by Rachel Aukes
He clutched the skin and the box and pushed to his feet. “Mason just launched his coup to take over the Founders. He’ll be coming for me next.” He strode from the lounge without another word.
After a lengthy pause where no one moved or spoke, Hari walked over, poured herself a glass of whiskey, and took a seat. “He loved her very much. They’d been together for as long as I knew him. I think they’d even married in secret, though he never admitted it.”
“Mason knew how to hit Seda where it hurt most,” Reyne said. “It’s what Mason does.”
“We’ll make sure he pays for his crimes,” Critch said.
She held up her glass. “I can drink to that.”
Reyne watched Hari for a moment. “You’re a Founder, too, aren’t you?”
She looked up. “I suppose secrets are unnecessary in this room. Yes, I’m a Founder. I’m Mechanic. I was assigned to Aeronaut to help him ‘fix’ things.” She chuckled drily. “I always hated that name. I’m awful around anything mechanical.”
Critch frowned. “How many of you are there?”
She shook her head sadly and looked down at her glass. “Our numbers seem to be declining by the hour.”
They remained in the lounge for the next couple of hours talking and drinking—sharing old stories and planning for the future. By the time Seda returned, his usual stoic face was in place. Neither the silver box nor the skin was anywhere in sight.
He strode across the room to the large screen and punched in several codes. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll get you the full resources of Terra for the campaign.”
He turned back to his screen and went live. “This is Stationmaster Seda Faulk with a message to all Faulk associates and Rebus Station confederates. Martial law was illegally enacted by Corps General Ausyar of the CUF Armada, and I will not stand for that. Under my authority, Terra wartime protocols are enacted, effective now. All Rebus teams are called into duty. All Category Five resources are approved for transfer. All communications should be made through Rebus channel eighty-eight. The Rebus reclamation effort is now in effect. The CUF will attempt to suppress our rights, but we will show the Collective that Terrans are not slaves. It is time for Terra to establish its independence.”
He clicked off the screen, grabbed the half-empty bottle of whiskey off the table, and took a seat, facing the slack-jawed trio. “The key to winning a war is fighting on multiple fronts. The first front is here on Terra, and the battle starts now. We’ll set up fronts on every fringe world, and then we’ll bring the war to Alluvia and Myr. Mason’s going to have his hands full if he thinks he can suppress our rebellion.”
Reyne stared, wide-eyed.
Critch cocked his head. “Well, I think you got Mason’s attention.”
“Along with every other person in the Collective,” Reyne added, “since I have no doubt the hackers will make sure your declaration of war is broadcast across every channel.”
Seda looked at them. “I hope you’re ready to lead an army, because it’s time.”
Reyne frowned, then nodded. “I am, but I’m going to have to break some bad news to Sixx. He won’t be happy that his side project must be delayed.”
“I heard about his situation,” Critch said. “That’s rough.”
“I can get him a lift to Myr if that’s what he wants,” Seda said. “But I’ll need to pair him with a Myrad, or else he’ll be arrested if he gets caught walking alone. Have him talk to Hari if he’s interested in going through with it. Though it’s a bad time for anyone to be traveling right now, especially a colonist.”
Reyne gave a small tilt of his head. “I’ll let him know.”
Critch came to his feet and walked over to Seda and Hari, where he dropped something in each of their laps. “These belong to you.”
Hari dangled her chain in the light. “It’s the torrent teardrop.”
“Every torrent has one,” Critch said.
Reyne added, “And you two have more than earned the right to wear it.”
“I’ll wear it with pride,” she said and slid it over her head.
Seda had been staring at his in his palm. He weakly smiled before slipping it over his head and tucking it in his shirt. “It’s a good symbol.”
Reyne’s wrist comm vibrated. When he read the message, his jaw tightened. “Turn on the Collective channel.”
“Play DZ-Five,” Seda said, and the large screen came to life.
This is Lina Tao reporting for DZ-Five News.
You have just seen the startling war declaration made by Stationmaster Seda Faulk of Terra, announcing that Terra would be a free world. The declaration was made after the Collective Unified Forces, under command of Corps General Ausyar, initiated martial law in Rebus Station. A projected 274 colonists have been killed in the first day. This action was in response to a group of colonists breaking into the Citadel to free prisoners who were allegedly being kept there without a right to a fair trial.
The group—who call themselves fringe torrents—freed the political prisoners from the Citadel as the first step in what they’re calling the Fringe Liberation Campaign. They demand Parliament to recognize each fringe planet as a free and independent citizen world.
The torrents continue to deny that they had any involvement in the creation of or the release of the blight last year, which they assert was released by the Founders, the clandestine organization believed to have gone defunct after the War. The torrents have shared the name of Gabriel Heid, chief magistrate of Alluvia, as the organization’s leader and driver behind the creation and distribution of the blight. The torrents claim responsibility for acquiring and releasing the fungicide on Sol Base in their attempt to protect the colonies.
They also affirm that Ice Port was attacked wrongly and without provocation by the Collective Unified Forces under the purview of Corps General Michel Ausyar, with the intent to silence colonists speaking up against inequality.
This is Lina Tao reporting the truth. Let the colonies be free.
“I like her closing. It had a nice ring to it,” Critch said and took a drink.
“She revised the script,” Seda said. “But it works. I especially liked how she included Ausyar’s and Heid’s names. Their hands will be full dealing with questions.”
Reyne shook his head, tension squeezing at his heart. “What she did was dangerous enough. Mentioning Ausyar and Heid was suicide. That poor woman’s life expectancy just dropped to about sixty seconds.”
“None of us like it, but death is an inevitable condition of rebellion,” Seda said. “Sacrifices are made, and it’s our job as leaders to make sure something good comes out of them.”
“Thanks to Lina Tao,” Critch began, “everyone across the Collective goes to bed tonight knowing that the galaxy has tilted on its axis and there’s no going back.”
“Between Lina’s broadcast and mine, I’d say the Fringe Liberation Campaign is officially launched,” Seda said. “We’re going to have rebellions sparking in every colony within days, if not hours.”
“The Fringe Liberation Campaign,” Hari mused. “I like it. It’s a good name for a war.”
Epilogue
Gabriela Heid entered Devil Town’s stationhouse like she didn’t have a care in the world. Today, she wore the simple, scratchy CUF uniform assigned to all conscripts. She’d also lightened her hair and left it hang loose, though she still wasn’t used to the sensation of hair on her shoulders.
One of the first lessons her father had taught was that the simplest disguises were often the most effective. She had to admit Mason was right about some things, such as espionage, assassinations, and torture. But he was terribly wrong about other things, especially the things that really mattered. Like freedom, equality, and the value of humanity.
Dozens of conscripts patrolled the stationhouse, and she blended in effortlessly. She scanned the fake pass-card and received a computer stick that led her through the crowd and to a door where she inserted the stick into the lock.
The computer stick emitted a masculine groan of ecstasy. “You fit me into that slot wonderfully, Ms. Smyth. You may now proceed. May your visit to Devil Town fulfill all your fantasies.”
“It’ll at least be a start,” she murmured before she stepped out of the bustling room and into a winding corridor.
She continued until a tall, muscular man approached her. He looked her up and down appraisingly before giving her a smile that hinted at carnal promises.
Heid gave him a once-over and smiled in response because while he thought she was checking him out, she was scanning him for weapons. On the downside, he was carrying two pistols and a rather long knife. Nearly as many weapons that she had hidden under her uniform.
He motioned down the hallway. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to see the stationmaster.”
She could’ve sworn he’d said, “If you’ll come for me.” She tilted her head. “I’d like that very much.”
Heid found the stationmaster sitting at his desk in an office that was outrageously gaudy. As soon as she entered, he stood and looked past her shoulder. “Leave us.”
When the door closed behind her, she cast a glance to make sure they were alone. The stationmaster walked over to her and held out his hand. She masked her disdain of both the stationmaster and his décor by forcing a pleasant smile and giving him her hand.
“Gabriela, I’ve long since hoped to make your acquaintance,” he said before bending over and kissing her hand. “Lincoln Finn, at your service.”
He held onto her hand a second too long, but she let him linger.
“I’ve been looking forward to our visit,” she said.
“Please have a seat, my dear.” He returned to his desk and leaned back in his chair. “I have to admit. I’m surprised you came, especially after all that hoopla on the news lately.”
She shrugged. “The CUF does make things a bit challenging, but I hope that I have nothing to worry about while I’m in your care.”
“You’re perfectly safe here,” he said all too quickly.
Her lips curled upward. “Captain Reyne assured me that I should meet with you.”
“Did he, now?”
“He did.”
Lincoln’s examined her smugly. “Well, I suppose you want to talk about how I can help your torrents out with—what is it that you’re calling your little rebellion now? Oh, yes. The Fringe Liberation Campaign.”
She shook her head. “No.”
He leaned forward. “No? Why not?”
“We already know that you aren’t going to support the Campaign. Not without keeping one hand in the Collective’s coffers.”
He frowned. “Then what are you doing here?”
Heid ran a finger sensually up her leg, and she noticed his gaze followed the motion. “I’d like to leave a message for Ausyar.”
“I don’t have any contact with Corps General Ausyar.”
“You don’t?” She cocked her head. “Funny, you told Reyne you did. And Seda seemed to think Ausyar paid you a hefty sum to lure me into a trap.”
He stammered. “Nonsense. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply preferred to negotiate with you instead of with an old traitor or a scarred pirate.”
She unsheathed the knife hidden on her thigh and flung it at the stationmaster. The blade skewered Lincoln’s eye and embedded deeply in his skull. The man was dead before he hit the floor.
She slid over his desk and searched the panel for the switch to lock the office door. Safely secure in the room, she glanced at her wrist comm and noted the three minutes she had before Ausyar’s dromadiers would likely be crawling all over the place—assuming Lincoln had triggered an alarm when she’d first arrived.
Then, she plugged in a small computer stick into his computer panel and waited. When the light flashed green, which was the signal that the hacker had connected, she turned back to the body.
Heid tugged her knife free from his head, the movement making a wet sound as it pulled out of the eyeball. She cut open his shirt and carved her message to Ausyar… and more importantly, to her father.
Finished, she wiped the blade on Lincoln’s shirt. She glanced at her comm. With nearly two minutes to spare, she stood and strolled right out the office’s back door.
END OF BOOK 2
Fringe Campaign
Fringe Series, Book 3
One
Reclaiming Rebus
Rebus Station, Terra
Critch
Critch scanned the building across the street through his binoculars.
“Are they set up yet?” Birk asked at Critch’s side on the warehouse roof.
“Not yet. They’re running late. Lucky for them, Seda’s also running late. Can’t anything get done on time around here?”
“Looks like our friends in the Collective Unified Forces are right on schedule,” Birk said. “Seventeen minutes after the motion sensors were triggered.”
Critch glanced down to see a patrol car turn onto the street below. He scowled and looked back across the street. Still no sign of his other team.
“What do we do?” his right-hand man asked.
He read his wrist comm. No update from Seda Faulk. If Critch moved now, the stationmaster could be on his own. If Critch waited, they’d blow their chance at taking the warehouse district. He put away his binoculars, and then motioned to the team waiting behind him on the roof. “Showtime.”
He heard footsteps as his team took off running across the roof to move into positions on the lower floors.
Birk lifted the portable photon cannon and rested it on the roof’s edge. He took his time as he aimed at the patrol car.
Critch waited and watched in perfect stillness. Inside, his heart raced. Adrenaline was pulsing through every muscle, and he was ready to leap up at any second.
Birk fired. The beam hit the patrol car in the center. The vehicle exploded in beautiful blue and orange flames. Death to the occupants would’ve been instantaneous.
Critch leapt to his feet and helped Birk strap the large cannon onto his back. They ran across the roof. When they reached the door, he checked the time. They had roughly thirty-eight seconds before the gunships would arrive, and another six minutes before military vans would arrive.
Birk was first through the door, with Critch right behind him. They hustled down the stairs, all nine flights, until they reached the ground floor. The increasing sounds of loud engines rattled the windows. As a pair of gunships approached the district, Critch and Birk dove under a waterbed that had been propped up on two-by-fours.
Critch check his comm. Thirty-nine seconds. Not bad.
The gunships all but skimmed the buildings as they scanned for heat signatures. When the planes didn’t fire, Critch felt himself relax ever so slightly. He knew then that his teams had all reached their positions in time, hiding under waterbeds to camouflage their body heat.
When the gunships swooped in for a second pass, cannon fire blasted upward from windows in the warehouse across the street. Critch rolled out from under the camouflage to see the first gunship explode. The second gunship lost a wing, and it spiraled into the ground, exploding upon impact. Windows shattered, and Critch shielded his face from flying glass shards.
He shook his head at the CUF’s obstinate adherence to standard operating procedures. He knew gunships always flew two passes to scan for heat signatures. The CUF likely assumed insurgents would move after the first pass, that their targets would think they were then safe. What the CUF didn’t assume was that torrents had studied the military’s routines. The first pass gave Critch’s teams time to acquire moving targets in their automated sights, and the second pass gave them the opportunity to produce an impressive fireworks display.
More gunships would come, but Critch knew the CUF kept only two ships on standby. By the time they finally got around to sending more, the vanloads of dromadiers would already be deployed and in the middle of a maelstrom.
He checked his wrist co
mm. Eight minutes. He tapped it to open his team’s channel. “Be ready for ducks in eight.”
Birk moved to the window, where two old style rifles were propped. He brushed off broken glass, picked up both weapons, and handed one to Critch.
Critch checked the gun to make sure the explosion hadn’t damaged it. Satisfied, he gave Birk a nod. “Stay low. For some reason, Throttle likes that ugly mug of yours.”
“Your mug is so ugly a vig would run squealing from you,” Birk replied drily.
Critch grinned and turned from Birk, and jogged across the warehouse floor. The spot he’d picked earlier was now blocked by the burning tail of a gunship, and so he went a few windows down. He moved into position and waited. He checked his comm every few seconds. When it was time, he reported out, “Ducks in two. Eyes peeled.”
Critch hated waiting, but so much of every battle was waiting, with short bursts of insane chaos. He felt at home in the chaos, when everything was reflexive, when he didn’t have time to think or second-guess himself. It was the time after the battle he hated most, when his mind replayed snapshots, and the second-guessing began. Not that he’d ever admit to others that such thoughts crossed his mind. To the torrent army, he was scar-faced Drake Fender, fearless torrent marshal and cold-blooded killer. His unwavering drive gave them confidence. And if the torrents were to have a shot at taking Rebus Station, they needed every bit of confidence they could get.
He heard the vans before he saw them cut through the smoky street. The CUF had sent three vans this time. Three squads of droms.
“Sitting ducks,” Critch announced into his wrist comm. He took a step back from the window, settled down on a knee, and adjusted his scope on the first van coming to a stop outside.
The droms poured out of the vans, using long clear shields as protection. The shields were designed to ward off photon blasts, and could hold up against small caliber gunfire. Today would be the first time the droms on Terra would experience fire from sniper rifles.