The Bitters of War
Rebus Station, Terra
Critch had just opened the door when Kassel jogged out from his bedroom. "Wait! I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not," Critch said.
"Yes, I am."
Critch sighed, closed the door, and turned to face the teenager. Kassel watched him intently while he tried to zip shut an overstuffed backpack.
"Listen, kid. I've stayed here too long already. Every minute I stay here, I put you and your family in more danger. The droms will come looking for me. You're a lot safer if I'm not here."
Kassel shrugged. "No one's safe around here anymore. I want to go with you. I want to fight."
"You're too young."
"You were only two years older than me when you fought in the Uprising."
Critch pursed his lips before he spoke again. "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed."
"I can take care of myself. Besides, I remember that you almost got yourself killed, and it was me who dragged your unconscious ass to safety."
He sighed. "This matter is not up for debate. You're staying. Your parents will go nuts when they come home and you're not here."
Kassel's eyes narrowed, and his jaw jutted out. "My parents aren't coming back. They were caught after curfew last week."
Critch paused as he watched the teenager. Kassel's jaw trembled as though he was about to cry, but he stood tall. If his parents were caught after curfew, they were dead. The CUF made no exceptions. Not anymore.
Kassel finished zipping his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. The pair stood in a face-off.
The last thing Critch wanted was to bring kids into war, but the truth was, war had already come to them. There was no escape from the violence. Kassel was still at the age of invincibility—he could take on the galaxy and still make it home for dinner. At least Critch could keep an eye on Kassel if he took the kid with him, whereas if Kassel stayed behind, Critch couldn't keep him from going after the droms on his own.
He let out a deep breath. "Okay, kid."
Kassel's features brightened as he broke out into a full grin.
"But, you do as I say, no exception, no argument. Got it?"
His head bobbed up and down. "Got it."
Critch nodded to the boy's pack. "Let me see what you packed."
Kassel hurriedly shrugged off the backpack and handed it over.
Critch unzipped the bag and dumped the contents on the nearby table. Clothes, toiletries, books, and various trinkets tumbled out. He picked out a toy spaceship and held it up with his brow raised in an unasked question.
"Dad gave me that," Kassel defended. "I'm going to be a pilot."
Critch set the ship on the pile. "We're running for our lives; we're not camping out. Take only what you need to survive. That means this bag should be filled with food and water." He rifled through the contents and pulled out a small first aid kit. "This is smart. Keep the kit. If you have a knife, take it. And grab some gloves and a shemagh—you'll need them."
"What's a shem—"
"A bandana or a scarf. Something to cover your face. Where we're headed, you'll need it."
"Where are we headed?"
"Broken Mountain."
Kassel's jaw slackened. "But that place is—it—"
"I know. That's why droms avoid it, and that's why we're headed there. Now, get your pack ready and let's go."
Kassel swooped up the bag and its contents in his arms and hustled toward his room before pausing. He turned. "You better not leave me."
"I won't. You're one of mine now."
Kassel beamed and disappeared into his room, and a flurry of rummaging sounds followed.
Critch turned his attention to the dinette. He unslung his pack, favoring his weak shoulder. He took a chair—his body still ached with battle fatigue—and set his full pack next to him.
A few minutes later, Kassel emerged with a much emptier bag.
"Now, fill the rest with food and water, especially water," Critch ordered before looking down at his wrist comm. Still no response from Seda. Ditto from Gabe on the Honorless.Seda was understandable—Critch had known Seda would have to go dark after fleeing Terra. Gabe, on the other hand, was supposed to be parked behind one of Terra's twin moons, waiting specifically for Critch's call. That Gabe hadn't answered meant one of three things: either the CUF had managed to block all comms leaving Terra, the Honorless had been taken or destroyed, or Gabe had abandoned Critch and the rest of the crew.
For Gabe's sake, it'd better be one of the first two options. Frustrated, he tapped a quick message to Birk on the Scorpia.
RS gone to shit. Need a ride with stealth. RP at BM.
The last intel Critch had on his friend was that Birk and Throttle were on their way to Spate to raise a ruckus with the droms in Devil Town. While the "Devil's Playground" mission was more important than rescuing Critch, he hoped Birk could track down one of the specters—his pirate fleet turned torrent fleet—to make a pickup. With their stealth capability, they could bypass the shitstorm above Rebus Station.
As for the rest of Critch's crew, they'd separated a week ago to hunt down supplies. He'd yet to hear from them and suspected the worst. He put his wrist comm back into standby mode to keep any sniffer drones from picking up a signal, even though drones couldn't pick up a signal unless they were within a dozen feet of it.
"Can I get one of those?" Kassel asked.
Critch looked up to see the boy eyeing his wrist comm. "We get off this rock, I'll get you a top-of-the-line comm."
"Cool."
Critch pointed to the window. "Curfew's in three hours. We need to make it to the tunnels by then."
Kassel's eyes widened. "The nearest tunnel is eight blocks from here."
"But you were in the warehouse district." Critch frowned. "Exactly how did you get me back to your place without getting stopped by droms?"
"It was easy. I drove my parents' truck. Arick and Jams distracted the droms while I wheeled you out in a crate and loaded you into the back of the truck. A couple droms saw me, but they don't seem to bother with the looters right now." He nodded to the torrent pendant Critch wore. "They're too focused on finding folks wearing the teardrops. Do I get one of those?"
"Maybe later. Tell me about the checkpoints around here."
"Sure," the boy said. "It's easy enough leaving town. Conscripts operate those checkpoints, and they don't care—I think they want people to get out of this shithole. It's getting back into town that's the hard part. All the droms are citizens at the entry checkpoints, and they're assholes."
"When we come back, we won't care, because we'll bring an army of vengeance with us."
"Cool," Kassel said again, this time with much more hope.
"Let's head out," Critch said.
Critch covered his scarred face with his shemagh, and they left Kassel's apartment building. They ran across other Terrans in the hallway. All gave Critch sharp looks, but they continued along their way after seeing Kassel was both unharmed and clearly not a prisoner.
The truck was parked across the street, and the pair jogged over and climbed in. Critch let Kassel drive, since it was his parents' vehicle and he knew the checkpoints. More important, with the teen behind the wheel, Critch had his hands free to shoot if things turned dire.
"Let's hope you fly better than you drive," Critch said after Kassel overcorrected the wheel and abruptly hit the brake, then the gas pedal, all within a couple of seconds.
"I don't know how to fly yet. Wait, does that mean you'll teach me?" His voice climbed in pitched as he asked.
"One thing at a time, kid. Focus on your driving first. I'd rather die fighting than pancaked into the side of a building."
Kassel's driving didn't improve, but they passed through the residential neighborhood rather quickly. Critch was surprised to see few dromadiers walking the sidewalks or driving patrols until he realized the CUF would be focusing its numbers on chasing down torrents. The CUF had the ships and weapons, but the fringe had the numbers. The CUF could win a short war if it hit hard and fast. But, if the torrents could prolong the war using guerilla-style attacks, forcing the Collective to burn through its resources, the fringe had the upper hand.
While he didn't crave a long war, he'd do whatever it took to free the colonies, even if it meant he'd be fighting the rest of his life.
Flashing lights caught his attention, and he saw a pair of droms standing at a checkpoint. "Okay," Critch began, "This is how this is going to play out. We're driving to my sister's place in Hampton. I've been working all day and sleeping. Anything goes sideways, I'll take out the droms and you step on it. Got it?"
"Got it," Kassel said before he squinted at the two droms. He grinned. "We won't need a story. May and Leony are working. They're both conscripts—from Spate, I think—and they hatethe CUF."
"Even if that's true, they can't see my face," Critch cautioned. "If they knowingly let me pass, it's a death sentence for them."
"Oh. Then you'd better keep your face covered."
"Good plan," Critch said drily. He lowered his head against the window and closed his eyes, allowing the barest of slits to see through. At the same time, he pulled out his blaster and held it against his waist, aimed at Kassel's open window.
The truck slowed as they approached the two dromadiers. Conscripts wore the same dark blue suits as citizens, except their uniforms were missing either the Myrad or Alluvian flag patches worn by citizens. And no conscripts could become officers.
Kassel hung his arm out his window. "Hey, ladies. How are you doing on this lovely Thursday?"
One of the droms stepped forward. She looked into the truck. "Where's your pals?"
"Family trip today, Leony," Kassel said. "My dad and I are heading out to my aunt's in Hampton. She busted her leg today."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know the rules. I've got to log everyone who passes through here."
Critch's grip around the blaster tightened.
"I remember the rules, sure, but everyone knows that being on the lists is no good. And I know how busy you are. You probably don't even get time for breaks. You know, if your mouth is feeling a bit dry, I might have something to quench your thirst."
"It'd better be none of that watered-down crap you gave me last time."
"Nope. It's a brand-new bottle of Double-Moon to quench your thirst."
The woman lifted her nose. "Prove it."
Kassel reached under his seat and pulled out a bottle of Terran whiskey Critch hadn't known was there. The kid handed it to the woman.
She looked at it for a moment before unscrewing the cap and taking a drink. Her eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, yeah, that's the real stuff right there."
"How about one for me?" the other woman asked as she approached the truck.
Critch tensed even more.
Kassel's face fell. "Sorry, May. I've only got the one this time, but I promise I'll bring you one next time."
"Anyone who says, 'next time' never plans on coming through here again. You said yourself you're heading to your aunt's. I'd bet you're heading out for good. Is that what you're doing?"
"Nope," Kassel said a bit too quickly.
"How about your pops?" she asked.
"He's sleeping," Kassel said.
"Sure, he is." She slapped the windshield. "Wakey, wakey."
Critch slowly opened his eyes all the way.
Both women watched him, even though the one seemed far more interested in her new bottle of whiskey.
"Come on, May. Dad's had a long day. He's beat."
"He can speak for himself," May said. "How about it, Daddy? You got an extra bottle of Double-Moon for me?"
"Sorry, pal," Critch said, keeping the hidden blaster leveled on her. "Whiskey's getting hard to come by."
She squinted. "Wait. Let me see your face."
Critch watched her for a long moment. When she didn't break eye contact, he took his free hand and tugged down his shemagh. At the same time, he raised the blaster to a better position to make a clear shot.
Recognition filled May's features.
Ah, hell, Critch thought as he got ready to pull the trigger.
"You're him," she said. Her compatriot took a step forward as well, lowering the bottle, as she stared.
Neither woman seemed to notice or care that Critch held the blaster at them. He said nothing. If they'd been citizens, he would've killed them already. Conscripts were another story. Parliament had instituted a required two-year service for all able-bodied and able-minded colonists upon reaching the age of eighteen. It was Parliament's attempt at indoctrinating colonists into the Collective's ideals, but since many conscripts were treated like indentured servants, required service instead wedged a wider divide between citizens and the fringe; especially since citizens had no service requirement.
"We don't want any trouble," Kassel said. "We just want to be on our way."
"My dad fought under you in the Uprising," Leony said.
"What's his name?" Critch asked.
"Leon Brahams," she replied.
Critch thought for a moment. "I remember Leon. He was one of the best roosters around. He carried the heavy stuff and could open hell on the blue bastards." He paused. "Leon was Terran. Aren't you Spaten?"
A prideful smile grew on Leony's face as Critch spoke of her father. "He came to Spate after the Uprising. That's where he met my mom. She convinced him to stay, and the rest is history."
"Until you were conscripted at eighteen and ended up on your father's homeland," Critch said.
Leony sobered. "Yeah, well there's nothing I can do about it. They kill deserters."
"There's always something someone can do if it's important enough," he countered. "Conscripts outnumber citizens in the dromadier squads. Imagine what could change if the conscripts all rose up as one force. Or, imagine what each conscript could do if she put her mind to it. Just letting torrents and refugees through your checkpoint can save many lives."
"Helping colonists is one thing, but we'd be killed if they found out we knowingly helped torrents," May countered.
"True. It all comes down to if the something that needs done is important enough," Critch said. "What do you think?"
May and Leony looked at each other and then at Critch.
May spoke. "You can go. We won't tell anyone."
Leony tried to hand the bottle of whiskey back to Kassel.
"Keep it," Critch said. "You're doing a good thing here."
Critch nodded at Kassel, and they drove through the checkpoint and left Rebus Station. With dusk came the reddish glow of the two moons that illuminated Terra's nights. They drove for miles without speaking. Kassel was the first to break the silence.
"How many more torrents do you think are still stuck in Rebus Station?" the boy asked.
"Too many," Critch said. "Several hundred, at least."
More silence.
Several miles farther, they reached the edge of Broken Mountain—what remained of it. What had once been the largest mountain in the area, one with two jagged peaks, was now a massive hill of boulders.
"Keep driving. I'll tell you when to pull off," Critch said.
Kassel weaved around large rocks, having to veer off the road to avoid rock piles. They continued through intersections and past turnoffs.
Critch opened his wrist comm to find a single message from Birk:
Pickup 05-0500 at your ping.
He let his arm rest on his thigh and leaned his head back. Critch had a ride coming for him. Day 05 was tomorrow, at five in the morning. Whoever was coming for him must already be in the sector to arrive so quickly. He needed his wrist comm on and broadcasting his signal for their sensors, but he didn't worry about CUF drones this far from Rebus Station. He found he breathed easier for the first time in weeks.
"Our ride will be here in the morning," Critch said. "So, we won't have long to wait."
"Cool." Kassel frowned. "But the docks are under CUF control. How can they pick us up without using the docks?"
"My guess? There are no safe docks for launch, so they're sending a ship equipped with drop tanks. It burns a ton of juice to make a cold launch, so you won't see many use them, especially now that all the juice plants are shut down." He kept drop tanks on the Honorlessfor a last resort scenario and had only had to use them a handful of times. He wondered if Gabe had already burned all the juice in them.
Critch squinted as he looked for the turn. "Slow down. We're getting close." Each turnoff had a sign to indicate the location. He pointed. "There it is. Take a right at A-187."
Kassel turned and immediately swerved off the road to avoid a pile of rocks, only to drive over an even larger pile of rocks. Critch grimaced against the scraping sounds of stone against metal.
Kassel brought the truck to an abrupt stop. "Looks like this is as far as I can go."
Critch looked at the pile of rocks and brown dirt in front of them. "We're close enough. There's an entrance not too far from here."
Critch opened the door and grabbed his pack. When Kassel's door didn't open, he turned to find the boy clutching the wheel.
"Let's go," Critch said.
When Kassel turned, his expression was tight with dread. "I'm staying," he said quietly, then echoed louder, "I'm staying."
Critch raised a brow. "Oh, yeah? Want to tell me why?"
Kassel seemed to gulp down his fear. "It was what you said to May and Leony back there... about how anyone can help out, and I realized I could do more good here, finding torrents and getting them through the checkpoint, than I could up there." His eyes glanced skyward.
"You could, could you?" Critch asked.
Kassel took a deep breath. "Yeah. I could."
"It's going to be dangerous."
"I know."
Critch gave him a lengthy moment of silence before he spoke. "Well, if that's what you want—"
"It's what's right," Kassel cut in.
Critch gave him a small nod, one he hoped conveyed the pride he had in the young man and not the worry he felt about Kassel's future. He then dug into his pack and pulled out all the food and left it on the seat. "Now, don't go looking for trouble. Keep yourself safe first. You can't help anyone else if you're dead. If you do come across any torrents, there's a small tunnel right around this rock pile that didn't collapse in the explosion. It smells bad and looks even worse, but the droms don't come around here. The code is 8-4-2, the year of the Uprising. Oh, and you'll need this." He reached around his neck and pulled the chain he wore above his head. He handed it to Kassel.
Kassel stared at the pendant, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "You're giving me a teardrop? You mean, I'm a real torrent now?"
"You became a torrent as soon as you helped save me from the droms," Critch said. "Being a torrent is about what's in your heart. I knew you'd make a fine torrent as soon as I met you."
Kassel beamed as he slid the chain around his neck. He looked at the pendant for a moment, sniffled, and then sprang across the seat and hugged Critch.
Critch held him until Kassel's embrace relaxed.
"Don't go home tonight," Critch said, "in case one of your neighbors called the droms. Do you have somewhere you can stay for a couple days?"
"Sure, I guess I can crash at Arick's."
Critch squeezed Kassel's shoulder. "Until we meet again."
Kassel sat straighter, even though his eyes were filling with tears. "Until we meet again," he repeated the fringe farewell.
Critch grabbed his pack, now much lighter without the food, and left the truck without looking back. He heard the truck lurch backward as Kassel stepped on the pedal too hard, and he smiled. That kid would make a lousy pilot, but he was one hell of a torrent.
He climbed onto the massive pile of rocks created when the bombs had shattered the mountain and started avalanches with the debris. He was careful; a twisted ankle out here could be a death sentence if his ride couldn't make it. It was a clear night, so the two moons lit up Terra as much as a Playan day.
He never understood why people—like his friend, Reyne—chose to live on the ice world. Playa was cold, dark, and grim. Even its low gravity seemed to deter colonists from moving there. It was the opposite of warm, heavy Terra which allowed darkness only in her shadows. Yet, despite the environmental extremes, colonists from the two vastly different fringe worlds were so much alike.
Critch knew the similarities were from a hard work ethic and a need for a fair and equitable return for that work more so than where someone was born. Many citizens had forgotten what it was like to work. That was just one of the reasons he saw them as lesser humans.
As his thoughts turned darker and deadlier, Critch found himself climbing more swiftly over the rocks. He soon reached the crest. There, he scanned the collapsed mountain before him. The access point was hidden by rocks; no one would know it'd survived the blast unless they examined it up close. The rescue teams sent to dig out survivors in the hours following the bombing had found only a few accessible tunnel entrances in the rubble, and only one tunnel beyond those that had not yet collapsed. Of all the hundreds of refugees hiding in Broken Mountain the day of the attack, the rescue teams only brought home seven survivors.
After several minutes of searching, he found the entrance less than a hundred feet from where he stood. He was careful to watch his step as he made his way along the top of the rock pile toward it. When he was near, he climbed down the other side, letting gravity assist as he slid. When he reached solid ground, the entrance stood ten feet before him. The black metal door was new, having been replaced by Seda's tunnel crews following the rescue. Critch eyed the keypad on the door for only a moment before entering the three-digit code. The door opened with some scraping, and Critch wondered if the bones of the mountain weren't still settling.
The stench hit him from the darkness. He'd known the tunnels would smell from the hundreds of bodies decomposing throughout the mountain, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be so bad this far from the main tunnel network. The crews had left all the dead inside the mountain due to the instability of the collapsed tunnels and the lack of resources Terra faced after Parliament had begun to play rough with the colonies. Those victims who weren't killed instantly died trapped under and behind walls of debris.
Critch pulled up his shemagh to cover his mouth and nose, then clicked on his wrist comm's flashlight. Cranking his head around, he took one last lungful of fresh air, and then he entered the tunnel. As soon as he stepped inside, dim lights on the walls illuminated, and he realized the tunnel crews must've reestablished power to this tunnel. He clicked off his light.
Stacked near the door were boxes of water, food, and blankets, left for torrents who made it to this secret refuge. It'd be the perfect hideout, the last place the CUF would look, if not for the stench that made it a shelter of last resort.
Critch hoped he'd grow accustomed to the vile odor, but he'd been around death before and knew his olfactory response would never tame while inside. There was something about the smell of rotting flesh that turned the air to a soup that seeped into everything. The cloth covering his nose and mouth did little good. He'd be smelling death for days after he left this dank mausoleum.
A slight vibration rumbled under his feet, and he pulled out his blaster. A second later, the distant sound of rocks falling caused him to pause. He'd been right about the mountain still settling. Even though it'd been months since it was razed, he suspected small rockfalls and avalanches would continue for many more months, if not years, as sections of tunnels collapsed. The thought haunted him: he was in one of those tunnels.
Slowly, cautiously, he walked down the tunnel until it forked, with one path blocked by stone and the other, narrower path going deeper into the darkness. This part of the tunnel had been cleared, though he knew there were corpses nearby, likely just on the other side of the fallen stones.
Using his wrist comm light, he ventured down the dark tunnel long enough to see it ended with a blockage a hundred or so feet in. The narrow edge that encircled his wrist sent out light in the direction his hand pointed, causing shadows from uneven stone and pebbles to dance upon the walls as he walked.
The tunnels had first been built under Seda's grandfather's direction to mine the components needed to produce the juice that fueled all ships. Faulk Industries had been the first juice company and had thrived for three generations, though Critch suspected Seda might be its final owner.
Another vibration signaled a rockfall somewhere in the mountain, and Critch hurried back toward the entrance, where he figured was the least likely place to suffer a cave-in while he was there. He grabbed a blanket and set down his pack. He settled onto the cold, damp stone, using his pack as a pillow, and let himself fall asleep in the haunted crypt.
Critch shot awake at every vibration and sound—he seldom slept longer than an hour at a time. Growing up playing in the tunnels, he'd never had a fear of them. But, now his dreams haunted him with tight, lightless places that smothered his lungs.
An hour before his scheduled pickup time, he pushed himself to his feet. His right leg had gone numb, and his foot tingled. Every muscle was tight, and his back ached. He gave himself extra time to stretch out before grabbing his pack. He folded the blanket for the next person who needed it—he prayed someone else would make it here to use it—and opened the door.
It was still nighttime, and he deeply inhaled the fresh air that smelled of evergreens. He double-checked the door to make sure it locked behind him before he began climbing the hill of fallen rock once more.
When he reached the top, he scanned for friend or foe. Seeing neither, he took a seat and let himself enjoy watching night give way to dawn.
His ride arrived thirty minutes late. He frowned when he saw the Scorpia set down on the flat ground a safe distance from possible avalanches. Large drop tanks weighed it down even more on the dusty ground.
Critch slid down the rocks and ran toward the ship with both relief and trepidation: relief at being saved; trepidation at why it was the Scorpia that had come for him and not a different specter.
A ramp extended, and a cargo door opened. Birk emerged.
Critch hit the ramp at a jog. "You're late. Lose track of time in bed with your partner?"
"Maybe," Birk said, a wide grin climbing his face as he held out his hand to help Critch on board. He scowled. "Aw, dang, Critch, you smell awful."
"It's damned good to see you." He grabbed Birk's forearm. "But aren't you supposed to be wreaking hell on the CUF at Devil Town right now?"
Birk sobered and shook his head. "The CUF had already taken Spate."