Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  * * *

  The closer we got to our destination, the slower time ticked by.

  We had 33 days remaining. I imagined this was how a convict on Ucova felt. Spending each day waiting for the next. Waiting for the punchline—freedom.

  “I think you'll like this lounge,” Noah said as we walked the second deck corridor together. “It's for the ground enforcer units. You'll have a good time with them. It's a shame we don't intermingle more often.”

  When I thought back to everyone I had met on this rig, I realized I had never interacted with any of Endellion's ground enforcers. Even the people who'd grabbed me on Capital Station were Quinn, Noah, Lysander, Yuan, Advik, and Endellion. All members of the starfighter unit or officers. And when I'd accompanied Lysander at the docks, Lee was our only companion. Another starfighter.

  The sounds of training echoed down the corridor. Although Noah wanted to make a turn away from the racket, I headed for it, curious to see the other enforcers. Noah picked up on my deviation and jogged to my side. I stopped once I reached an open door.

  Forty, maybe fifty enforcers in enviro-suits stood in groups opposite each other. They hefted weapons in unison, practicing their formations. The large doors—meant for accommodating cargo—gave me enough room to see everything. Lysander stood at the back, observing everyone and calling out commands.

  “What're we doing?” Noah whispered.

  “There are a lot more ground enforcers than starfighters,” I said.

  “Yeah. That's how it is with most enforcer teams. We need boots on the ground when we take station-security jobs or mining-regulation runs.”

  “Your brother trains them?”

  Noah perked up at the comment. “Of course. He was an officer and instructor in the Federation Navy HSN Corps, Ground Division. He knows what he's doing.”

  “Oh? Why'd he leave?”

  “He was discharged when they found out.”

  Found out? Ah. They hadn't known Lysander was a defect. Although, that was rather unusual. They never overlooked bullshit like that. The HSN Corps—Homo sapiens corps—took only fit human beings and encouraged them to consort with “their own kind” for better breeding. They were some of the most anti-defect people in the whole Vectin Quadrant.

  “Everyone is tested before they're accepted into the Federation's military,” I said. “How did Lysander even get in?”

  “Our father has a few doctor friends. Lysander served for eight years without trouble, but out of nowhere, his secret was leaked to his CO, and he was dishonorably discharged.”

  “Hm.”

  “It's messed-up,” Noah said, his gaze on the floor. “Lysander was one of their best. They said it all the time. And he liked it there. He would have served until he died, if they had let him.”

  Although I said nothing, I agreed with Noah. Lysander seemed like the type to take to that kind of environment. As I watched him, I could see he craved order and discipline. He barked at anyone out of position and shouted about the need to focus. A real hard-ass.

  Endellion's ground forces must have been plotting to kill him. I knew I would have been.

  But his methods seemed to work. The enforcers held their rifles with confidence. They stood in groups, each understanding their role. Some knelt, others stood behind them, and another had a bandoleer of grenades—no doubt the group's heavy-weapons expert. A good little fighting unit. I bet Lysander had taken those kinds of tactics straight from the HSN Corps.

  The knowledge made me pensive.

  Knowing Endellion's long history of manipulating the circumstances to her favor, I wondered why she'd only ever sent less-than-ideal enforcers to deal with me. Or maybe purposefully sent them.

  If I assumed Lysander was exceptional, like Noah had implied, perhaps the ground enforcers would have shot me in the Capital Station lifts without a second's hesitation. Maybe a trained soldier—loyal to Lysander—never would have let me wander off on my own when we'd patrolled Dock Seven.

  But there was no way Endellion thought of circumstances in such detail. No way she'd thought out every little thing to maximize the odds of success. That level of plotting wasn't common fare, and I refused to believe Endellion considered hundreds of hypothetical scenarios.

  Still, Endellion had picked me and Lee to accompany Lysander to search the dock. What a bizarre order, if not for a specific reason.

  Or maybe I was overthinking it, like a drug addict overthinks the shape of his hands.

  “You okay?” Noah asked.

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “I just need to relieve some pent-up frustrations.” That was what was wrong with me. I wouldn't be considering lunacy as an explanation if I'd had someone to unwind with.

  I gave Noah the once-over and exhaled. “What do you do when you're not with me?”

  “I'm in the infirmary,” Noah said, cracking half a smile. “Making sure I'm not going to fall apart anytime soon.”

  Good. He'd made a joke about it. Thank the stars, because I hadn't mentioned anything on the off-chance he would devolve into a weepy mess of existential dread. His levity made the situation less painful.

  “So, you're busy?” I asked, sarcastic.

  “Yeah. ‘Busy’ is one way to put it. I'm heading there right after I introduce you to this lounge.”

  I walked away from the training room and motioned to the hall. “Then lead the way. I need a good distraction.”

  * * *

  “All right, that does it for today,” Quinn said as she stepped out of her pod.

  We were down to the crunch. By my count, we had 18 days left before we reached our destination. That was 18 days until I stepped foot on something that was not Capital Station. A measly 18 days, and I would have explored more of the universe than I ever had in my 25 years of life. It was an odd fact I couldn't get out of my head.

  I exited my training pod and stretched. Exhaustion swept through my veins, and I wasn't used to the feeling. Probably a positive thing—after a good night's rest, I could take on ten Vorgos in a death match and walk away unscathed. Well, I could have done that regardless, but now I felt like I could do it in style. Enforcer fighting techniques and weaponry went a long way.

  Yuan ambled over to me. She had a fit look about her—much like Quinn—but there was a harder edge to her appearance. She had short, black hair and dark eyes, and she walked with a stiff leg, like her knee gave her trouble, but only after a long day of training.

  “The starfighters are faster than the simulation,” she said. “You know that, right?”

  I nodded. “That's what Sawyer said.”

  “You ready for the real deal?”

  “How often do we fight punks in starfighters, anyway?” I wasn't looking forward to the day I had to fly around the void of space, but I wanted to be prepared.

  “Not often, but Endellion's been pushing for it. I think she has some things in mind.”

  “Is that right?”

  Mara leapt from her pod and jogged over. She had a laugh and vivaciousness that couldn't be understated, even as she embraced Yuan for a motionless two seconds. Once she broke away, she took off with a smirk, probably heading to the mess hall for drinks. Everyone met there after training, almost without fail.

  “She's a little cheery to be an enforcer,” I said.

  Yuan's gaze was locked on the door Mara had exited through. “I like her better this way,” she murmured.

  “You mean, she wasn't always a precious little helium molecule?”

  “No. Quite the opposite, actually.”

  The opposite, huh? I couldn't even imagine. She had been hyper and unabashed in all ways since I'd gotten on that rig. Everyone else had a visible toll taken on them from the long ride. Everyone but Mara.

  Yuan never took her gaze off the door. After a silent moment, she said, “I'll see you around.”

  She limped off without a glance back.

  Noah stuck close to me as the others filtered toward the door. He regarded them with nods, and they ack
nowledged him in kind, but I had noticed a shift in their attitude, ever since Lysander had gotten upset. Perhaps they were worried, but they thought it wasn't their place to comment. Or perhaps not. I wasn't sure.

  “Demarco!”

  I turned my attention to the door, tense in every regard. People yelling my name wasn't a good sign.

  “Sawyer wants to see you,” Quinn said. She untangled her many long braids as she approached. I saw why Lee found her so attractive. “Well? Get a move on.”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “On the first deck, with all the other officers.”

  “Sawyer is an officer?”

  Noah chuckled, and I shot him a glare.

  Quinn shook her head. “Sawyer is the Chief Cyber Operations Officer.”

  I hadn't known that. It explained why she was always on the comms. She might have even been listening to our conversation, laughing to herself about my ignorance. But then why hadn't she summoned me herself? She hadn't hesitated to talk to me in the past, and we were surrounded on all sides by cameras, microphones, and speakers. This whole rig was a technological marvel.

  An odd thought struck me. “Why is everyone so casual? No one uses titles. I would've known she was an officer if someone had called her ‘Chief Cyber Operations Officer.’”

  “I use titles,” Noah interjected.

  I gave him yet another glare, and Noah took a step back.

  “It's habit,” Quinn said. “A lot of us started with Endellion right when she broke away from the Black Riser—her last enforcer group. She wasn't a captain, then. She doesn't demand the formality—unless we're in official meetings—so, other officers followed suit.”

  “Seems lackadaisical,” I said. “Most military units always use titles.”

  “We're a lot smaller than most military units. We barely have two hundred people.”

  “Isn't she a commodore?”

  I was surprised she wasn't commanding a vast fleet. A single ship hardly seemed befitting for someone with such a title, but maybe I wasn't as familiar with the chain of command as I thought I was.

  “She's had a meteoric rise through the ranks,” Quinn said with a shrug, almost like she didn't know the answer. “Endellion always says she likes having her mobility and personalized crew. But maybe the people handing out titles and the people handing out ships aren't the same group.”

  “Whatever the reason.” I hit Noah on the shoulder. “I'll see you around.”

  If I were being honest, Sawyer was my second-favorite person on this rig. I was eager to see her, and I walked around Quinn, and then exited the training room into the poorly-lit corridor without wasting any time.

  The Star Marque had become home over the last five months. I could have navigated the place blind. Plus, I didn't get many questioning glances anymore. I felt like a cog in the machine—a working part all the other cogs relied on. It made it easy to find a comfortable rhythm.

  The Star Marque's lift was smaller than anything on Capital Station, but it ran faster. I hit the button, the door closed, and a few seconds later I was at my destination. I stepped off onto Deck One and found the layout similar to the other levels, but the halls deserted.

  The same metallic color palette and cold atmosphere permeated the deck. I walked forward, glancing at each heavy door and reading the plates for directions. Most of the personal rooms were open and empty. I suspected the Star Marque was supposed to have more in terms of an officer crew, but there appeared to be only four—Quinn, Lysander, Endellion, and Sawyer. No engineering officer? No weapons officer? Surprising. Almost all enforcer ships had those positions filled.

  My attention focused on the closed door labeled Officer Lounge. I was certain I would find Lysander within, but I doubted Sawyer would be anywhere near this area. She didn't have a single lazy bone in her body, and socialization had gone the way of her baby teeth.

  I stopped when I read a plate labeled Central Communications and IT Logistics. That was it. Sawyer would be there. I pressed the door controls, waited for it to slide open, and stepped inside.

  I caught my breath as I glanced around, taking in the unusual sight.

  Multiple screens of information lined the back wall. A cluttered counter wrapped around the room, covered in a sloppy assortment of microtools and computer bits, like it was a bloody crime scene of electronics. Old chunks of machinery—person-sized, with the inner workings exposed—filled the rest of the area. Power cables and gas tubes hung from the ceiling and connected to the machines at odd angles. With the only light emanating from the wall of screens, the place had a thriller vibe that got under my skin.

  Sawyer sat on top of a mutilated machine, her eyes glued to the PAD around her left forearm.

  Before I said anything, a fish—a fucking koi fish, of all things—floated through the air in front of me. I jumped back and hit the closed door, seconds away from grabbing the thing and killing it with my bare hands.

  “The fuck is that freak-fish-thing?” I said, word-vomiting as I stared down the demon fish.

  Sawyer chortled. “I'm going to get a lot of good sound bites from you, aren't I?”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  She tapped on her PAD, and the comms replayed me saying, “The fuck is that freak-fish-thing?”

  “Answer the damn question.”

  “The fish is named Blub. He's my only family in the universe.”

  “Blub?”

  The fish swirled around the air, its mouth opening and closing in rhythm, like a heartbeat. The black eyes of the creature matched the black spots of its scales, and both shimmered whenever they caught the light. Its face had a single red splotch that glittered no matter the lighting, creating its own dim bioluminescence.

  Four bloated sacs jiggled on its back.

  “How is it floating?” I asked.

  “Blub produces helium,” Sawyer said. “When the sacs get too full, he releases some of the gas, and then descends.”

  The fish let out a quiet toot, toot, toot and fluttered in the air until it was at head-level with Sawyer. She stroked the animal's head, and it wiggled—was it happy?—and then it circled Sawyer, like a moon in orbit.

  “So, it farts helium,” I said.

  “Yes. He farts helium.”

  “Creepy.”

  “Creepy?” Sawyer looked up from her work and frowned. “Blub is adorable. Everyone loves Blub.”

  “How is Blub even alive? It's a freak. Every educational vid I've ever seen says fish should stay in the water.”

  “If Blub could talk he would tell you he's a genetically-modified fish. And he's a step above regular fish, just like you when compared to normal people. He doesn't need water to maintain his existence.”

  “Is that so?”

  I eyed the creature a second time, suddenly enthralled with its presence. Genetically-modified? It must have been produced by the superhumans. But was it a pet? Did they craft fish to swim through the air, simply for their amusement? I wouldn't have been surprised if the answer was yes.

  A strange thought hit me.

  “Is this the other genetically-modified crewmember?” I asked as I pointed to Blub. “It was all a joke, wasn't it? No one else on this rig is anything like me. The damn fish is the only other thing here with modifications.”

  “You've been looking for others?” Sawyer asked.

  “Yeah. I've never met another like me. And I've been searching this starship for six months. The least anyone could have done was let me in on the punchline. Best enforcer ever—a flying fish.”

  “I guess that explains why you've been poking your head into every corner of the ship.”

  Sawyer jumped off the machine and walked over to the counter. The scattered electronics—though chaotic at first glance—seemed to be laid out in a particular order. Sawyer picked through them at a quick rate, grabbing what she needed without disturbing any of the microtools or spare parts.

  “Why all the machines?” I asked. “I thought
you wrote code.”

  “I also play the part of Head Engineer. I use the machines here as test subjects before giving orders to the low-level engineers.”

  “I see.”

  Sawyer motioned me over.

  When I got near, she took my right arm and turned it over. I gritted my teeth when I spotted the needle implanter used for identification chips. The device had a thick syringe, and the tip opened once inside the body to manhandle the chip located between the radius and ulna.

  That was why she had summoned me. To change out my identification chip.

  “What were you going to do when you found this other genetically-modified person?” Sawyer asked.

  “Proposition them for a good time, of course.”

  “Of course,” Sawyer repeated with unmitigated sarcasm.

  She jabbed the needle into my arm, but it didn't take all the way. She wrestled with it for a bit, and a rivulet of blood poured from the puncture wound. It stung, but I had felt worse. I held back all commentary as the syringe dove past my muscle.

  “What's wrong with my plan?” I asked, attempting to distract myself from the strange, twisting sensations under my skin. “I've got plenty of stamina. I'm good-looking.”

  Sawyer pulled back on the needle and removed my stolen chip. The process of yanking it out hurt more than putting it in, and I had to fight with my own urges to stop myself from grabbing at the injury.

  The chip was nothing more than a fleck of electronics. Sawyer readied a new one, plugged it into the injector, and coated it with a goo-like medicine before lining it up with my arm a second time.

  “You have a one-track mind,” she said.

  “Hey. It's been close to six months. Wanting companionship isn't unusual.” I glanced over at the fish as it circled the room. “I don't think Blub will make for a good time, however.”

  “Blub is great companionship. He never complains. He doesn't take up much space. He's soft.”

  “That's everything I've ever wanted,” I quipped. “A companion whose description could fit a fold-out bed.”

  Sawyer stifled a chuckle. “Fold-out beds are convenient.”

  She shoved the needle back into my arm, and I gritted my teeth, straining my jaw. It burned the second time, no doubt from the chemicals in the goo that helped the chip integrate into the system, so the body wouldn't reject the foreign object.