The Fringe Wars

1.3

Reyne reached the other end and dropped down into the decontamination chamber. Boden landed heavily on his feet, turned around, and caught Throttle. Doc followed, with Sixx covering the rear.

As soon as Sixx was clear of the tube, a door snapped shut, sealing them in the small chamber.

"Decontamination commencing."

Mist shot out from the walls, encapsulating them in a damp spray. Reyne didn't mind this part, but he hated what came next. After several seconds of the spray soaking their skin, the wind shot out, nearly knocking him down. The wind—what was commonly called the rinse cycle—burned his eyes and etched his skin raw.

All CUF ships and space docks had decontamination chambers to prevent the spread of disease, and Reyne was convinced they cranked up the rinse cycle on anyone from the fringe just to be assholes.

When the fog cleared and Reyne could see again, he turned to his crew to see them all red-skinned and with tears streaming down their faces. "You all good?" he gritted out.

He received nods and rough affirmations.

Boden jostled Throttle, and she smacked his chest. "Damn it, you big lug. I'm not a viggin' doll."

"My eye itches," he replied, sounding hopeless.

She grumbled something Reyne couldn't make out.

Sixx grinned. "Oh, quit your moaning, Throttle. You know you like it."

She flipped him off before sulking in Boden's arms.

The entire wall shot up into the ceiling with a whoosh, and Reyne found himself face to face with a dozen armed dromadiers. Each soldier held a proton gun and had stun sticks strapped to his legs. They wore blue chimesuits, a nickname earned for the sounds that emitted from the copious number of alarms and warnings built into the smart suits.

"Form a line, facing us," a dromadier ordered, consistent with the same protocols they'd experienced during every CUF dock check before. Without hesitation, Reyne and his crew did as they were instructed.

An officer emerged, followed by an assistant carrying a DNA scanner.

The pair stopped in front of Reyne. The officer's skin had the bluish tint that all citizens who'd spent a lifetime on the silver-rich planet of Myr had. "I'm First Officer Laciam of the Arcadia, serving under Commandant Heid, and you've been stopped for a standard dock check."

Reyne's brows rose, not believing for an instant that there was anything "standard" about this dock check. Instead of saying what he really thought about the officer and their current situation, he said, "I'm Aramis Reyne, and this is my crew. We're happy to be of service."

The officer's eyes narrowed as though he'd bit into something sour. "I know who you are, torrent. Now, bare your left forearms for identification. Do not make any sudden moves, or you will be arrested."

Laciam's assistant—a pale, scrawny fellow who didn't look a day over seventeen—pressed a dark rectangular instrument against Reyne's forearm. Reyne winced at the quick prick as the instrument drew a sample of his blood. The young man looked at the screen and announced, "Identity confirmed. Aramis Reyne, Playa colonist."

Laciam didn't acknowledge the results, as he'd become engrossed with Throttle. He cocked his head, as though he was looking at a three-eyed dog. "What's wrong with you?"

"My legs don't work," she answered simply.

Laciam frowned. "I don't understand."

"I'm paralyzed," she said with a deadpan expression. "My legs don't work." She said her last statement slowly, as though speaking to a child.