I would get off Capital Station or I would die trying.
I slung Reggie's rifle over my shoulder and stood
.
The enforcers moved around the room with purpose—well, all of them but one. I could distinguish the soft and hesitant steps of an enforcer trailing behind. They walked along the wall, pausing at odd moments.
Piecing a plan together as I went, I crouched and ran behind the crates, keeping the positions of the other enforcers clear in my mind, thanks to their heavy footfalls. The moment I heard the cautious footsteps of someone on the other side of a crate, I rushed out of cover. The others enforcers had their rifles up and ready, and one speedy bastard managed to fire a single shock round before I reached my target.
I evaded the shot and tackled the hesitant enforcer to the ground, careful to use my good shoulder.
“He's fast!” an enforcer yelled. “Watch yourself!”
With superior agility and strength, I forced the barrel of the enforcer's rifle up under his chin and fired. The black enviro-suit—worn properly with the helmet up—absorbed most of the discharged electricity, but the shock and awe of the attack left the enforcer shaken. He was small, and I assumed young, and new to combat. He froze up the moment I grabbed his arm and torqued it to the side.
I jumped to my feet, hauling the kid with me.
Maybe I could escape to the slums with this newbie as my hostage. Maybe I could still make this work.
Twisting the enforcer's arm behind his back, I positioned him as a meat shield, always keeping him between myself and the others who rushed toward us. They shot several shock rounds, but each hit the kid, discharging with little harm off the side of his suit.
“There's no escape!” the female enforcer shouted. “Surrender now!”
Even with an aching shoulder—and the kid wearing an expensive enviro-suit—I effortlessly overpowered him and kept him in front of me. As they approached, the other three enforcers hesitated more than professionals should.
I shuffled closer to the door. “I'll let him live, but first, you let me go.”
“This isn't a negotiation. You will release the enforcer and stand down!”
To my surprise, the door opened. I stepped away, dragging the enforcer with me, and cursed under my breath when I spotted a squad of ten black-suited enforcers stepping into the warehouse.
The first three enforcers parted and surrendered authority to the one decorated commander who walked forward. She was taller than most, and wore her star insignia on the shoulder of her enviro-suit.
“Endellion,” Lysander said, saluting the commander. “The situation, it's—”
“Stand down,” she replied. “I will handle it from here.”
“But—he's the one from the death game! He's the superhuman!”
“Is he?” The commander turned towards me, but I couldn't see her face beneath the tinted mesh glass of her enviro-suit helmet. “Just the one I've been looking for.”
With speed on par with my own, the commander pulled her sidearm—a four-round plasma pistol—and fired. Her aim was so precise, it missed my meat shield by millimeters and clipped my shin, burning a straight line through my pants and searing a chunk of flesh from my calf.
I twisted in pain and stumbled to the side, catching myself on the young enforcer and nearly toppling over, but I corrected my footing and stayed standing.
During the two seconds I spent staggering, the commander closed the distance between us. Fifteen meters. She sprinted fifteen goddamn meters. And then she brought a shock gun to bear directly on my body.
I had lost.
In the fraction of a second it took the gun to fire the cartridge, I glimpsed through the tint of the visor and met the commander's gaze straight on.
Her eyes…
Within them teemed passion and ambition, the likes of which I had never known.
But then the cartridge left the barrel of the gun, pumping my already-injured body with 50,000 volts of electricity, and a single tranquilizer.
CHAPTER TWO
THE STAR MARQUE
I awoke submerged in liquid.
It took me a panicked moment to realize I wasn't drowning. I was immersed in the fluid of a healing vat—a thick, jelly-like substance composed of DNA-linked “mother cells,” cells with the potential to become any type of cell within the body. The vat identified problem areas, and the mother cells filled in the wounds while speeding up metabolism to ensure a quick recovery.
A single air tube ran from the top of the vat down through my mouth and lungs. Then I realized I had nothing.
No clothes.
No weapons.
Tiny LED lights barely illuminated the inside of the vat. I looked around. The fluid, contaminated with my dead skin cells and bubbles of blood, sat stagnant. Healing vats only did that when they were close to finished, or so the educational videos said. How long had I been in the damn thing?
The vat itself had steel alloy sides and a sealed top, preventing any sort of escape and blocking my view of the outside world. I didn't have much of a choice at that point. I could wait for the vat to open or I could remove the air tube and breathe deep. Otherwise, I was stuck.
And where the fuck was I, exactly?
Not Section Six. The doctors there were butchers in disguise, and if they could withhold lifesaving procedures until they were paid more than twice the worth, they would. It would take a miracle to walk away from the infirmary without deep scars and shoddy cybernetics. A healing vat would reduce the clientele, so none had been installed.
Stuck in the gel, my mind wandered.
If I wasn't on Capital Station, where else could I be?
I supposed, on the opposite end of the spectrum, far from Capital Station, there were planetside hospitals with superhuman doctors and pharmacists. I had seen them on the news, and everyone was aware of their miraculous new procedures and medications.
Was I planetside? Or was I dreaming? I supposed the latter was more likely.
A loud clink heralded the draining of the mother-cell fluid. A small hole at the bottom of the vat opened, and everything spun down the drain. I braced myself as one side of the vat slid down, creating an opening.
I unceremoniously pulled the air tube from my trachea and coughed.
“Rejuvenation complete,” a machine-like voice said, chipper and feminine in tone, but artificial. “Fractures in the left clavicle and humerus have been mended. The anterior and posterior tibial muscles have been reconstructed. Please, speak to a physician if any pain persists.”
I wheezed and hacked as I stepped out of the vat. The slimy fluid filled my nose and ears, and it took me a moment to snort them clear.
The bright lighting of the room hurt my eyes, but I adjusted in a matter of moments. I got a quick look around and froze up.
Everything was so well ventilated and clean…
I wasn't in Section Six.
It was a medium-sized room with a single metal door. My healing vat sat in the back corner, extending from the floor to the ceiling. There was a computer terminal and two large, steel crates with the words Medical Supplies stamped across the side. But those things paled in comparison to the viewing window on the far wall.
I walked over, eyes wide, and stared out into the depths of space.
Capital Station hung in orbit around Galvis-4, a brown-and-turquoise planet that acted as the station's anchor. The space station—white and pristine from the outside—didn't look half bad from a distance. It was a hexagonal torus, forever spinning to maintain gravity, powering itself from the rays of the system's star. From the outside, one would never know of the filth that dwelled inside. From space, it was impossible to see the overcrowding and meaningless death that had made the station so infamous.
We had left the dock, but the starship I was on hadn't left for its destination. Why? My thoughts didn't linger on it for long.
Man, my new skin felt great.
I rubbed my arms and shins, impressed by how supple everything had become. I wiped away as much excess mother-cell fluid as possible, but the stuff was everywhere. Just… everywhere.
The doo
r to the room slid open. I tensed and whirled around on my heel.
A short girl walked in, her attention fixed to the Personal Assistant Device on her arm—or PAD, as the rich pricks called it—a paper-thin device that wrapped around the user's forearm and maintained power through their body heat. The girl poked at the touchscreen, scrolling through text.
I rushed over, grabbed her by the jumpsuit collar, and slammed her against the wall. The girl, lithe and slender, raised her hands and stared at me in wide-eyed shock.
“Whoa, whoa,” she said. “W-Wait a minute! I'm not—”
“Where am I?” I growled, gripping her collar with ever-increasing intensity.
“The Star Marque. An enforcer starship.”
I hesitated for a moment, but kept the girl pinned to the wall. It wasn't hard. She didn't look like she had any cyborg implants, and her physique screamed “computer worker with a bird's appetite.” Her olive-green jumpsuit was typical for engineers. How old was she? I didn't know—I would guess in her early twenties.
“Where're we headed?” I asked.
“We're about to set course for Ucova.”
Ucova. The only place worse than Capital Station.
It was a prison that orbited a frozen desert planet—the perfect place to have inmates mine themselves to death. I'd heard the intense gravity caused most to die from heart failure within five years.
I could put one and two together. That was where they intended to take me. I supposed I would at least get to set foot on one planet before I died, if I didn't manage to find a way off this rig before then.
“You forgot to sedate me, didn't you?” I asked.
“No,” the girl said. “I never forget such details.”
“Then this was part of your plan?”
I lifted the girl a few millimeters off the floor and gave her the once-over. She had to be 30 centimeters shorter than I was, and a third of my weight. Her dark-red hair fell midway down her neck and angled forward rather messily. The hue contrasted nicely with her freckled skin.
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