The Fringe Series Omnibus

by Rachel Aukes

  She looked down at her legs. “Good, except they’re not very comfortable. I think the hardest part is still getting my legs used to the concept of walking.”

  “I’ll get you a spinal implant,” he said. “I gave you my word.”

  “First, I have to take care of the one already in my back,” she said before turning and heading off the small bridge.

  He and Birk followed her through the hallway and to the cargo door at the back of the ship. The light above the wall panel was green, and Throttle visually double-checked the connection through the window before opening the door. A second passed, and the door to the other ship opened to reveal three smiling citizens. All three were Myrads, the bluish hue of their argyric skin making their heritage obvious. They wore colorful clothes, and the blasters in holsters on their thighs looked incongruous with their demeanors and glamour.

  “Hello,” the young man in front of the group said. “I’m Yang Liu, owner and captain of the Liu-Liu-1, and these are my friends, Ted and Ali. We’re here to help you start a revolution.” He motioned to his left and then his right as he introduced his compatriots.

  Critch kept himself from rolling his eyes. These three youngsters were clearly radicals, anxious to change the worlds with their idealistic views. If he hadn’t needed these citizens and their ships, Critch would’ve sent them packing. Radicals were dangerous for two reasons: first, they were obstinate about taking orders, and second, they’d rush in when they should take things slow. He suspected he’d have trouble with this group on both counts.

  “I’m Drake Fender,” Critch said, using his real name, since most citizens would be unfamiliar with his nickname.

  “You’re even scarier-looking in person. I’ve never seen someone with so many scars before,” Ali said with a touch of awe in her voice.

  Critch ignored her. “And this is Throttle and Birk.”

  “Throttle?” Yang asked. “That’s an odd name. Is that your real name?”

  “No,” Throttle replied.

  “We have several crates to move onto your ship,” Critch said. “Help us move them so we can get this operation started.”

  The trio seemed surprised at first. He suspected none of them had ever been asked to lift cargo in their lives.

  “Oh, of course,” Yang said, and then waved his friends forward.

  After several minutes of entertaining—and frustrating—hauling of cargo onto the Dirac, the six people stood inside the Liu-Liu-1, with Eddy giving them a thumbs-up through the window of the Scorpia.

  “I hope you can trust him better than I could trust Gabe,” Critch said when Throttle waved farewell to her crew member.

  “Eddy would never steal the Scorpia. If he had to captain it, he’d have to deal with people every time he had to resupply.” She grinned. “But I know he’s going to love having the ship alone to himself for a few days.”

  “He won’t be alone,” Birk said. “The Ocelot’s mechanic is staying behind, too. I bet they’ll spend hours talking about Flux engines and the right thickness of rilon for the most efficient jump.”

  Throttle chuckled. “You’re right. The only thing he likes better than being alone is talking with someone who speaks his language.”

  “If you’d please follow me,” Yang began. “We’ll be more comfortable on the bridge.”

  They turned from the Scorpia and followed their host through the spacious ship. The Dirac was a luxury yacht and reminded Critch of the Honorless before he started modifying it.

  Yang motioned down a hallway. “Unfortunately, this is only a five-bedroom ship and, as you can see, there are six of us…”

  “No problem,” Throttle said. “Birk and I share a room.”

  Yang’s face lifted. “Oh, excellent. Then, please select from the two remaining rooms. I hope they are sufficient for your needs.”

  Throttle chuckled, probably because on the Gryphon and the Scorpia, she would’ve had little more than a bunk. Critch suspected Birk and she were going to take full advantage of having an actual bedroom for once.

  “The bridge is this way,” Yang said as he continued the tour. “The dining area is off to your right here. We eat together, and you’ll find Ted makes the best tuna pasta in the entire system.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Ted said, blushing. “But I am rather proud of it.”

  “We’re not moving in,” Critch said. “You’re just giving us a lift to and from Myr.”

  The citizens sobered, and Yang turned to face Critch. “We’re going with you. When you blow up Parliament, we’re going with you.”

  Critch’s jaw slackened. “Seda told you the mission?”

  Yang’s chin lifted. “He told Mother because he trusts her.”

  Critch rubbed his face. “How many others know? Cousins? Your friends’ cousins?”

  “Just Mother and the five of us who volunteered for this important mission.”

  Critch sighed. “Too many people know. This mission’s scrubbed.”

  “No!” Yang reached out and grabbed Critch’s forearm, only to release it like Critch’s skin was on fire when he saw Critch’s glare. “You can trust us. Seda trusts us. Doesn’t that say a lot?”

  “Is your mother a Founder?” Critch asked.

  “A what?” Yang asked.

  “Never mind.”

  “Mother was Gaia Welden’s best friend.”

  “Who’s Gaia Welden?” Critch asked.

  Yang blinked. “Seda’s wife. I mean, they kept it a secret from everyone, but Mother knew, of course, because—like I said—they were best friends. When Seda told Mother that Senator Heid killed Gaia to get to him, we all wanted vengeance. Gaia was loved by everyone she met on Myr. The word’s already getting out that Gabriel Heid had something to do with her death, and that’s garnering him quite a few enemies. So, now do you understand that you can trust us?”

  “We’ll see first how the next several hours go.”

  “They’ll go fine,” Yang said, brushing him off. “And then we’ll waltz you right up the front steps of the Parliament building.”

  Critch chuckled. “With this face?”

  “Well, you’ll have to look like Myrads first,” Yang said. “Ali’s an actress and does great with stage makeup. She’s going to turn all three of you into Myrads.”

  Critch turned his gaze to the woman.

  Ali swallowed as she looked from Critch’s scarred face to Throttle’s braces. “We have our work cut out for us.” Then she tacked on quickly, “But I can do it. You’ll look like any other Myrad when I’m done with you.”

  “There you have it,” Yang said with a smile. “Mother is a senator, and she’ll have us cleared as visitors by the time we arrive.”

  Critch still didn’t like the idea of working with four citizens on such an important mission, but he found his confidence growing at hearing their plan. “Okay,” he said after a lengthy pause. “But you will not touch those blasters without my express permission. Got it?”

  “Of course,” Yang said, excitement rushing his words. His two friends nodded energetically.

  “Good. Now, let’s get to the bridge. Miko’s cargo and crew should be loaded by now.”

  The two trios made it to the bridge.

  “Wow,” Throttle said on a sigh.

  “Liu-Liu has all the latest upgrades,” Yang said with clear pride. “For my birthday this year, I added a Chirp 2300.”

  “I didn’t think those transponders were even out yet,” Throttle said as she grabbed the chair nearest Yang.

  He gave her a sly smile. “They aren’t. I know a guy who knows a guy.”

  Yang took the captain’s chair, made obvious by being larger and plusher than the other chairs on the bridge. He tapped the transmitter. “This is Liu-Liu-1 calling Liu-Liu-2. Quit slacking off over there.”

  “How’d you score the 1 and he get stuck with the 2?” Critch asked with some humor.

  Yang tapped his chest. “Simple. I’m six minutes older than Wang.”
r />   Critch’s brows lifted. “Wang? Yang? Your mother gave you those names?”

  Yang pouted. “Those are highly respected family names. They’ve been passed down for over eight generations.”

  “I’ll never get those two straight. You need a nickname,” Critch muttered.

  Before Yang spoke, a transmission came through. “This is the Liu-Liu-2. We’ve been ready for thirty minutes, waiting on your lazy bums.”

  Throttle chuckled and spoke softly to Birk. “Bums. He actually said, ‘bums.’ These blue-skins are so adorable.”

  Ali shot Throttle a glare, but Throttle didn’t seem to notice.

  “Let’s jump in ninety,” Yang said. “See you suckers on the other side.”

  “Jump in ninety confirmed. See you, sucker.”

  As Yang worked the controls, Critch tried to access systems but couldn’t see anything beyond instructional guides. He pushed the screen away and turned his attention back to the Dirac’s captain.

  “How sure are you that your access codes won’t raise any red flags? I’d lay bets not too many citizens are going for pleasure cruises lately.”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure,” Yang replied. “We do this all the time.”

  Critch raised a brow.

  “I mean, we fly out beyond the nets all the time,” Yang clarified. “Wang and I are geocachers. We take jumps every couple of days searching for caches and setting up new ones. There’s this one cache in Crito’s Belt that we’ve been hunting for over three years. Anyway, a couple hours ago, we logged a quick cache on a transformer station to cover our tracks in case some tech gets snoopy. As soon as we jump, I’ll reprogram my transponder to show we went straight from the cache to the net.”

  Critch gave a small nod. “You know, you seem to have a pretty decent head on your shoulders for a citizen, Chirp.”

  Yang grinned broadly, and then frowned. “Chirp?”

  “It’s a good nickname,” Ted said with a snicker. “You do talk a lot.”

  “Hey, wait until I come up with a name for you,” Yang, or Chirp, snapped back.

  “I don’t need one. My name is original.”

  “Oh, yeah. ‘Ted’ is really original.”

  “All right. Enough,” Critch said. “Focus on making the jump and getting us through that electromagnetic pulse net. When this is all done, you can call each other whatever you want.”

  Yang’s face hardened. “I’ll get you through the EMP. You can count on me.”

  Eleven

  Dogmatic Decisions

  Parliament, Myr

  Gabriel Heid was growing tired of inept underlings. Every day, he spent more hours supervising others’ duties than keeping an ear to each of the colonies. He had to remind himself that he needed patience for just a bit longer. He’d devoted his entire life to strengthening the Collective. He’d sacrificed everything and everyone he loved to see his vision become a reality. The war would be over soon, as he’d projected, and the Collective would be stronger than ever once his Forces established profitable control over the colonies and, thus, the Collective overall.

  Heid had desired an upheaval. Statistically, civilizations prospered when a significant conflict took place once every generation. But Seda Faulk had escalated what should’ve been a series of straightforward riots for equal rights into a war for independence. The rogue had caused unnecessary deaths and expenses, and it would take years for the Collective to recover from the recession the torrents’ antics had brought on. As a result, Heid had to adjust his plans and forcibly take control of all the fringe stations, stretching the CUF’s resources more thinly than expected.

  Citizens were drastically outnumbered by colonists, especially within the CUF. He’d been fortunate the operations had gone swiftly, but as long as Seda was alive, the torrents could still complicate Heid’s plans. He didn’t want to kill the Terran—Seda’s death would inspire additional revolts that the CUF would then have to expend further resources to quell—but the time had come that Seda’s death, and its aftermath, was a necessity to ensure success.

  He opened the desk drawer to his left to reveal a small safe. After entering a ten-digit passcode, the door slid open to reveal a single tablet. He pulled out the tablet that was known to himself and very few others. After going through the security protocols, he tapped out a message that needed few words.

  Ranger–

  Approval granted to terminate Aeronaut.

  For the free…

  –Mason

  Heid closed the tablet and returned it to his desk safe, pushed to his feet, and strode to his office door. All senators had offices on the second floor, though the offices of the co-chairs—Heid and Etzel—were the largest and most opulent, larger than most fringe homes.

  Parliament looked more like a castle than a government building, courtesy of the Myrad architect who’d designed the structure. Alluvians generally took more to clean lines and open spaces. Heid prided himself on embracing both cultures in his environment. Classical silver pieces—but not too many—sat atop Alluvian bamboo tables.

  He wiped a fingerprint from a one-of-a-kind casting of a fishing vessel. He’d liked the art piece so much that he’d paid the artist to destroy his cast, ensuring only Heid could savor that particular specimen.

  He left his office within the Parliament building and hadn’t walked more than five feet from his office before his assistant rushed forward.

  “Senator, I need your signature.”

  Heid stopped. “Of course you do, Jasmine.” He pressed his thumbprint over at least a dozen forms and letters before handing the tablet back. “I’ve often said that when it comes to politics, the size of the thumbprint is far more important than the volume of the voice.”

  “You are a wise man,” she said before changing the subject. “They’ve finished the wall. It’s stunning. Have you seen it?”

  “I was heading there before you stopped me.”

  Jasmine shrank. “My apologies, Senator.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “No need to apologize. You’re doing your job, and you’re doing a fine job at that.”

  “Thank you, Senator.”

  He continued on his stroll down the long hallway lined with portraits of previous senators and other leaders who’d played crucial roles in establishing and guiding the Collective. The heels of his shined shoes made sharp snaps with each strike to the floor, echoing through the empty hallway. The sounds were rhythmic, almost meditational, until he slowed, then stopped, at the top of the massive staircase that led down to the first floor, where the chamber for sessions stood.

  Like the rest of the building, the chamber would be empty, with Parliament currently on a two-day break. Nearly all senators were at various social events, mingling with the public and getting votes for the next election. Heid no longer worried about such things. Delivering on his promises of a short war to bring order back to the Collective would ensure that he would remain co-chair of Parliament. However, he’d never been fond of the concept of co-chairing, and his next project was to enable the senators to understand that a single chair of Parliament would be far more beneficial to the Collective, especially if he were to be the one to prove it. Etzel was too old and no longer had the stomach to make hard decisions for the benefit of the Collective. While Etzel was easy enough to control, everything would be easier without having to deal with the bureaucratic red tape that came with sharing leadership.

  Leading people was exhausting. He longed to return to his home on Alluvia, if only for a few days. He missed the sound of waves lapping against the shore. He’d built his Myrad house on the shore, but there were no waves on Myr. The stillness gave the world a sense of lifelessness, even though the planet teemed with life. He’d even gone so far as to have ambient sounds of waves play throughout his Myrad house, but they were shallow echoes of an ocean’s breath.

  He’d travel home as soon as he could bring closure to the conflicts bringing stress to the Collective. Until then, he would tirelessly
continue his mission.

  The doors leading outside had been designed like the rest of the building—overdone and ostentatious. They were transparent, with veins of silver that drew famous scenes from the Collective’s history, drawing one, then morphing seconds later to draw the next. Heid had passed through these doors for over thirty years and had each scene memorized: first came the colonization of Alluvia, then Myr, then the fringe, then finally, the emergence of United Day. The doors were one of the few features he truly enjoyed about the building.

  He stepped outside and down the steps, turning around when he had a full view. He smiled. He now had another feature to appreciate. On the wall to the left of the doors was a holographic video displaying the images of five Myrads, each with their name listed beneath their image: Edmun Strand – Michael Travers – Margine Travers – Nannette Noun – Josef Romenko. Above the video, five stars were emblazoned in silver. Below, the text read:

  In the 764th year of the Collective, five unarmed citizens were brutally murdered by radical colonists while administering to children in poverty on a humanitarian mission via the Citizens Against Hunger Program. Their deaths, known as the Rebus Station Tragedy, led to the Resilience War to bring peace across the Collective’s six worlds.

  Heid gave a nod to the artist’s excellent work. This memorial would help shape history. Within a generation, citizens would think of that memorial when they thought of how the Resilience War began. There would be no records of citizens protesting the treatment of the colonies. Instead, the records would be slanted toward the colonies trying to overpower the citizen worlds. Videos of the fringe riots. The true value of history wasn’t in its accuracy, but rather in how it could shape minds toward the right future.

  Humans, by their very nature, were tribal and competitive beasts. They needed a common enemy to hate in order to work together and thrive. The Earth system had attempted to build a world based on equality, but every experiment in democracy had failed after two hundred years. Heid had studied and knew that for the Collective to succeed for millennia, the colonists would need to hate the citizens and vice versa. That was the only way.