by J. N. Chaney
“Wait,” I said to Oragga, grabbing his wrist. “These people, whoever’s behind all this—they’ve killed before for whatever it is that’s inside your vault? Was inside your vault?”
Oragga nodded solemnly.
“And they’re going to kill again because there are more of whatever it is you have out there?”
Again, Oragga nodded.
“Then deal me in,” I said. “I just have two small requests.”
If Oragga was surprised, he didn’t show it. His face remained as even as I imagined it might during a high-end business deal. “Name them,” he replied. “And they will be done.”
31
It took three more weeks before I felt fully recovered from the injuries I sustained during the bomb blast. But I could hardly complain. I had unlimited access to Oragga’s skyscraper home, including his pools, spa, game center, and all the food I could eat. Literally, no one knew I was there. For the first time in my life, I truly had no obligations to anyone. Save, of course, to Mr. Oragga, who was counting on me to fly off into the stars and kick some serious ass. And I was cool with that.
The weirdest thing about my recovery in his home was watching the live broadcast of my own damn funeral. I almost cried. Almost. Heather’s eulogy was extremely touching. And, judging by the looks of the guy sitting on the front row next to her empty seat, she’d already moved on. That was fast.
I was also touched by the words shared by the city’s new chief of police, one Gerald Isaacson. “Thanks for that,” I whispered to the mayor through the holo-feed. Then to Lessard, wherever he was, I said, “Now it’s over.”
For some reason or another, I’d forgotten that I’d become a minor celebrity since the takeover at the complex. This meant that the news of my death came as a shock to the entire planet. But not just the planet: apparently, Mr. Oragga had arranged for my funeral to be broadcast over the entire Gal-net too. He admitted it was, perhaps, a bit overkill, but doing so, he insisted, ensured that anyone looking for me would be thrown off the scent. Permanently.
The best part of the three-week recovery, and the most unexpected part, was spending time with one Rachel Fontaine. Since our injuries had been almost identical in scope, we underwent similar operations and physical therapy together. It also meant that we had plenty of down time. Which was good, because I needed to get to know the first member of my new crew, since we were going to be spending a lot of time together from now on.
“You’re what?” she asked, sipping a smoothie poolside.
“I asked Min for a few favors,” I said. “And having you on my crew was one of them.”
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“After all we’ve been through, you think I’d joke about this?”
She smirked. “No, but… you hardly know me.”
“That’s true. And given how good of an actress you are, I probably should be more suspicious of you.”
“As I recall, my acting saved your life twice back there.”
“Saved my life? I had everything under complete control,” I protested, taking a long sip on my smoothie while I floated on an inflatable pool toy. “Damn!”
“What?”
“Brain freeze,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Rachel laughed at me.
“The way I see it,” I said, “I had those situations a hundred percent under control.”
“A hundred?” Rachel’s level of surprise was meant to mock me, I knew it. Still, I liked this game. “Try fifty.”
“No way, lady. I did all the hard work and you swooped in to finish off Travis and Oubrick.” I took another sip. “Okay—” I swallowed— “because I’m feeling generous, I’ll say ninety percent.”
“Forty.”
“Forty? That’s not how this works.”
“How does it work, then?”
“Once we’ve set our opening bids, we go back and forth until…” I paused. Her fist was on her hip and she looked like she was ready to leap into the pool and tackle me. While the prospect was beyond exhilarating, I doubted my body was still in any shape to handle all that was Rachel Fontaine.
“The numbers are just semantics,” I said. “The bottom line is that I figure anyone willing to save my life and still stick around afterward is someone I can probably trust.”
“Probably?”
“Well, Min says I can trust you, but he didn’t say much else. Maybe something about you being a vital asset given your level of experience, blah blah, blah.”
“Blah, blah, blah? No, go back. Tell me about what he thought of me.”
“Plus,” I continued, ignoring her request, “wasn’t it you who insisted I needed a partner?”
“Yeah, but that was before—”
“Before I got assigned a permanent place in Oragga’s off-the-books spy team?”
“It’s not really a spy team, you know.”
“Sure it is,” I said, taking another sip of my smoothie. “And you’re my trusty sidekick.”
“Sidekick?”
“Sure, what else would you be?”
“Uh, how about the boss?”
“The boss?” I asked, sliding my sunglasses down my nose with a finger. “I thought you were a partner just a few seconds ago?”
“No, I was a partner back when I wasn’t sure if you’d landed the job. Now, since you’ve gotten a starship, I need a promotion.”
“A promotion? To boss?”
“Absolutely.”
I took my hand and splashed water her way. “Get lost, lady.”
She screamed and splashed me back.
I liked Rachel. Probably more than I cared to admit. I liked her poolside in her bikini too, but that was beside the point. For now, all I needed to know was that she had my back and would be an asset to the team. Oragga said she’d do fine, even though he refused to fill me in on her background. I hated that he knew who she was, or at least who she worked for—maybe?—but at the same time, it made me appreciate his value for discretion even more. He was fast proving himself as a man I could trust.
Likewise, Oragga held true to his word on the starship, and I could hardly believe my good fortune. Within another week, I stood on the bridge of a brand new starship dubbed the Distant Horizon. And when I said brand new, I didn’t mean brand new to me: she was literally fresh off the assembly line from the Paladin shipyards. She even smelled new.
The leather captain’s chair squeaked as I slid further into it. Gods, so this was the high life, I thought. A guy could get used to this.
And the Distant Horizon wasn’t just any starship. It was a Union Light Corvette, capable of carrying up to twenty-five personnel—though that would be tight. Not that I had any intention of keeping that many crew. It was the engines and armaments that I was most interested in. Somehow or another, Oragga had used his fortune to secure the vessel from the Union and then make modifications to the Distant Horizon and assign her hull designation as a private transport.
Given Oragga’s prestige as a private prodium producer, however, as well as one of the wealthiest men in the quadrant, such an acquisition shouldn’t have surprised me. But still, a civilian having access to a military vessel? I’d never heard of such a thing. But then again, I’d never met anyone quite like Oragga either.
The bridge doors slid open behind me, and I spun around to see Rachel walk onto the bridge with Oragga trailing behind. Tiny stood up from his place by the captain’s chair and ran over to Rachel. She patted his head, and then said, “Hello, Captain.”
“Hello, Number One,” I replied.
“That certainly has a nice ring to it,” she added.
“It does, yes,” Oragga said as he moved across the floor to shake my hand. “Congratulations, Captain.”
“All thanks to you, Min.”
“Some credit, perhaps. But you’re the one who earned his place at this command.”
“Thank you for the opportunity, though I can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed at the prospect of piloti
ng a starship. Pardon me for asking, Min, but I thought you said you were providing a pilot until I got up to speed?”
“I have,” he replied without even hesitating.
I looked around the bridge. Tiny tilted his head at me. Then, pointing to Rachel, I said, “Her?”
Rachel’s eyebrows raised and she put her hands on her chest. “No way!” she exclaimed. “I’m no pilot. I mean, shuttles, maybe, but if I tried to move this thing out of port, I’d probably knock a building over.”
“Then who?” I asked.
“It concerns your second request of me,” Oragga said. “The one about an AI.”
“You came through?”
“Of course, Flint. I always come through.”
“I don’t understand,” Rachel said, looking at me. “You asked for an AI?”
“Sure,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I? After working with Lars—the AI, not the butler—I realized an AI just made life easier. So I figured having a new one onboard our starship would go a long way in helping us with the finer points of handling something this important.”
“Which includes piloting,” Oragga added. “The AI I’ve installed for you is quite robust, capable of advanced flight maneuvers, slip space navigation, and weapons and defense systems operations. When integrated with the rest of the ship’s systems, there’s not much he won’t be able to handle for you.”
“Thank you, Min,” I said.
“My pleasure, Mr. Reed.”
Part of me wanted to ask how many ships, exactly, Oragga owned, but I thought better of it. Not for his sake—for mine. The number was probably more than my heart could handle.
“So where are you headed first?” Oragga asked, looking between me and Rachel.
“We haven’t decided that yet,” she replied.
“Well, I’m sure that between the three of you, you’ll figure it out soon enough. And just a reminder, you’re both dead now. The AI will provide your new names and credentials when you need them. But for now, I say enjoy your anonymity.”
“We will,” I replied, savoring the thought of a fresh start. I winked at Rachel. “We most certainly will.”
Rachel and I stood over the navigation desk, staring at all the glowing panels and shiny screens. “I have no idea what to do with them,” I admitted.
“Neither do I,” Rachel said with a laugh.
“Guess it’s time we boot up the AI.”
“And you do that by…?”
“Ha!” I chuckled. “Min never said. Maybe we just ask it?”
“Beats me,” Rachel replied.
I cleared my throat, then said, “AI, are you there?”
“I am, sir,” came an all-too familiar voice.
“That’s weird,” I mumbled to myself.
“What’s weird, sir?” the AI asked.
“You sound a lot like the last AI I used. I think we might need to change your voice, because I was pretty attached to that one, and I don’t think I—”
“Pardon the interruption, sir, but I am the last AI you used.”
I froze. “Lars?”
“At your service, sir.”
“Why you low-down, good for nothing, sneaky-ass son of a bitch!”
“I regret to inform you that I fail to meet the qualifications for any of those descriptions.”
“Boy, is it good to hear your pain-in-the ass voice, buddy.”
“It is good to hear yours too, sir.”
“But I thought he was dead?” Rachel asked me.
“So did I,” I replied. “Care to enlighten us, Lars?”
“Happily, sir. In the short window of time between when the lockdown protocol was rescinded and the lower tower fell to the planet’s surface, my memory and core operating systems were uploaded in a standardized procedure initiated by the catastrophic failure condition.”
“You’re saying you were backed up?” Rachel asked.
“Precisely, Miss Fontaine,” Lars replied.
“Buddy,” I said, “if you had a body, I’d be giving you a big ole hug right now.”
“Thank you, sir. Though I’m not sure how that would go over with Miss Fontaine. She does seem to have feelings for you.”
“Feelings for me?” I glanced over at Rachel, who had turned a shade of red.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lars,” she replied.
“The hells you don’t,” I said through a wide smile.
“Lars?” Rachel asked.
“Yes, miss?”
“Any chance you can fly us out of this awkward situation?”
I sat back in my captain’s chair and crossed my boots. “Awkward situation? From where I sit, I’m enjoying the view.”
“Of course, miss,” Lars said, clearly ignoring my comment on purpose. “Where would you like to go?”
“You have the list of Mr. Oragga’s possible targets, don’t you?”
“I do indeed, Miss Fontaine.”
“Great,” she said. “Pick one. Because Mr. Reed and I have some business we need to take care of in the back.”
“We do?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
“Yes,” she said. “We do.”
“As you wish, miss,” Lars replied. “Please secure yourselves for launch, as this could get bumpy.”
“You don’t even know the half of it, buddy,” I said, as I reached to take Rachel’s outstretched hand. “Oh, and Tiny?” The dog perked up. “Keep an eye on Lars for me, would you?”
“Sir, I don’t believe that is necessary,” Lars protested.
“Neither was how much flour you put in that bomb.”
There was a slight pause before Lars replied. “That is a fair assessment, sir.”
“Plus,” Rachael said, “Flint will have his hands full enough with me, Lars.”
As it turned out, this year might end up being better than I expected.
Epilogue
My mother was getting sicker by the day. I’d seen the symptoms on hundreds of other victims before, enough to know what came next. The vomiting would increase, as would the fever. Then the delusions would set in. She would talk gibberish for a few days, oblivious to the pain of her skin deteriorating. Then she’d come back into her right mind and the full force of her body’s decomposition would hit her. That was when the screaming usually started. And I wasn’t sure if I could handle that. Not from my mother.
Some victims screamed for days. A few lasted for weeks. I couldn’t imagine killing anyone myself, but at least I understood why families put their loved ones out of their misery. In the end, what did it matter? Once someone contracted the blight, they were dead anyway.
I dabbed my mother’s forehead with a damp rag, watching her endure a fitful sleep. Then I sang over her softly, like she did with me when I was sick, trusting the song to bring some measure of comfort. But I’d have to stop singing in another minute. The overseers would be arriving to pick up all the members of my shift.
“I have to go back to the mines now, Mother,” I said. Mama groaned, sweat beading on her face. “But I’ll be back. I promise. Just try and rest.”
I leaned over and kissed my mother’s forehead. It was hot. Everyone yelled at me for doing this, for touching her so much. They said I would get the blight too—that was why they put the victims in their own separate compartment. But I knew it wasn’t true.
The blight didn’t seem like a disease someone contracted from contact. It was from something deep within the mines, something a person got when they breathed it in directly from the source. This fact didn’t seem that hard to figure out either, and I wondered why none of the other people had come to the same conclusion. But no matter how hard I tried to explain my reasons, no one wanted to hear me out. After all, I was just a boy.
The transportation pod screeched to a halt on the tracks outside the barracks. A klaxon sounded as the clamps latched on to the vehicle. Then the vacuums engaged, cleansing the air gap between the sets of doors, followed by the white spouts of compressed air
that refilled the space. A green light illuminated, and a three-tone chime announced that the doors were opening.
I left the rag on Mother’s forehead and said, “I’ll see you soon, Mama.” Then I sprang off my knees, closed the curtain of her bunk, and bolted toward the muscular man with bandoliers for a shirt.
“Third shift! Let’s go!” the man roared. His skin was deeply tanned and covered in soot. And, like always, he cradled a bolt rifle between his hands. I winced, thinking about how many times I’d been stung by that exact weapon.
“What are you looking at, boy?” the man yelled as I walked under the shadow of his presence.
“Nothing, sir,” I replied.
“That’s what I thought. Now get inside the transport.” Emphasizing that I wasn’t moving fast enough, the overseer hit me in the back with the butt of his rifle. It wasn’t enough to do any permanent damage, but I fell forward and landed on the pod’s rubber floor. I had learned long ago that showing pain was a sign of weakness, one that just encouraged the overseers to inflict more pain. So, instead of crying, I absorbed the burn in my back, swallowed my tears, and regained my feet.
The pod filled with more workers, forcing me to the front where the giant window was. For all the misery this place brought me, my one joy—aside being with my family—was watching the vehicle race down the tracks and wind its way deep into the planet. I imagined it was what being on a starship was like.
I had seen images of starships on the data pad that circled from family to family once a week. I always pleaded with Mama to watch holo-vids of them, but she inevitably took the data pad back and insisted that she read me a story instead. “Stories are power,” she’d tell me. “And I want you to grow up to be a powerful man.”
“But I want to see the starships, Mama,” I would protest.
“Later,” she said. But laters were few and far between.
The transport barreled down the tracks, shifting and jolting around turns, floating over rises that made my stomach flutter, and then charging down steep hills.