by Rachel Aukes
“My name’s Vance,” the guard said as they walked. “You saved me from being conscripted by the Collective.”
“A lot of people fought for our independence. It wasn’t just me, kid,” Critch said.
“I know, but the vids always showed you and Aramis Reyne leading our armies on the ground. You on Terra, and Reyne on Darios. What was Terra like?”
“It was bad, kid. It was real bad.”
They stopped at a security gate. Vance waved at the guard sitting behind a glass-like wall, who tapped on his screen. The gate opened, and they passed through into a wider hallway. This one was lined with larger rooms—a cafeteria, a rec room, and showers. Like before, the doors were all closed, likely a security protocol, leaving them alone in the hallway except for passing by another guard and through another security gate every so often.
Their boot steps on the polished stone floors were the only sounds before Vance spoke again.
“Did you know that you’re still on the Collective’s Most Wanted list?”
“Good thing I’m not planning to visit the Collective any time soon.”
Again, silence as they turned left and arrived at a massive security gate. When the gate opened for them, they entered a large hallway with a ceiling easily two hundred feet high. The hallway was lined with stacks and stacks of cells. There was a stench of body odor in the air, which spoke to how dirty the inmates were, since all breathable air on Spate was constantly filtered and recirculated within each building.
Vance spoke. “When I was just a kid, I wanted to be a pirate. I was going to steal from the Collective to help out the colonists, just like you.” He pouted. “But my dad wouldn’t let me.”
“Your dad sounds like a smart guy,” Critch said.
The guard shrugged. “I became a cop instead. I figured it was the next best thing since I’d still be helping out my people. Okay, we’re coming up on his cell column. It’s this one up here.” He stopped and pointed to a cell several floors above them. “Seven-Three-Three-Two. I’ll bring it down and open the door for you.”
Critch lifted a hand. “Don’t open it just yet.”
The cell Critch stood before was small, no more than four feet wide and eight feet deep, and identical to every other cell in Debtor’s Row. The only things in the small white box were a slab with a thin mattress, a toilet hole, a drinking line coming out of the wall, and a frail occupant in gray coveralls. He was lying on the bed with his bare, calloused feet toward the hallway. The wall facing the hallway was clear, just like the security gates, with square holes throughout it, likely for air movement.
Vance tapped on his wrist comm, and the column of cells before them began to move slowly downward. The occupant struggled to raise his head, and Critch made eye contact with the inmate as the cell descended below the floor line. The yellow-eyed gaze he met was one of hope lost, and Critch was glad when the floor cut off their connection.
As each cell in the column descended, the inmates looked at Critch. Each had the same hopeless, lifeless gaze, regardless of their age. He’d seen that look before, back at the Citadel on Terra.
Critch bit back his anger. No one and nothing—no human, no animal—should be caged like that, no matter what they’d done. His skin crawled, and he craved to leave. He found himself breathing harder, becoming claustrophobic, and then the cell column quit moving and Critch found himself eye-to-eye with Gabe.
Everything else forgotten, Critch stepped closer to the cell.
Gabe’s dark hair, strong features, and endless confidence had drawn many women to his bed. This man had none of that. His head had been shaved, and malnutrition had turned once-attractive features into jutted cheekbones and a too-sharp jawline.
When Gabe recognized Critch, he shot up from the bed too fast. The man held on to the edge of the bed for support. Gabe’s eyes were wild with fear as he looked from Critch to Vance.
“Relax, Gabe. We’re just going to talk,” Critch said.
After a long moment, Gabe seemed to accept Critch at his word and stepped up to the clear wall that stood between them. The pilot still had a hint of a saunter, but he didn’t stand as tall as he had the last time Critch had seen him.
They stared at each other.
“I figured you’d find me. I thought it’d take you longer, but I knew you’d hunt me down,” Gabe said.
“You stole my ship,” Critch said.
Gabe shrugged. “I thought you were dead.”
Critch shook his head. “Just because you left me for dead didn’t make me dead.”
“I never would’ve left if I thought you had a chance.”
Critch narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Gabe. You’ve worked for me too long to be able to bullshit me.”
Gabe winced.
“And you abandoned the rest of my crew at Rebus Station,” Critch said.
Gabe held out his hands in placation. “There were plenty of ships still at the docks for them to hitch rides out of there. I heard they stole a patrol ship and got away without a scratch.”
“You’re lucky none of them died on Terra. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive that.”
Gabe swallowed and looked away. He stared at his cell for a moment before turning back to Critch. “Get me out of here, and I’ll take you to the Honorless. No one got hurt. Once you get your ship back, we’ll call it even.”
“Oh, yeah?” Critch asked.
“I had to run with her. The CUF was breathing down my neck. If I hadn’t run, they would’ve blown her—and me—to shreds.”
“Is that right?”
Gabe continued. “I saved her. It’s because of me she’s all in one piece.” He hesitated. “At least, she was before I ended up in here.”
“Let me get this straight. I let you out, and you take me to my ship,” Critch echoed Gabe’s proposal.
“Damn straight. Just get me out of this hellhole.”
Critch studied his stray crew member. After watching Gabe squirm, no doubt wondering if Critch would make the deal or not, Critch motioned Vance, who opened the cell door.
Gabe looked at the guard before taking hesitant steps out of his cell. “Don’t you have to pay off my debts to have me released?”
“I paid your debts when I arrived,” Critch said. “I was counting on you wanting to make a deal.”
“Oh, okay,” Gabe said, his voice lacking its former confidence.
Vance led them back through the hallways and security gates. This time, he knew enough to not talk after hearing Critch and Gabe’s conversation. Critch noticed the guard kept his hand near his gun, probably wondering if Critch would try to kill Gabe within the prison.
Critch wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t kill someone in a place filled with a colony’s law enforcement. He was careful to not make any sudden or threatening moves.
When they reached the main entrance, Vance spoke to Gabe. “Stop by the front desk to have your tracker removed. You’re free to go.”
“Good riddance to this viggin’ place,” Gabe muttered.
Critch turned to Vance. “Take care of yourself, kid. And listen to your dad.”
Vance smiled. “I will, sir. Thanks.”
The officer at the front desk used a device that looked like a large pen to remove the tracker band on Gabe’s ankle. He handed Gabe his wrist comm. Gabe frowned. “Where’re my clothes, my gun?”
“All personal effects are given to charity. Weapons are reallocated to Spaten security forces. By law, we have to return wrist comms.”
Gabe sneered while he snapped the wrist comm around his forearm. “Well, isn’t that generous of you.”
Critch unsnapped a breather mask from his belt and handed it to Gabe. “You’re lucky you’re even getting that. Now, let’s go.”
Critch pulled on his own breather mask, and they headed outside.
Gabe looked out at the desolate street. “You want me to call us a cab, or do you want to do it?”
“We’ll walk,” Critch said.
“It’s a long ways.”
“I don’t care,” Critch said.
“But I don’t have any shoes.”
Critch glanced down at Gabe’s bare feet. “Good. Consider it penance for stealing my ship.”
Gabe sulked but was wise enough to keep his mouth shut.
They walked down the steps of the prison and several paces alongside the street before Gabe rubbed his neck. He cleared his throat. A moment later, he coughed and stopped.
Critch stopped and watched the other man.
“I can’t…breathe,” Gabe said in between coughs.
“I know,” Critch said.
Gabe’s eyes widened as he looked at Critch. He lunged for Critch’s mask, but the already weak man moved slower from lack of oxygen.
He spun to run back to the prison, only to be yanked back by Critch.
Gabe fell to a knee. “But…we…had a…deal.”
“I held up my end. The deal was to get you out of Debtor’s Row. I did. But that doesn’t make up for you stealing my ship.”
“You’ll…never find…it.”
“The impound lot? I already picked it up this morning.”
Gabe realized he’d been set up all along and began crawling back to the prison. Critch watched him make it several feet before collapsing. Two guards came rushing from the prison.
Wheezing, Gabe yanked off his mask and sucked in air. His eyes bulged, and he scratched his throat. A second later, he was convulsing.
The guards reached them. One of them carried an extra mask and knelt by Gabe, whose convulsions had grown weaker.
“Bad breather mask,” Critch said.
“If only he’d left his mask on, we could’ve swapped out masks and he would’ve been fine,” the guard on the ground said, who Critch recognized from the front desk. “But as soon as he removed his mask, there was nothing we could do.”
Gabe’s body stilled, his eyes and mouth wide open. Already, his eyes were turning a deep yellow—what Spatens called fool’s gold.
“Poor fool,” the other guard said, and Critch recognized the voice as Vance’s.
The pair made eye contact. Vance knew. Critch waited a moment to see if the guard would try to arrest him for murder, even though they’d never be able to prove a thing.
“Yeah,” Critch said after a pause. “Poor fool.”
Nine
The Case of the Missing Bots
Tulan Port, Playa
Reyne was more than a bit surprised when Hadley returned an hour later with the items Boden had requested. At that time, Reyne’s group was still talking with the construction crews in the stationhouse.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure our Legacy Star bots were used in the attack,” Hadley said as she handed a bot to Boden. “The manifests show five hundred spider bots arrived. I’m confident in that number because I manually looked over all supplies as they arrived. I ran pings on all the bots in operation, and the scans showed four hundred currently in operation, which means that we’re missing one hundred bots.”
“It seemed like a whole lot more than a hundred bots came after me,” Reyne said as he remembered the attack. He shrugged. “But a hundred could be about right.”
“Yes, but here’s where it gets strange,” she said. “Now, I oversaw my bots being sent to the docks this morning, and they seemed to be all there. I certainly would’ve noticed one hundred fewer bots out of two hundred and fifty. I called Simon to see if he noticed any of his bots missing, and he hadn’t. And so I did a bit more digging, and I learned that only four hundred spider bots were initially deployed—two hundred to Simon and two hundred to me. I can only think that they were misappropriated sometime between being unloaded and being put into service.”
“That’s awfully convenient for you,” Sixx said. “You didn’t notice one hundred missing bots?”
She held out her hands. “My staff uncrated them. Yesterday was the first day of construction, things were hectic, and I guess I just didn’t think of counting the bots as they were put into service. Believe me, Simon was just as surprised as I was to find that we’re missing one hundred bots. We would’ve found the discrepancy soon enough. Production levels would be lower than they should be, but we haven’t had a full day’s stats to review yet.”
Hadley then focused on Reyne. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. I want to see justice brought to whoever’s behind this as much as you do, and I want things to work between us—between the Collective and the Alliance here at Tulan Port, I mean. Just let me know what I can do to help.”
Reyne watched her for a moment. “I believe you, and I’m glad that you’re helping us. But tell me, if the bots were stolen, how many people would have the software to be able to operate them?”
She replied. “Any Legacy Star employee, but they’ve all been thoroughly vetted for past felonies, and all of them volunteered for this project.”
Boden stepped in. “These bots are pretty basic. Their operating software would be easy enough to download by just about anyone with some technical knowledge.”
“Great. Then our list of suspects grows to anyone who had access to the crates,” Reyne mused.
“Easy,” Sixx said. “If what Hadley’s telling us is true—and I’m not saying it is—we head down to the docks and review the camera feeds from when the bots arrived. Then we’ll see who took the crate.”
Hadley stiffened but didn’t speak.
Reyne ignored Sixx and nodded to the bot in Boden’s hands. “My guess is you won’t find anything in there, since the others were taken a while back.”
“Just the same, I think I’d better take a look,” Boden said.
“You do that. But first, how about you go with Hadley and work through Legacy Star’s personnel logs to look for any red flags.” He paused and glanced at Hadley. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Of course,” Hadley said. “I’m happy to assist you in reviewing their work logs. However, I won’t allow you to go through their confidential files. I respect their privacy.”
“Thanks for your help. It means a lot,” Reyne said, and nodded toward Boden. “You two better get started.”
Boden took the hint and left with Hadley.
Sixx took a step closer. “Now that Hadley’s gone, do you think she’s involved?”
“I hope not,” Reyne said. “Nonetheless, I’d like to keep our thoughts among ourselves for now.”
“You have a plan?” Bree asked.
“The makings of one, starting with us heading down to the docks for the camera feeds.”
“Let’s go,” Sixx said.
Reyne held up a hand. “It’s not going to be quite that easy. The cameras are in place, but they aren’t scheduled to be turned on for another three weeks, when the generators are installed.”
Sixx and Bree frowned, and then Sixx spoke. “Ah, but the Legacy Star folks don’t know that, do they?”
“They shouldn’t, unless they’ve hacked my files.”
Bree looked at her wrist comm. “Okay. You guys head to the docks.”
“Where are you going?” Sixx asked.
She gave him an amused stare. “I need to pick up Lily from school.”
Sixx’s mouth formed an O. “Good idea.”
“I’ll swing by the docks and pick you guys up afterward,” she said. “I know how much Sixx hates walking outside.”
“It’s true. I hate it,” Sixx said.
“Be safe,” she said.
He gave her a peck on the cheek. “What would be the fun in that?”
She left Reyne and Sixx to pull on their cold weather gear, and the pair made the walk to the docks. The walk was short but slow as they weaved around grinders and crews smoothing the hard surface found across Playa, the densest of all the colonized planets. Every time Reyne saw a bot, he tensed and patted the gun he’d holstered to his hip. He’d never go without carrying weapons again, no matter how safe Tulan Port may feel.
Reyne didn’t speak to Six
x as they walked. The air was cold and made his teeth ache. Every now and then, he heard Sixx's muttered curses about the weather, and he wondered how long his friend would put up with Playa’s temperatures before returning to his home world of Spate. Reyne knew Sixx’s family still owned properties in Devil Town—Sixx would find an easy life there. Reyne supposed Sixx craved action too much to settle down, though he wondered if those cravings would mellow now that Sixx was living with Bree and his first wife’s daughter, Lily.
A hard wind seemed to go all the way through Reyne’s bones, and he made a mental note to check on the status of the tunnel’s construction when he returned to the stationhouse. Reaching the docks was a relief, even though each docking bay was still exposed to the elements, as the silos had yet to be built.
They turned left, to where the Legacy Star contractors were building the Collective concourse. “You know, I have some mini-cams that are wireless. I could have them installed all along these walls.” His words were muffled by his facemask.
“That may be a good idea,” Reyne said, then nodded. “Let’s go up there, just off where the crews are working.”
The Legacy Star crews weren’t far from the entrance. The humans were on the ramps, working with wires and electronics, while the bots scurried around the docking bay, digging out an oval opening in the ground.
They stopped below a nearby camera. Sixx pointed at it and spoke with a booming voice. “I’ll pull the feed from this one, too.”
Reyne tried not to grin at Sixx’s overacting. At least the cameras were installed. He bellowed for effect, “Better pull them all.” He motioned down the full distance of the concourse.
“I’m pretty good at this. Maybe I should get into acting,” Sixx whispered.
“Stick with your current job,” Reyne countered.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
Reyne spun around to see Simon Tate rushing toward them. He wore a full-length, bright white coat that had no dirt smudges on it—nothing to hint that Simon had ever been near anything resembling work.