Warning messages flashed across his terminal, but he ignored them. “Kat, if we don’t leave, we’re going to rot in one of those mining prisons. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head and started flipping switches beside him. “Give me two minutes.”
Flint looked out the viewscreen, only to find rovers steadily advancing. “We don’t have two minutes.” He rammed the throttle forward and pulled back on the thruster lever, sending them lurching upwards. They rose higher and higher, exiting the thin Martian atmosphere. Rail guns began firing at them from the surface, and he grimaced when his sensors said they’d been hit.
“I’m on it.” Kat ran from the bridge, her footsteps clanging loudly down the hall.
When they were high enough, Flint flipped a switch, sending all the energy from the fission engine to the rear thrusters. He let out a whoop as they raced away from Mars, past an unused planetary station, and into the darkness of space.
A patrol ship chased them from the surface below, but Flint watched as its blinking icon dropped further and further behind as his advanced engines worked their magic. No one expected a freighter of this size to have any guts, but this was no regular hauling vessel. This was Flint Lancaster’s baby.
Kat arrived back on the bridge an hour later, abruptly waking Flint. It had been a long day, and the excitement had spiked his adrenaline, sending him into a crash shortly after.
“Seriously?” Kat asked. “You’re sleeping at a time like this?”
“What? What’s the big deal?”
Kat rolled her eyes and peeled off greasy gloves. “The big deal is, we can never go to Mars again. You realize that really limits our trading potential, don’t you?”
“I was beginning to hate that dive anyway. Plus, we can always get new ID tags and badges.” Flint pulled his badge from his pocket, tossing it to the ground. “What kind of name is Trent Brand anyway? It sounds like a supervillain from an ancient comic book.” He saw something drop to the floor beside it and bent down, picking up the message from the stranger in the bar.
“What’s that?” Kat asked, sitting down beside him. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and he wiped a blotch of grease off her nose with his index finger.
He didn’t answer her right away. “No issues patching this girl up?”
“It’s fine. She had a few holes, but she’s almost as good as new.” Kat stared back at the small device in Flint’s hand.
He plugged it into his console, unsure of what to expect. Words scrolled out on the screen slowly.
“Where did you get that?” Kat asked, her voice a low whisper.
Flint gulped, blinking intensely, wondering if the number he was reading was a mirage. “Some guy at Dino’s bar handed it to me. Said he had a job.”
“Then why doesn’t this explain the job?” Kat asked.
Flint was wondering the same thing. It displayed an access code for fifty thousand credits and an address for one of Jupiter’s moons.
“They didn’t need to explain anything. Not with fifty thousand credits.” Flint thought about taking the money and heading to Earth. He could finally afford a place on the beach... for a while.
“If they’re giving you fifty now, there must be more once the job’s done.” Kat’s eyes were wide, and Flint smiled at her.
He tapped in a few commands on the console, transferred the funds to his account, and set a new destination into the autopilot.
“We’re going to Europa.”
“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Kat said, but she was grinning from ear to ear.
Ace
Ace was cold. His stomach growled as he wrapped the thin, worn blanket around his lean torso, but it did little to keep his body heat in. As he lay there in the abandoned building’s doorway, Ace wondered if it was time to finally head south, where it was warmer. The trip would be difficult, especially since he had no credits and would get thrown in prison, or worse, if he was caught.
His head rested back on the hard ground, and he fought to keep tears from falling down his cheeks. That would just make him colder, and he already felt them threatening to freeze on his face. He tried to remember when he still had dreams of a happier time, but once he closed his eyes, all he saw were the beatings from the orphanage and memories of his dad passed out in the bathroom of their old cramped apartment.
His dreams had stopped a couple of years ago, and Ace didn’t think they were ever coming back. A few rangy men walked by him, glaring as they passed. They likely didn’t see anything of value and kept moving, searching for something… anything.
A noise carried to him across the cool evening air, and he searched the skies for the source. Finally, he caught it out of the corner of his eye. The thrusters shot out blue energy as the ship rose higher. A second ship followed, then a third.
Earth Fleet ships. He’d seen the videos on screens in storefronts. Heroes sent to space to guard the solar system from any threats, only Ace had never heard of any real threats out there. There was no such thing as aliens, or beings from other planets. Just humans. But they were bad enough.
Ace closed his eyes and imagined being in one of those flight suits, the cuffs tight on his wrists, gloves fitting perfectly. His feet were snug in the custom boots, and his hand gripped the fighter’s throttle with purpose. What he wouldn’t give to join the Fleet. He’d always be warm, fed, and have a reason to get up in the mornings.
But he was a nobody, too young to enlist. Ace slid a solitary playing card from his breast pocket and stared at the ace of clubs for a moment. It was the only possession he had of his family’s, a constant reminder of a terrible father and his own loneliness. He put it back and patted it before settling in for sleep.
For the first time in two years, he dreamed. The visions were full of Earth Fleet logos and a fighter vessel with an ace of clubs decaled on the side.
The next night, Ace sat with his back against a brick wall in downtown Old Chicago. It was the one place he could beg without being beaten. The rich didn’t come to the old cities any longer, not since the brand-new cities had taken over. They lived their opulent lives in high-rises overlooking oceans that covered what used to be the West Coast.
He recalled a lesson from his orphanage about a state called California. They’d shown a video of a rotten white sign, deep under water. It had read Hollywood, but Ace hadn’t known what that meant.
He looked around, trying to keep an eye out for trouble. There had been a few murders recently – which wasn’t unusual for Old Chicago – but specifically near this street, which worried him. It was the only place he had any luck getting credits for food, and if he lost this spot, he was as good as dead anyway, so it was worth the risk.
A middle-aged couple walked by, far better off than he was. There was an old-world play happening tonight down the street, and people milled about, wearing their best clothing, pretending to be something they weren’t for a night.
Ace held out his hand. The woman gave him a sad smile and tapped her wrist, sending him ten credits. He mouthed a thank you, and she kept moving, arm sliding back under her date’s.
He had enough to get some food. Most people gave a credit or two, and he couldn’t believe his fortune. He could eat for three days with this. He decided to press his luck and stay for a while longer.
As the crowds began to thin, the show starting, it grew quiet and dark. Snowflakes fell from the sky, softly at first, then increasing in size and quantity. Winter was early, and Ace hated it. He wasn’t sure he could survive another one in his current situation.
Pushing the dread aside, he got up and made for the street vendors, hoping to cash in on the play patrons. As he passed a dark alley, he heard shouting from within.
“Do what he says, Edgar!” one man’s voice called.
“Listen, I’m Earth Fleet. You don’t want to mess with me!” a slurry voice shouted.
Someone mumbled, and Ace knew he should keep walking. It was none of his business.
But hearing the words Earth Fleet caused his feet to stop as if he was glued to the sidewalk.
“Well, I can’t show you my badge, because I’m only a new recruit. But I’m going to be famous…” The drunken bravado was cut short as two pulse blasts lit up the dark alley. Ace froze, standing in the middle of the alley entrance. He saw a silhouette hovering over two dropped bodies. It turned toward Ace and lifted the gun.
Ace felt his throat tighten, though he wanted to shout out for help. But no one would help a street rat like him, even if he found his voice. The gun lowered and the shadow disappeared, footsteps quick down the alley, away from where Ace was standing.
“Are you okay?” Ace found himself asking, knowing the answer as soon as he neared the fallen men. They were dead, eyes wide open in surprise.
Life was hard on the streets. Ace knew this more than anyone, and even though his gut told him it was wrong, he rifled through the corpses’ pockets. He found some hard credits and nimbly pocketed them before seeing the man the other had called Edgar. He was slight, around Ace’s height. His hair was the same color; he had brown eyes. He’d said he was an Earth Fleet recruit.
Ace was desperate and saw an opportunity. He looked around the dark lane, and when he felt no one was watching, he grabbed his flip knife out of his worn sock. With a flick of his wrist, he sliced into Edgar’s hand. He tried not to gag as the blood pooled out. The chip was the size of a fingernail, and Ace stuck it in a secret pocket on the inside of his shirt, near his heart.
“I’m sorry, Edgar,” he said, noticing a small plastic card in the dead man’s front pocket. It had half-fallen out, and Ace snatched it up, seeing the digital logo of the Earth Fleet: a fighter vessel with the sun in the backdrop. It flashed between that image and an address with a date and time.
Ace’s heart thrummed in his bony chest. He only had a week to prepare. He had to convince the Fleet he was Edgar Smith.
____________
Every one of Ace’s possessions was now inside his ratty pack, slung over his shoulder. Door chimes rang as he entered the small shop, and a greasy fat man watched him from behind a counter at the far end of the room.
“Whaddaya want, kid?” the man growled.
Ace almost turned around and left, but he didn’t have a choice. It was either this or fade away, another dead street kid no one would miss.
“I hear you’re the man to speak with about…” Ace looked around nervously, but they were alone in the shop. “...swapping ID chips.”
The man twirled a toothpick in his large mouth and grimaced at Ace. “What’s it to you, kid?”
Ace stood firm, looking him straight in the eye. “What do you charge?”
The man crossed his hairy arms, trying to look imposing. “New ID is three hundred credits, plus da surgery… make it an even five hundred.”
Ace’s heart skipped a beat. Five hundred! Even with begging non-stop for six straight days, he’d only managed to scrounge up eighty. “I have the ID already. Don’t need a new one.”
The man raised both eyebrows in surprise. “And jus’ where did you acquire dis other ID?”
“Traded for it,” Ace lied.
The man just nodded. “Two hundred, then.”
“I don’t have enough.” Ace looked around the shop, seeing how rundown and messy it was. He didn’t assume the shop owner was a wealthy man. He’d bargain. They all did. “I can pay you fifty.”
“Fifty! Dat’s outrageous!” the fat man bellowed, his breath wheezing out, turning into a coughing fit.
“It’s all I have,” Ace said softly.
The fat man set a meaty palm down on the glass countertop. “Kid, you’re a royal pain in da ass. I can do it for seventy-five, but yous got to be quick about it. I has other clients waiting for me.”
Ace doubted there was anyone else waiting, but he was grateful he’d taken a chance on negotiating. “Deal.” Ace transferred half the funds, and when the man questioned it, he said he’d give him the rest when it was done. He knew how these charlatans operated.
The man went to the front of the shop, locked his door, and led Ace to a rear room, where a dim light bulb hung from a chain over a rusty chair. Ace saw the tray of tools and hoped he wouldn’t die from infection. At least in the Fleet, he’d have medical care. As the man cut into his hand without using any numbing agent, he closed his eyes and pictured himself in uniform. His growing body filled it out with strong muscles from training and a proper diet. His life was going to change forever after tomorrow.
“All done,” the man said, dropping Ace’s ID into a metal tray. “Jus’ gotta sew you up.”
By sew, the man meant cauterize with an ancient tool. Ace fought the urge to pass out. When it was over, the skin looked almost normal, just a pink line letting Ace know he’d had the surgery at all.
“Test it,” Ace said.
The man scanned Ace’s hand, and Ace read the display on the tablet.
Edgar Smith
DOB 05/18/2457
Residence: 3750 Alderberry Way, Old Chicago
Credits: 2014
He stopped reading there, his jaw dropping.
“Traded for it, eh?” The man shook his head. “Better make it da full five hundred, kid. When da patrols come sniffin’ around, I’s never seen you. Here, take these now so you don’t die before you leave my shop.” He handed Ace a small plastic bag filled with pills of various sizes and shapes. Ace cringed but did as the man said. The casings tasted wrong, maybe long expired, but he knew the alternative was much worse.
Ace instantly sent the funds and stumbled up, almost running from the shop. The chimes clattered behind him as he set out onto the snow-covered streets as Edgar Smith. He hated the name, but what choice did he have? He didn’t even remember his own given name. His old ID chip had said Ace Club, and he’d been given that at the orphanage. This was as good as any.
2
Wren
Wren tightened the straps on her breathing mask as the fumes from the smelter leaked out of the machine. She motioned for the site supervisor to come over and inspect the broken seal.
“Good catch, 5589. Get back to work.” The uniformed android pointed to the other side of the room, where prisoners were stacking recently cooled sheets of metal.
Wren crossed the hot space, painfully aware of her aching feet with each step. She got to the stack, lifting – with a partner – sheet after sheet of the heavy material until the piles were moved onto carts. From there, they pushed the carts down a series of corridors. She knew machines could do this work much more easily and efficiently, but that was what the prisoners were for. Manual labor.
Her partner, Monika – or 3351, as the stitching on her black uniform read – was muttering under her breath during the whole trip to the warehouse, and Wren didn’t attempt to communicate with the woman. She’d tried on several occasions, receiving nothing but contempt in return.
They rolled the heavy cart into the large room. Hundreds of rows of tall skid shelving lined the area, most filled with metal sheets much like the ones they’d brought in.
An android walked up to them, scanned their IDs, weighed the load, and ordered them back to the smelting room for another run. This made ten treks so far, and Wren would have at least twenty more before her shift was over. Like every day, it was going to be a long one.
____________
“You’re kidding me,” Mara said between bites. “You aren’t seriously telling me you’re starting to enjoy this food, are you?”
Wren shrugged and scooped up another bite of the gray mushed slop in her spoon. “Beats going hungry, I guess.”
“How do you do it?” Mara asked quietly.
“Do what?” Wren asked.
“Keep smiling every day. I mean, I get it, most of us are here for a good reason. But you…” Mara stared back at her plate.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren asked.
“You’re actually innocent, aren’t you?” Mara’s hand covered her mouth.
Wren used to talk about it. She’d fought for an appeal, but since she hadn’t been allowed a lawyer in the first place, it had fallen on deaf ears. She’d shouted at the androids until her throat was raw, but that was two years ago. Now she smiled at Mara and made an almost imperceptible nod.
“Then how do you do it?” Mara asked, her eyes wide. The younger woman was pale, much lighter than Wren’s own caramel skin, and a hint of color flushed her cheeks as one of the android guards walked past, casually telling them there were five minutes left before they were to go back to their cells.
“I’m no different than anyone else in here,” Wren said softly. “Not anymore.” She finished the meal and carried her tray over to the trash chute. With practiced motions, she cleared it off completely, as instructed, and set it down. Mara stayed close behind her.
“You’re wrong,” Mara said into her ear.
“About what?” Wren countered as they walked single-file down the corridor that would lead to their cells.
“You are different. Everyone can see it,” Mara said, and this sent a tingle down Wren’s spine. The last thing she wanted to do was stand out, especially here. She’d kept her head down for two years, and had avoided many altercations because of it.
They entered the round foyer: the cell section of the women’s prison circled the space. Wren looked up, scanning the twelve stories; her gaze settled above, where four androids were huddled around someone.
“Who’s that?” Wren asked Mara, who shrugged.
The visitor was on the fifth story, looking down into the crowd of prisoners. It was a man. A real man. Wren hadn’t seen another human, outside the other female prisoners, in two years. There were only androids running the show here. He must be someone important to be inside here with them. Her stomach sank, the gruel suddenly threatening to come back up. If he was important, that made him dangerous.
Wren kept her eyes on the man as she stood on the circular lift in the center of the room. It stopped at the second floor, a guard led the prisoners back to their cells, and then it rose to the third floor, and so on. Wren watched the man with the androids around him closely, feigning a casual interest. Their eyes locked, and he frowned before looking away, checking something on a tablet. He had a nice face, almost familiar.
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