Fringe Runner (Fringe Series Book 1) (3 page)

“With all gunshots in the view panel,” Sixx said. “It looked like she was trying hard to get rid of the package. It’s like she didn’t want anyone to have it, not that she needed to bother, with the star swarm headed her way.”

Reyne snapped his fingers, and he pushed off the wall. “What are the odds a brand new Myrad hauler would suffer a cat fail in the path of a star swarm?”

Sixx shrugged. “Pretty damn low.”

“More like impossible,” Doc chimed in. “Star Swarms are rare. There is only one documented case of a ship running into a swarm, and that ship was in jump speed at the time.”

“Exactly,” Reyne said. “The captain intentionally planned a cat fail at that exact location. No one would want to stay on a ship that was in the path of a star swarm. Once the crew was off the ship, she was going to drop the package and cut out of there with her ship and cargo all to herself. The star swarm would’ve obliterated any evidence that package ever existed.”

“A perfect plan until someone got in her way,” Sixx said.

Reyne nodded. “Which then forced her to improvise and take out the crew. By the time she drifted them, she was too weak to drop the package and run. When she realized she wasn’t going to make it, she tried to decompress the ship to have space suck the package out for her. My guess is she lost consciousness before she could blow out the view panel.”

“Good for us she didn’t succeed,” Sixx said. “Or, else that contract would turn into a zero paycheck.”

Reyne thought hard for a long moment. Then he pinged the bridge on the comm. “Throttle.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you to plot out the fastest course for Ice Port. I want that damn Genics Corp package off this ship yesterday.”

“Consider it done.”

Reyne turned to find Sixx and Doc watching him.

“What’s your gut telling you?” Sixx asked.

“My gut is telling me that we never should’ve taken this contract,” he answered.

“You’ve always had a good instinct,” Doc said. “There’s a reason the CUF assigned you as a chaser.”

“You think we should drop the package and run?” Sixx asked.

“I think we should’ve left the blasted thing back on the Myrad hauler and let the star swarm have it,” Reyne answered. “Except that we need the credits to damn much. Its paycheck is more than ten months’ pay we earn as runners.”

“Well, I’m sure the credits will help soothe your conscience.” Sixx blew out a breath. “This whole mess is giving me a headache. How about some painkillers, Doc?”

“You’re lucky you have only a headache,” she answered before she read from the tablet she held. “You’ve broken your nose. Again. Fortunately, you have no broken bones and no signs of internal injuries. However, you have torn ligaments in your knee and have a hairline fracture in your left wrist. I’ll wrap your wrist, and I’ll put you on a three-day cycle of injections for your knee.”

The blonde medic grabbed a syringe off the table and pressed it against his swollen knee.

He sucked in air. “Damn, that hurts.”

“That should teach you not to treat your body like a battering ram.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sixx said. “What I need are some painkillers, Doc.”

She swapped the syringe for a small bottle and placed a single pill into Sixx’s palm.

He stared at her, incredulous. “Only one? Seriously, Doc. That won’t even take the edge off. I need at least three.”

She gave a tut. “You’re in your prime. You’ll be at one hundred percent in no time.”

Reyne smirked as he watched the pair hold a battle of the wills, knowing full well Sixx didn’t stand a chance. After lasting longer than Reyne expected, the man relented and swallowed the single pill without any water. He climbed to his feet, towering a foot over her. “You’re brutal, Doc.”

He limped away from the table. As he passed Reyne, he said softly, “She’s in a mood today. Good luck.”

“I heard that,” she called out.

With a sly grin, Sixx scurried away to leave Reyne alone with Doc.

She patted the table. “Your turn, Captain.”

He winced as he pulled himself onto the slab.

“Where do you feel pain?” she asked.

“Everywhere.”

Her gaze narrowed.

So he added, “My chest hurts the most.”

With no further acknowledgement, she helped him lie back before moving to her control panel.

The overhead scanner lit the small room in its ambient glow. Beginning at his head, the bioscanner’s silent line of light progressed slowly toward his feet.

When the light finally shut off, Doc read the results on her tablet. “You got off easier than Sixx. Your chest hurts because you have three bruised ribs. You also have some tearing in your shoulder. A single injection and some sleep should have you recharged in no time.”

She pursed her lips. “You need to be careful. You’re twice Sixx’s age. Your body isn’t going to snap back after every new abuse you subject to it.”

“Trust me,” he said, sitting up. “It reminds me every minute of every day.”

Her voice softened. “How’s the arthritis?”

He didn’t respond.

She motioned to the man-sized booth in the corner. “You’ve got to start spending more time in the gravity chamber. Too many years in ships’ point-seven gravity factor has added decades to your bones and joints.”

His upper lip curled into a snarl at the booth, finding it hard to breathe as his mind painted an all-too-real picture of the cramped space inside.

Doc cocked her head. “I know it isn’t easy, but it’s important.”

“I’ll log an hour in it tomorrow.”

Her brows rose. “Promise?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Have you tried watching a movie in there to take your mind off your claustrophobia?”

“Doesn’t help. Nothing relaxes me in there.”

She placed a hand on his chest and pressed him back down on the table. “I know something that can help relax you,” she said in a sultry voice.

“Later,” he said, brushing her off. “I need rack time. Go find Sixx.”

Her lips thinned. “I thought I lost both of you today. I couldn’t bear it.”

Reyne’s gaze softened, and he allowed her to press him back onto the table. The woman used sex as a way to deal with stress. They’d never had an emotional relationship, but he also had no problem helping her out in that area. Everyone needed companionship on long space runs. And, that she was far too easy on the eyes didn’t hurt.

She straddled him, her pale skin against his dark skin. He knew he had no more chance of swaying Doc when it came to her sexual needs than Sixx had earlier in asking for painkillers.

Some time later, Reyne finally pushed off from the table. Doc began tidying up the med bay.

“Where’s my pill?” he asked.

“Your injuries don’t warrant a painkiller,” she replied as a matter of fact.

“Come on, I’m the captain. Doesn’t that warrant any special privileges?”

“All the more reason not to have drugs clouding your mind.”

“Oh, but it’s okay for Sixx?”

Doc shot him a wry look. “Do you really think Sixx’s decision-making abilities could get any worse?”

“Good point.”

She shooed him away. “Now, off with you. I’m starving and need some breakfast.”

Doc didn’t have to tell Reyne twice. He headed straight back to his bunk, collapsing onto the mattress. He felt himself swirl into sleep.

Then his viggin’ comm chimed.

He muttered out a long string of cusswords before answering. “What now?”

“
Hello, grumpy
,” Throttle replied. “
You should take a nap
.”

“Brilliant idea,” he gritted out.

“
Except it’ll have to come later. Kason’s pinging you.”

He groaned. “I’ll be right there.”

He dragged himself up and made a detour through the commons to grab some food and drink. When he reached the bridge, he tossed Throttle a food bar and drink bag, and she caught both.

“How’s Boden coming along with repairs?” he asked as he tore into his own food.

“He needs a couple more hours. Then we’ll be good to go as long as we keep running on solar sails. I’ve plugged in our scalar plan to Ice Port. We should arrive in eighty-seven hours.” She yawned. “Oh, and Kason’s on channel Four.”

“Eighty-seven hours is cutting it close.”

“We’ll make it.”

He sat down and took a long drink before opening the comm channel. Unable to get a live video feed this deep in the fringe, Kason’s picture showed instead on the screen. Clean-cut and generally well-behaved, he was one of the few guys in the Collective that Reyne would trust to date Throttle.

“Tell me you’ve got the package,” Kason said without any sort of salutation.

“I’ve got the package. I’ll reach Ice Port on day one-twenty-six around time—” he looked to Throttle.

She flashed her fingers in a quick succession of movement.

“—twenty-six-forty-five common time,” he finished. “If we can drop it off at the stationhouse, all the better. That package puts us behind schedule on our mail delivery.”

Audio relays were delayed by a couple seconds per every ten light years or so. Kason’s response came faster than Reyne expected, meaning the Alluvian was in the fringe rather than back on his home world. “Genics Corp gave specific instructions. You are to hand deliver the package to Vym Patel. They won’t transmit the credits until you verify she’s personally signed for it.”

Reyne frowned. Vym was Ice Port’s stationmaster. The old woman’s vocal opinions against Collective companies were no secret. “Genics Corp must be paying her a hefty sum to get her involved.”

After a delay, Kason’s answer came. “No idea. Anyway, I need to sign off. I’ll be at Ice Port by the time you get there. Report in when you land.”

Reyne closed the channel, put his feet up, and looked out the view panel. He could see nothing but infinite space before them. The cosmic solitude was a stark difference from the star swarm they’d escaped barely two hours earlier.

This particular solar system had hundreds of large asteroids in orbit. Generations of using space as a dumping ground for satellites, stations, and other waste had led a few of the larger asteroids to suck up space junk into their destructive mass. As an asteroid accumulated junk, its path widened, shooting through anything unfortunate enough to be caught in it. The largest four swarms had even been given names. The particular one they’d escaped was called Hugo. By now, anything left of hauler M4029LW would be a part of Hugo’s gravitational pull, flying forever in an orbital path.

A loud beep broke his concentration. “What now?”

“That’s strange,” Throttle said. “We’re being hailed, but I didn’t pick up anyone on radar.”

Reyne’s feet dropped to the floor with a thud, and his hands flew over his console. “Stealth.”

“They sent a message.” Her voice bore a nervous tinge.

“Speakers,” he commanded.

“Hauler Playa-Seven-Five-Five-One-Bravo, this is the Collective Unified Forces warship
Arcadia
. You have been flagged for a standard dock check. You are hereby ordered to dock onto the
Arcadia
at port number Two. You have five minutes to comply. If you show any signs of noncompliance, you will be fired upon. Respond within sixty seconds of your confirmation of receipt. Convey ship logs and crew list with response.”

“Shit,” Reyne said. After taking a deep breath, he hit the transmit switch. “
Arcadia
, this is Playa-Seven-Five-Five-One-Bravo. Received instructions and will comply. We’ve been doing some maintenance and are running slow. It may take us a bit longer to dock.”

“Hauler Playa-One-Bravo, you have five minutes to comply.”

Reyne glanced at Throttle. “You can always count on the CUF to be consistent,” he said.

“Yeah, consistently be assholes,” she muttered.

“Language,” he added absentmindedly before broadcasting an alert to the crew. “Red alert, guys. We’ve been invited to tea with our CUF friends. Check your bunks. Make sure you hide anything less than perfectly legal, because we’re about to be boarded.”

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 photon 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 tenured. 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?”