Collective Cages
Collective Unified Forces ships stopped and searched fringe haulers all the time—sometimes out of boredom, sometimes after being tipped off that a particular hauler carried contraband, most of the time just to make life harder for colonists.
Throttle's brows were furrowed in confusion. "Why do you think they used stealth on us?"
Reyne shook his head. "Don't know, but I bet we're about to find out."
It was unheard of for CUF ships to burn the extra juice needed for stealth, using the advanced tech only when they needed to make sure their prey wouldn't see them coming and run. In Reyne's twenty years as a runner, he'd been dock checked every few months by a CUF patrol, but he'd always been careful. With a past like his, he had to be. He played by their rules, and every single time he'd left with his cargo intact, often with a frivolous citation or two as a memento.
In all that time, he'd never been tracked by a warship, let alone by a warship in stealth mode.
Whatever the reason for this stop, Reyne knew it didn't bode well for him and his crew. His sore body was quickly forgotten while he watched in trepidation as Throttle brought the Gryphon alongside the massive, gray warship. He stared at the ship's name—ARCADIA—emblazoned on its hull as the Gryphon glided to its docking bay.
"I see they've rolled out the welcome mat," Throttle said, and he then noticed the opened doors a couple hundred meters down from their current position. The number 2 was painted in iridescent white near the opening.
"Slowing to point three. Setting thruster for sixty-degree turn," Throttle voiced her maneuvers aloud, a habit she picked up at the age of eight. She effortlessly negotiated the docking procedures, and claw-like rilon mooring bars clamped onto the Gryphon with a metallic clang.
Reyne took a deep breath, suddenly feeling trapped much like that Myrad hauler had been just before being destroyed by the star swarm.
"Well, I guess we're in their hands now," she said. "At least they were gentler grabbing onto us this time. We still have a shimmy in the gear after the last dock check."
"It's on the fix list."
A pressurized tube shot out from the dock wall and fastened over their port. The comm panel beeped.
"Hauler Playa-One-Bravo, we read green on docking sequence. Power down your ship immediately. The entire crew must proceed through the tube for decontamination and interviews. No weapons or hostility of any kind will be tolerated."
Throttle unlocked her seat and wheeled back. "I suppose we shouldn't keep our gracious hosts waiting," she said with her usual dash of sarcasm.
"No, I suppose we shouldn't," he echoed.
He followed her down the narrow hallway. The rest of the crew stood waiting for them at the small port door. When Reyne approached, Sixx cranked open the door. He then took a step back and waved in an exaggerated motion. "After you, boss."
Reyne chortled and entered the tube that was no more than four feet in diameter. He walked in a crouch through the tunnel, his bruised ribs crying out against the constrictive stance.
"Viggin' CUF," Boden grumbled as he crammed his muscular body into the tunnel.
"Careful. If they hear you, you'll be issued a citation," Reyne warned over his shoulder.
Throttle followed Boden into the confined docking tube that was too round and too narrow for her to ride her wheelchair. The sounds of her legs dragging behind her echoed through the confined space.
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.
He took an obvious step back, as though she were contagious. "I've heard about such things but have never seen one in real life. You know, if you were a citizen, your faults would've been repaired."
Reyne chimed in. "Too bad colonists don't have those kinds of luxuries."
Laciam ignored him, still staring at Throttle. "You wouldn't be bad looking—for a colonist, that is—if you weren't broken."
She clenched her fists but said nothing.
Reyne bit back the urge to rip out the officer's throat. "I'm sure you're busy, officer. What can we do to help you process us so we can get out of your hair?"
Laciam snapped around to face him. "You don't speak until spoken to, got it? One more unsolicited word from you, you get to spend a week in the brig. You want that?"
"Not especially," Reyne answered drily.
The CUF officer glared at Reyne for an endless moment before finally breaking eye contact and nodding to his assistant to resume the task at hand.
Boden had to jostle Throttle again to reveal his forearm to the assistant.
"Confirmed. Tren Boden. Alluvian non-citizen," the assistant read from his monitor before moving onto Throttle. "Confirmed. Halit Herley. Terra colonist."
Then came Doc. "Confirmed. Aila Chapei. Terra colonist."
Finally, Sixx held out his arm. "Confirmed. Jeyde Sixx. Spate colonist."
Laciam scrutinized Reyne and his crew. "It's your lucky day. It seems you match up with your crew list." Laciam motioned, and the dromadiers closed in around Reyne and his crew as though they'd try to make a run for it. Even if they wanted to—and Reyne certainly did—it wasn't as though any of them could escape while deep in the bowels of a CUF warship.
"Follow me to your holding rooms for interviews," Laciam ordered and took off ahead without waiting for a response.
"We know the routine," Reyne said under his breath.
Laciam led them down a large hallway until they reached a line of doors along one wall. He punched keys on his wrist comm, and several doors opened.
"One per room. Get moving," the officer commanded.
Reyne's crew split into their cells. The dromadiers were none too patient as Boden carried Throttle into a room and set her down. They yanked him back and shoved him into a cell next to hers. "Lay off," Boden snapped. "I'm going, I'm going."
After his crew was in their individual cells, Reyne entered the last open room. Even though he had no control over what the CUF did to his people, he still felt responsible for them and would damn well do everything in his power to see that they were treated as well as colonists could expect to be treated.
His tiny room was made of bright white walls saturated in a near-blinding light. Inside, sat a bench, the only furnishing. Spotlessly clean and exactly like every other CUF holding cell he'd ever been in. With nowhere to go, he took a seat, covered his eyes, and tried to catch some sleep.
No such luck.
The sound of powered movement alerted Reyne. Scowling, he opened his eyes and squinted against the dark shape emerging through the brightness. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that a table and a cushioned bench had come out from the wall. He didn't need to look around to know that there was also an automatic gun leveled on him from the ceiling.
"Good day, Captain Reyne," a female voice said as the newcomer's features sharpened in the light. "I am Commandant Heid. Welcome to the Arcadia. I hope my first officer was not overzealous in processing you and your crew."
Reyne pushed to his feet to meet the senior officer at eye level. "In all my years as a runner, this is the first time a commandant has come down to talk to me. Adding that to the fact you burned juice on stealth, I'm guessing this is no ordinary dock check."
"Perhaps. Or, perhaps I'm simply bored." She smiled. "But I'm not the first commandant you've spoken to, am I?"
He didn't answer.
Heid took a seat across the table from him. "Today is a standard dock check, more or less."
"If it's a standard check, then we should be wrapped up in no time. As you should be able to read in my records, I'm a legit runner, and I hold my crew to the same high standards."
She chuckled. "'High standards' is not a term I'd apply to your crew."
Reyne realized just how young the officer was—in her mid-thirties or so—which meant she'd earned her rank from money—or was very, very good at her job. As he watched her, he supposed she could've also gotten promotions the old fashioned way—from sleeping with the right officers. She had the curves of a fit woman, a model's face, and eyes twinkling with keen intelligence. He doubted anyone ever told her no.
He watched her, but she was busy scrolling through whatever information she was perusing on her wrist comm. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, and he suspected she never let it down, figuratively speaking, that was.
"When it comes to your crew, I think 'miscreants' may be a better term, don't you think?" she continued, without looking up.
He didn't answer.
"One of your crewmembers has seventy-eight open misdemeanors filed against him."
"Ah, but the CUF doesn't deal with misdemeanors," he countered, trying not to grin. Sixx must've scored another one in between their most recent runs.
"Another one has been in and out of rehab three times for sweet soy addiction."
"Boden's clean now. That's ancient history."
"Last rehab was only eleven months ago." She glowered. "Sweet soy is a terrible plague on Alluvia. I saw it everywhere growing up. I'm from First City, on the other side of town from where Tren would've grown up in the tenured district. Life isn't easy for tenureds. Nearly all of them are addicts by the age of ten. He never stood a chance, really. I can't imagine how much he must hate every citizen he sees." She paused. "Though, I imagine your other two crewmembers hold even more hatred in their hearts against my people. Tell, me Captain Reyne. Do you still hate citizens as zealously as you did in the Uprising?"
He shook his head. "I never hated citizens. I was just against the unfair treatment of colonists."
"Ah, but the two lines can become blurred. I imagine many of your torrents in the Uprising couldn't differentiate between the two." She paused. "Speaking of the Uprising, I was too young to participate, but I read about how you inspired rebellion. You were never afraid take the lead in battles. It was almost as though you weren't afraid to die."
He shrugged. "None of us get out of life alive."
"No, I suppose not. But while you had a reputation for taking dangerous risks, I also saw that you were never foolish. I studied your style. You led with your head and not your heart. I consider us kindred spirits in that."
He guffawed. "A citizen comparing herself to a colonist? Now, I've heard it all."
Her lips curled upward. "We're more alike than you think. You know what else I think?"
"What's that?"
"I think you're still a torrent. Just like your entire crew are still torrents."
"You're chasing ghosts. There are no torrents left," he said simply. "They all died at Broken Mountain."
"Ah, yes. Broken Mountain." She gave him a sympathetic look.
He fought to hold himself back from strangling her.
"The entire Collective equates the name Aramis Reyne with Traitor," she said. "What impresses me is how you've managed to stay alive this long. You didn't change your identity. You still fly the Gryphon. You're basically spitting in the eye of the torrent spirit. How, in twenty years, did you not end up with a photon blast to the brain?"
Reyne forced himself to breathe slowly in and out. "Just lucky, I guess."
She cocked her head. "Lucky is one thing you most definitely aren't." She leaned forward. "Will you tell me the story?"
His jaw tightened. "I'm guessing you've heard it already."
"I've read your records, but they lack the flavor of what really happened. They speak of how a torrent marshal and a medic were at a farm, helping an injured little girl when they were attacked. The marshal was badly injured while holding off the dromadiers so that the medic could escape with her patient. Instead of killing the marshal, they arrested him and brought him to a nearby CUF base. It was at that base, while he was shackled to a gurney, that an officer—a commandant—placed a radio in the marshal's room so could listen to the attack on Broken Mountain as it happened.
"But, rather than breaking the marshal's spirit as intended, it sent him into a berserker rage. Somehow, he managed to break free from his bonds and take the officer hostage. The marshal would've gotten free, too, except an adjutant showed up with two dromadiers, each one holding a gun to the head of the medic and little girl. They threatened tit for tat, so to speak. The commandant's life in exchange for the two females. The marshal hadn't realized that the pair had also been captured, and he surrendered rather than escape and live with their deaths on his conscience. The marshal was held on that base until after the torrents within Broken Mountain surrendered."
She held up a finger. "Surprisingly, rather than send him to the Citadel for prison or execution, the officer granted the marshal's freedom. The Gryphon was disarmed, and all three fringe prisoners were released without further delay."
Reyne's heart pounded as he relived in his head the weeks he spent at the CUF base. "Nice story, but I don't see where you're going with this."
She frowned. "The records have too many gaps, especially between the time of your attempted escape and your eventual freedom."
He leaned forward. "Is this why you stopped my ship? To fill in some gaps for your war story?"
The side of her lip curled upward. "No. I have other business, but I've always found your story fascinating. Will you tell me why the officer expunged your record?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
She tapped a finger on the table. "I have two theories. My first theory is that when you found that small, broken girl, surrounded by death, she tugged at the last shreds of humanity you had left. Unable to let her die, you betrayed the torrents to save her life." She cocked her head. "Or, you were a scapegoat. You remained true to the torrent cause, despite all risks to yourself and to the two females. Whether it was by calculation or by generosity, the officer released you. His actions set you up to take the fall, especially when all the other torrent marshals were sent to the Citadel or escaped to the edges of the fringe."
Reyne stared at her, teeth and fists clenched. "You don't know me."
She shrugged. "You're right. I don't know you, but I bet one of my theories is close to being right."
He pushed off from his bench. "Are we done here?"
"No, we're not finished. Sit down."
He didn't move. After an interminable silence, he relented and sat down.
"Now that we've had a chance to talk, I think I know which theory is correct."
"And which one might that be?"
Her wrist comm chimed, and she glanced down. She sighed deeply. "Our time together is growing short, and so we must talk about your cargo."
"Your men will find nothing," he said coldly. "I've never smuggled contraband."
"It's not illegal cargo I'm interested in," she replied. "Tell me about the Genics Corp contract."
His eyes narrowed as she confirmed his suspicions regarding the reason why they'd been stopped. "There's nothing to tell. Standard salvage contract. A hauler ended up stranded in the path of a star swarm. We were sent in to retrieve a high-priority package. I have all the paperwork."
"I've read the paperwork. You didn't find it suspicious that a modern hauler would have a level one catastrophic failure—one where not a single crew member could reach an escape pod in time—exactly in the path of a star swarm only a few hours away?"
"You tell me. I'm a runner, not a detective."
"Ah, but you were a chaser when as a conscript in the CUF, were you not? You were paid to solve mysteries and hunt down criminals." She tilted her head. "What did you find on the hauler? What was the state of the crew?"
"Standard cat fail. All crew dead from exposure. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Really?" Heid watched Reyne for an uncomfortably long moment, and he began to suspect that she knew more than she was letting on. "How convenient for you that we'll never know now that the ship has been destroyed by a star swarm."
Her comm chimed again, and she read the message. "I have what I need. My apologies for detaining you and your crew, and my apologies for having to seize the package you salvaged from the hauler."
Reyne's hands hit the table. "Why? That was a legal contract. You can't do that."
She ignored his question. "My men also removed twenty units of biome kits, as you did not have proper paperwork for those."
"We found them on the hauler," he gritted out. "Code Eighty-Four-Bravo-Twenty-Six. It's fully legal to salvage ships containing supplies facing imminent destruction if the owners cannot retrieve them in time. Paperwork is not required as long as the goods are logged in to the system, which I did. I'm a licensed runner. You can't take legal cargo without a warrant."
"I'm a commandant in the Collective Unified Forces. I will do anything I please in order to preserve the Collective's well-being."
"Including stealing from colonists?" he snapped back.
"I'm not stealing. I'm reappropriating those biome kits to where they can be better served."
His eyes narrowed. "Sure you are. And the package?"
She stood and headed to the door. "I believe we're done for today, Captain. Thank you for the conversation."
"Wait." He jumped to his feet. "What's in the package?"
She stood in the doorway, as though thinking. "You ever wonder about the decision you made while imprisoned on Terra? That you made the wrong decision?"
The abrupt subject change made him take a second or two for her question to process in his head. "Never."
Heid gave a small nod and an almost-smile. "Don't be glum. You should be thanking me. After all, I just saved Ice Port."