The Resistance- The Complete Series Page 3

  “I’m no different than anyone else in here,” Wren said softly. “Not anymore.” She finished the meal and carried her tray over to the trash chute. With practiced motions, she cleared it off completely, as instructed, and set it down. Mara stayed close behind her.

  “You’re wrong,” Mara said into her ear.

  “About what?” Wren countered as they walked single-file down the corridor that would lead to their cells.

  “You are different. Everyone can see it,” Mara said, and this sent a tingle down Wren’s spine. The last thing she wanted to do was stand out, especially here. She’d kept her head down for two years, and had avoided many altercations because of it.

  They entered the round foyer: the cell section of the women’s prison circled the space. Wren looked up, scanning the twelve stories; her gaze settled above, where four androids were huddled around someone.

  “Who’s that?” Wren asked Mara, who shrugged.

  The visitor was on the fifth story, looking down into the crowd of prisoners. It was a man. A real man. Wren hadn’t seen another human, outside the other female prisoners, in two years. There were only androids running the show here. He must be someone important to be inside here with them. Her stomach sank, the gruel suddenly threatening to come back up. If he was important, that made him dangerous.

  Wren kept her eyes on the man as she stood on the circular lift in the center of the room. It stopped at the second floor, a guard led the prisoners back to their cells, and then it rose to the third floor, and so on. Wren watched the man with the androids around him closely, feigning a casual interest. Their eyes locked, and he frowned before looking away, checking something on a tablet. He had a nice face, almost familiar.

  They stopped at the seventh floor, and Wren stepped off, heading slowly toward her small cell. The android guard buzzed the energy-field barriers open, and they each marched into their cells. The android did something she’d never seen before. It walked over to her cell, keeping its back to her. She stood by the buzzing barrier, curious what it was doing.

  “Have a pleasant evening, Wren,” it said with a tone unlike the other guards. They all sounded the same: monotone and angry. This one just spoke to her with care and used her real name, another thing never done by a guard before.

  She didn’t know how to respond, so she just said, “You too.” It walked off with purpose, awaiting the lift’s return. It held a pulse blaster in its robotic hand and didn’t move for a full five minutes, until the lift came back.

  Wren watched the guard closely, and as it exited onto the lift’s platform, it stole a glance in her direction before disappearing below. She shook her head and sat down on the hard cot, peeling her boots off. Her feet throbbed, and she wished she’d had a chance at a hot shower. What she really wanted was a hot bath in her old clawfoot tub.

  She closed her eyes and fought the images flooding into her mind of her previous life. Her laboratory. Her fiancé. Their house overlooking the lake outside New Dallas. As the lights dimmed, her face pushed into her pillow, and for the first time in two years, she cried herself to sleep.

  CD6

  CD6 lowered to the ground and holstered his weapon. He’d noticed the man on the fifth floor and wondered at his business in their little prison. He’d do some digging to find out. He cursed himself for being so bold as to say goodnight to Prisoner 5589, but she was special. He’d read her file and didn’t believe the charges for a minute. Biological warfare didn’t seem like a hobby of hers.

  While the other prisoners traded supplies for favors, beatings, protection, and coupling together, 5589 stayed out of it all. CD6 had been stationed at the Uranus Mining Prison for Women for forty years, and only once before had he spoken so to a prisoner. She was dead a week later, quietly killed in her sleep. He didn’t think it was his interaction that had caused it, but CD6 had vowed to stay away from the humans since then. Something about Wren drew him in, though.

  As they marched in timed steps to their recharge stations, CD6 tried to not think about his brothers. They were so single-minded, and as far as he knew, not one of them had the freedom of thought he did. It was unnerving. He’d tried to talk to CB9 about it once, and it had nearly ended with a memory wipe. He’d decided to be more careful after that.

  CD6 entered his charging station, stepping on the plate that sent energy through his wiring and into the source sitting in the center of his chest. It glowed softly, an ambient green, and he watched the others charging around him, wondering if any of them hated what they were doing. Slave labor at prisons was as old as time itself, but to CD6, it felt wrong. The Earth Fleet used the metals for war machines, while these women each ended up dead from exertion, from inhaling fumes, or from killing each other.

  A few of them got to leave each year, but none ever made it back home. They were blasted into space to die a frozen and breathless death. Even a sentient android could understand this was cruel. They released one every few months to give the prisoners hope that they, too, might one day be released. If they only knew the truth – but you couldn’t have your workforce refusing to do the work. Then the Fleet would have to find workers to pay, and that wouldn’t be a cost-effective way to build more ships.

  CD6’s mind raced after speaking with Wren. Could he talk with her again? What would he get out of it, other than a chance she’d be killed, and then he’d be wiped? It wasn’t worth it. Still, what was it all for? Why was he different, if not to help someone get through their torment?

  He considered this for an hour, and eventually couldn’t take it any longer. He set his timer and deactivated himself. His chest glowed green, but his orange eyes dimmed to black.

  Jarden

  Councilman Jarden Fairbanks sat behind his large mahogany desk, sipping Scotch from a crystal tumbler. His wall was made from a clear, impenetrable resin that gave him a sweeping look at the ship under construction beside the small station tucked away in the Kuiper Belt. Sensors wouldn’t pick them up out here – he’d ensured that – but it didn’t keep him from scanning the distance for signs of incoming Fleet ships.

  The ship was a masterpiece, and as he watched the final touches being put to it, he felt every year of his age. Maybe a few more alongside them. It had been sixty years since he’d seen the Watchers. That day stood as the most glorious and tumultuous day of his life, until today. Today, his ship would be ready, and all he needed was the pilot.

  Jarden leaned back in his chair and considered how monumental an event he was creating by constructing this ship. The Council was adamant they stop all experiments and attempts at communication with the newcomers, and that was one of the only things he could agree with them about. Jarden knew he’d hang for his crimes if he was found out, but when it was all over, they’d make statues of him. His face would adorn art for centuries, maybe millennia.

  He smiled to himself and took another sip of the smooth brown liquid. His desk vibrated slightly, and he saw there was an incoming call. His line was encrypted five ways to tomorrow, and he tapped accept, a holographic display of Benson’s head appearing before him.

  “Is it done?” Jarden asked his right-hand man.

  Benson nodded. “I gave him what you wanted. He nearly got himself shot down by the Mars patrol in the process.”

  “Where’s his contact, Clark, now?” Jarden asked.

  Benson’s holographic face smiled. “Somewhere no one’s going to find him.”

  “Will he come?” Jarden asked, knowing Benson would have gotten a good read from Flint Lancaster. Benson always read people well.

  “He’ll come. Mark my word, he’ll come.”

  “Then be sure to head straight for Europa. I want you there when he comes to answer the call.” Jarden leaned forward, his voice low. “Benson…”

  “Yes, sir,” Benson answered.

  “Don’t let him get away,” Jarden hissed between clenched teeth.

  “I won’t, sir.”

  The display cut out, and Jarden was once again alone
with his thoughts. He threw on a jacket and decided to do one more walkthrough of the new ship.

  Twenty minutes later, Jarden was stepping off the small transport vessel into the bowels of Eureka. While it wasn’t the largest ship ever created by Earth Fleet resources, it was the most advanced. The only one larger had left sixty years ago, and Jarden was anxious to learn what had happened to it.

  His soft-soled shoes touched down on the hard surface of the ship’s hangar, and he took a deep breath, reveling in the scent of the ship: cleaning chemicals making it sterile, with a hint of grease.

  First Officer Heather Barkley greeted him, her hand extending in the traditional shake request. He obliged, noticing her hands were ice-cold, but she smiled widely at him and spoke in rushed, terse statements.

  “Councilman, we’re so thrilled to show you the latest results. The engines are completed to spec, and the Shift drive can be tested as early as next week. Come, I’ll take you to engineering.” She turned, and Jarden grinned to himself. It was nice to see the crew so excited about a project, even if they were far from home with no communication capabilities. They likely expected they were going home when the ship was completed. The ones akin to Barkley wouldn’t want to leave the ship, and he was counting on that.

  “Very well. Show me to engineering.” Jarden followed her, the Scotch warming his belly as he toured Eureka.

  3

  Jish

  Jish scanned through the series of reports filling her desk’s holoscreen. It was always the same: government officials on the colonies demanding funds for things they’d never receive. She couldn’t believe how far Old Earth had gone to spread out among their solar system. Mars had been the first, and she wished her predecessors had given up on the expansion after the first two rounds of colonists had perished out there. The rock was a desolate wasteland three hundred years ago, and it still was to this day.

  Anyone with common sense and a dime to their name had already returned from Mars, and the rest were forced to manufacture for the Earth Fleet under the threat of starvation and oxygen deprivation. The Fleet never actually came out to say it in those words, but the powers that be understood the undertones to their conversations. Every now and then, an official like Prime Minister Gane would threaten a strike at all Mars facilities if they weren’t given what they asked for.

  In this case, it was extra food rations. Their greenhouses were underperforming, and they’d had a rough year and a half on Mars. Jish used to care more about issues like this. She used to visit the colonies and have her heartstrings tugged as she saw dirty rugrats clutching their mothers’ dusty pants legs as she walked by, waving at the crowds. Now she didn’t have time for them.

  She sent a terse reply to Gane on Mars, hoping he would get the point.

  No food is incoming. The Earth Fleet is under a frozen budget for the foreseeable future, as all funds are tied up in the continued construction of New Johannesburg. Continue to make do with what you have, and as always, the Earth Fleet is grateful for the work the Martians are doing.

  She grinned as she typed the response. Gane hated being called Martian. Hell, the whole planet hated it, but she still used it. A well-placed passive-aggressive slight was all she could do in a non-encrypted message to a government official like Gane, so she did what she had to do.

  She kept scrolling through the countless requests, wondering why so many made it past her team of assistants. With a sigh, she tapped the holoscreen off and leaned back in her chair.

  “Captain, when are we arriving at the destination?” she asked, her finger tapped down on the comm-switch to the bridge.

  “We’ll be there in just over five hours, Grand Admiral,” Captain Stevens said quickly.

  Good. They were close.

  “Thank you, Captain.” She ended the link, and a second later, an incoming call glowed orange on her desktop. She tapped the comm-switch again. “Go ahead.”

  “Grand Admiral.” It was Councilman Tob. That was the last thing she needed. Her head already hurt enough. “What is it, Tob?” she asked, her patience stretched thin.

  “I have some news. Do you have a moment?” Tob asked with a hint of excitement. His voice rarely held anything but stress and boredom. It must be important to the little man.

  “Fine. But it better be good,” she said, ending that call too.

  What did it matter? She had five hours to get to their goal, and she was too wired to sleep anyway. Her computer announced someone at her door, and she let them in.

  Tob stood there. His navy-blue uniform was wrinkled, and he had deep purple bags under his eyes.

  “What the hell have you been doing, Tob?” Jish asked, unable to hide the disgust from her voice.

  He didn’t even register her insult. “Grand Admiral, I found him… well, not quite found where he is, but I have a trace that might lead us there.”

  “What are you stammering on about?” Jish motioned for Tob to sit across the desk in one of the two seats. He obliged. With the push of a tablet icon, her holoscreen flashed to life, and reports scrolled to life.

  “That’s all I need. More reports,” she muttered under her breath.

  “What’s that?” Tob asked, his gaze finally making contact with hers. Red lines raced from his irises, as if they were trying to escape.

  “Nothing, Tob. Care to explain what I’m looking at?”

  “Sure. Councilman Jarden Fairbanks was last seen two years ago on Mars, correct?” Tob asked.

  She waved a hand, indicating he should hurry up.

  “From there, he vanished, but not before liquidating his immense fortune. How he managed to accrue so much wealth is beyond me. It wasn’t from the Council’s wages, I’ll tell you that much.” Tob added a dig at his own salary, as if Jish cared about his income.

  “Fairbanks wasn’t a dummy. He invested at a young age and came out on top far more often than not.” Jish remembered a few times she’d invested in a company because Jarden had suggested it. She’d made a fortune because of the man, not that it really mattered when you ran the Earth Fleet. She hadn’t paid for anything in over a decade.

  “Yes, clearly. Some think he took a private vessel from there to Neptune, but we never had proof, and the trail had gone cold.” Tob smiled now, and a few years washed from his tired face as he did so.

  “Are you telling me you found Fairbanks?” she asked, knowing he would have said that outright if he had.

  The thin man shook his head three times. “No. What I did find was some classified project being funded by the Earth Fleet out beyond the Kuiper Belt.”

  She raised a finger to her lips. She had personally authorized countless classified projects around the solar system, and didn’t want Councilman Tob to start sniffing around too much.

  “Leave the details with me. I’ll look over them.” Jish stood, causing Tob to stand up himself.

  “Don’t you want to hear…?” he started.

  “You’ve done a wonderful job here, Councilman. It hasn’t gone unnoticed. But I fear your other tasks have been suffering because of the focus on Fairbanks.”

  “But you…”

  She cut him off and smiled, a sight that seemed to startle the man. “And I thank you for being such a great friend and diligent member of our council. Please don’t dig into this any further. I have it from here.”

  Tob looked ready to argue the request, but the air deflated out of him; he got up, gave her a weak smile, and exited the room. Jish looked through the documents over the next few hours and saw exactly what Councilman Tob had seen. Money was funneling from their special projects funding to a site she’d never heard of. The money snaked through countless avenues to end there, but if you knew what you were looking for, you could always follow the money. It never lied.

  “Grand Admiral? We’re arriving,” the captain personally called to advise her.

  “Thank you, Captain Stevens.” Jish ended the connection and stood, looking out the window of her office. The sight sent a shiver
of elation through her veins.

  Dozens of EFC-03s, the newest model of Fleet carriers, sat in space, each connected to the large round station in the center of the construction area. Inside each carrier were a hundred EFF-17s, the fighters they’d need if her predictions were going to come true. If only she’d been able to convince the rest of the Fleet sooner. Jarden had been lying to them for years, and only after his disappearance had the Fleet board listened to her.

  She hoped the recruits they had training at their five facilities around the system would be enough to turn the tides. Someone had to fight the enemy.

  Ace

  The line was long, and Ace sweated profusely in the chilly outside air. He was wearing new clothing –used, but nicer than anything he’d ever owned before. His boots were soft and pliable, his hair chopped short like Edgar’s had been. It felt strange after having it long for the past few years, but he was glad for the change. Dressed like this, with a haircut, he felt like a new man. Edgar Smith, to be exact.

  The Earth Fleet office was smaller than he’d expected. It was a couple miles from downtown Old Chicago, and the signs were fading, in desperate need of painting. Was this what he was signing up for? He scanned the crowd and saw a group of eager boys and girls much like him, awaiting their exciting future with the Fleet.

  Ace rubbed the line on his hand, hoping no one would notice. He wondered what they’d do if they determined he’d implanted a dead man’s ID into himself. The line moved and he shuffled forward, almost to the doors now.

  A few minutes later, he was inside, where a tall imposing Fleet officer looked down at him. “Name?” he barked.

  “Uhm… Smith, sir. Edgar Smith.” Ace reached his hand out, and the man scanned him without much preamble.