The Collaborator Series: Vol 1: Collaborator

By Krista D. Ball

There is what is right, and what is necessary.

Seven years ago, Rebecca St. Martin took the coward's path to save her skin. She has lived with that decision, eking out a life as an indentured servant on a space station far from home. Only now, fate has decided to give Rebecca another chance. A ghost from her past plans to execute a daring rescue from the prison bowels of the station Rebecca now works.

Rebecca has to face the same decision she made all those years ago. Could she watch her friends be murdered? Or could she, just for once, be a hero?

 

This box set contains the first three books of the Collaborator series: Traitor, Fugitive, Rebel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krista D. Ball
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393402657

Book preview

The Collaborator Series

Traitor, Copyright 2017, Krista D. Ball

Fugitive, Copyright 2018, Krista D. Ball

Rebel, Copyright 2020, Krista D. Ball

Editing by M.L.D. Curelas

Cover by http://indigochickdesigns.com/

TRAITOR

Book 1 of the Collaborator series

Security File: Rebecca St. Martin

Security Virtual Assistant H7-00P Daily Surveillance Report

Security Access IA7: limited public InComm use, restricted ExComm access, random personal VA checks

Security Risk B15: low risk to offend, moderate risk for recruitment, under Blackout surveillance

SVA notes: Rebecca St. Martin’s personal files contain articles related to the acquisition of Earth by Statute 1004-3A. Files not accessed in last five years. No new files. No unusual water, vendor, InComm, or ExComm usage. No purchases.

SVA Protocol: No flags.

History

January 19, 2012

This video was shot last night by an amateur astronomer, visible throughout all of the Middle East, as well as parts of Europe, South Asia, and Northern Africa. It appears to be a small, blue swirl in the night sky. There were other sightings in the region as well, as thousands of hits on video-sharing social media sites cropped up throughout the early hours.

It’s not clear what this phenomenon is yet. A NASA spokeswoman said they are investigating the photos, but cannot confirm if they are genuine or fake, or if they are showing something we’ve never seen before. They will also not confirm if the phenomenon was responsible for the malfunction of several satellites.

-CBC.ca

January 20, 2012

The phenomena #BlueSwirl is, as far as we can tell, naturally-occurring. We are investigating further.

Tune in today at 4pm CST for our news conference.

-NASA, via Twitter

January 22, 2012

We are receiving various reports that world-renowned scientists from various fields, including representatives from SETI, are converging at the Accona Desert in Italy. Local officials are blocking all media from entering the desert at this time.

-BBC

January 26, 2012

Representatives from the UN Security Council, plus the EU and NATO, have arrived in Italy today.

- Al-Jazeera

President Obama says, No comment when asked about Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s whereabouts.

-CNN scroll banner

Former President Bill Clinton says, No comment when asked about the whereabouts of Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

-CBC scroll banner

January 31, 2012

The doctors have confirmed the three are human…identified genetic differences in the female and bioengineered…communication still basic but making progress through their computer’s translation devices…lapsed since they went originally into stasis…concerned about public reaction to not being the only human…

-Twitter user @TheTruthIsOurs666 on supposedly hacked classified cable (fragment)

February 1, 2012

A discovery of immense archaeological significance has been uncovered in Italy. Three human-like corpses have been discovered in a technologically-advanced facility that had been hidden under the sand for perhaps hundreds of thousands of years.

We are still running tests, as well as attempting to understand the equipment and language of the bunker. More details will be forthcoming in the coming days.

-United Nations official statement

February 8, 2012

The UN estimates that five million are dead and over one hundred million people have been displaced in the chaos following the discovery of possible alien life on Earth. The Pope urges calm and has declared tomorrow a day of peace and prayer.

-BBC

The White House has issued a statement, in response to the increase in suicides over the last week. They are urging individuals to call the National Suicide Line. Nine states have already declared states of emergency and are bringing in free counselling and setting up mobile kiosks in schools, malls, and downtown areas.

-CNN

July 20, 2012

We are currently monitoring the massive aperture in our solar system that is forming at #BlueSwirl location.

-NASA official statement

July 22, 2012

Four technologically advanced spaceships have emerged from the aperture and have sent a pictorial message to the International Space Station requesting what scientists believe to be a request for specs to modify one of their shuttles to dock with the station.

-CBC

July 24, 2012

These new visitors possess advanced translation technology, so linguists from around the world are working with them in an attempt to close the language gap as quickly as possible.

-Peter Mansbridge, CBC

July 26, 2012

While it is difficult to comprehend, these aliens are, biologically, human. From what we gather so far, we share a distant ancestor. They call themselves representatives from the Federation for Independent Planets. The discovery of the Italian site triggered a thousands year old distress signal that was sent through a manmade wormhole that individuals online have been calling Blue Swirl. The location of our wormhole had been lost, explaining the lack of contact until now.

-CNN

August 19, 2012

Eleven ships have come through the aperture in the last twelve hours. They identify themselves as the Coalition of Planets. They demand Earth cease all talks with the Federation.

-Twitter reporter, @adilladak447

US President Barack Obama said in a statement to the UN today that he wants to speak with both sides in what is clear to be a galactic dispute. This dispute, Obama said, must not endanger human lives here on the planet we call home. Obama called on all members of the UN to join with him in presenting a unified front to these newcomers.

-CNN

August 21, 2012

Millions dead in first wave of Coalition attacks against cities across the globe.

-BBC news scroller

Coalition ships turn on Earth with the destruction of the last Federation ship.

-CNN headline

August 25, 2012

We are reporting live from the United Nations, where the newly-elected President of the United Nations General Assembly, Ismael Ebe, is walking to the podium now. While no one on the Security Council has confirmed this, most people are speculating that President Ebe will be announcing the official surrender of Earth to the Coalition.

-Peter Mansbridge, CBC

Chapter 1

Seven years after The Fall.

Rebecca St. Martin walked the upper decks with Zain, both weaving their way through the afternoon crowds of Bubble Town. He was going on about something to do with the sector’s tennis championships. Rebecca didn’t particularly like tennis when she lived on Earth, but now she’d come to hate the most popular game in the known universe.

You should’ve come out to Mathi’s Grill last night. Everyone was there.

Rebecca struggled to plaster a smile on her face. I had a headache.

She always had a headache whenever her companions wanted to drag her to a sporting event. She occasionally went to them, though, and very occasionally had a good time. She knew last night wasn’t going to be one of those times. Most nights, it was easier for her to exist quietly with a book in her tiny sleeping pod than it was to be out amongst the loud and happy.

Besides, it was tennis. The entire sport of hitting a ball around didn’t make any sense to her back on Earth, no matter if it was the version played in Henry VIII’s court or the full contact tennis played here in the galaxy far away from what made her human.

Zain just shook his head at her. He did that a lot lately. She couldn’t really blame him. If their roles were switched, she’d shake her head, too. I told you to go to the docs. They’d sort you out. He threw up his hands. You missed the best game in years!

It wasn’t Zain’s fault that she hated the game, or any game that remotely resembled something she’d have played or watched back on Earth. They didn’t call it tennis here of course. Her translator implant called it tennis because it was tennis, right down to the short shorts. Humanity, it seemed, was genetically predisposed to love a good set of thighs.

At least she and the galaxy agreed on something, she thought bitterly.

They walked pass an artificial air outlet and the breeze blew Zain’s long, dark hair, spraying it in her direction. To fit in, she’d chopped off her mid-back length waves to the brush cut she now wore. She’d learned that styles varied throughout the systems, as they did on Earth. However, at Jupiter Luna Military Base, women generally wore their hair short. So, she wore her hair short. Anything to fit in. Anything to be ignored.

Jupiter. Her damn implant refused to adjust and call it anything else. She had been occasionally tempted to buy one of the hacks off the ExComm, but the cheapest one, and worst rated, cost just about as much as what was in her credit account. Seven years of hell just to afford a shitty hack. She’d suck it up with the poor translations a bit longer.

Can you believe it? She broke her racket when the ref wouldn’t give her the call! Zain exclaimed, his brown features alight with excitement.

She gave him a weak smile. In another time, another place, she might have been able to fall in love with Zain, or at least fall into bed with him for a fun summer fling. He had that boyish charm that often got her tangled up with a guy, and too often a bad one at that. Her smile strengthened a little at the memory of the last man she’d dated, well before the fall. Or maybe it should be The Fall, all capitalized and ominous. That’s how her old self would have done it. Today’s Rebecca didn’t give a shit. She was too busy trying to stay alive.

Security had to escort her off the field! Zain went on, laughing as he regaled in telling her about the player’s antics. Eventually, they arrived at Zain’s favourite vending machine. The station didn’t really have independent baristas. They had tall vending machines that slurped and gurgled as robotic innards prepared beverages to order with nothing more than a few touches on a screen. "I don’t care what Lewis says, this vendor makes the best brisbin inside Bubble Town."

Her translator had given her the option to change it to another English-sounding beverage, but brisbin was fine because it had nothing in common with coffee other than an unnatural popularity that teetered on mass addiction. She hated the stuff. It tasted like burnt coffee and hazelnuts that had been brewed several times over until it was nothing more than a thick sludge. Then they added hot sauce.

I prefer the herbal tea.

Nothing more than dried flowers. He gave a disgusted sound. Did you drink tea back on Earth?

She looked at Zain, whose face turned expectant. He asked that question on purpose. They didn’t talk about Earth. Not in the eight months they’d known each other. She knew his feelings had changed for her along the way. She knew he wanted her to trust him. And he’d been pushing lately.

Rebecca wished she could give him what he wanted, but she had nothing left inside her. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept more than a couple of hours at a stretch without nightmares ripping her from her sleep. Rebecca would not go to the doctors; what would they say? They’d send her to the shrinks. They’d want her to talk about what she’d done, how she’d turned herself in. How she’d become a collaborator. A traitor.

What would all that accomplish? Would they try to convince her that her decision was the sensible one? After all, why give up her life for a doomed cause? Would she have even wanted to join one of the local militia groups and fight back? Or would she have been corralled into a refugee camp to waste away? For all she knew, everyone who’d gone on the run had headed north to try to out freeze the invaders. Isn’t that what Canadians always said they’d do if invaded by the U.S.? Make a run for Baffin Island and let the hilarity of hypothermia in the invaders begin.

She glanced at Zain. He was no rubber-headed alien, which made it all the worse for her. It would have been easy to turn her back on the cockroach overlords made popular in Earth’s science fiction movies. Sadly, there were no bug people in the galaxy. Just aliens who were humanity’s first cousins. He was human enough, just not one from Earth.

He was still waiting for an answer. Part of her wanted to be rude. Just once to finally shed the shackles of a lifetime of being taught to be nice at any cost. Still, her innate desire to be nice said she owed him an answer, even if the last thing she wanted to do was to remember anything from Earth. How pathetic that internalized bullshit was Earth’s lasting impact upon her.

She gave him a casual shrug. There’s nothing here that’s like what I drank on Earth. I do like the House Mix herbal tea that comes in all the machines, though.

The answer seemed to placate him. They stood in line at the vending machine, where they could grab their beverages and a snack for a subsidized fee. There were some paid vendors down below with a wider range of offerings, but Rebecca didn’t like to spend the little money she earned. She wasn’t a citizen, thus didn’t make nearly as much as the likes of Zain. She was also still paying back the money that was invested into her training once she’d defected.

Fucking coward. That’s all she was. If Kat could only see her now. She’d spit on Rebecca. She would probably let Kat do far more. Anything to put her out of her misery. A chill went through her body as she pictured putting a pistol to her head, just like Kat would probably do to her. She’d not slept with her light off in seven years, but it had been some time since the nightmares haunted her waking moments. But the last few days, her mind wandered. Her imagination conjured the faces of her family as they were escorted into the transport trucks to move them to safety. Were they still alive? Did they stay and fight?

What actually had happened to Kat in that fire fight? Did she die well? Did she suffer?

Shit. Get a grip, Rebecca. What the fuck is wrong with you today?

Fatigue. That’s all it was. She’d not taken a day off in two years. No one understood it, not even her superiors who were mostly fair and nice people, considering they were working for the invading conquerors. Where would she go if she took a break? What would she do other than think about how she was alive because she’d turned her back on her world to save her own skin?

Zain punched in his usual order: extra-large brisbin, quadruple hot sauce, quadruple cream.

Kat had apparently died in a coffee shop, of all places. They’d told her that Kat and some of her army buddies who’d gone rogue had attacked a group of facilitators who’d just wanted a cup of hot brew. Could a person go rogue for defending their home? Wasn’t that just being a freedom fighter? Kat was military, doing her job. How was that going rogue?

We had powdered cream on Earth, too, Rebecca muttered without even thinking. Zain gave her a sidelong glance. She knew he was going for nonchalant, but his lip curled just enough for her to know she’d given him a small measure of false hope. She’d opened up just a millimeter more to him. That was not her plan. She had to get herself together and soon, or else she’d end up mercy fucking him just to get him off her back, and she didn’t see that as a path to anywhere stabilizing.

The machine whizzed and gurgled before filling up Zain’s mug that he’d stuffed under the spout. Rebecca shoved her own mug under the spout and ordered the House Mix, a flower blossom herbal tea which was actually pretty good. It didn’t remind her of home, where she’d drank cinnamon-sprinkled lattes on her way to work every day to her R&D job at a secret weapons development centre. Not reminding her of home was a good thing, though unfortunately her mind just twisted it to be about home.

Maybe she did need to see a shrink. Wrap plastic around her head until she couldn’t breathe, suffocate the way she deserved.

Rebecca twitched, pushing past the internal commentary. She motioned to a small, unoccupied table overlooking the Drop, what residents called the three-story open atrium underneath the protective, translucent dome. Jupiter’s moon lacked a viable atmosphere, so the base was built within its own biosphere. At least it prevented most escape attempts from the secret prison depths below…depths she was certain she wasn’t supposed to know existed.

Zain made a pleased sound. "I’m telling you, honest to all the gods, this is the best brisbin on the station."

She made vaguely interested sounds as he waxed poetic about his beverage. Her mind wandered back down to the bowels of the station and what really was down there. She’d never been down to the lower wards, of course. Well beyond her security clearance. In fact, there was a fair amount of the station she’d never seen. She’d never been beyond the public areas and her particular worker’s wing. She didn’t even have access to the others, thereby preventing her from visiting friends.

Friends. What an odd word for a place like here. Acquaintances. Coworkers. People whose stories she pretended to listen to, but never knew her stories for she had none to tell. Talking about The Fall would open up questions and memories, ones she wasn’t even ready to deal with herself, let alone when surrounded by others. Talking about before The Fall? When life was the shits, but at least it was hers?

Kat’s face flashed before Rebecca’s memory. Even now, after everything, Kat was so beautiful in the flashbacks. And, she’d been so, too, in real life. At least, up until the end and everything turned ugly. Four days before the damn space ships arrived. If they’d just made it until then, maybe Kat would still be alive and Rebecca wouldn’t be half-dead.

One of the station guards walked by. Dark grey body armor over protective black woven fabric that would help shield the skin from full-powered pulse blasts.

Female, Zain said.

It was the game they all played. Guess the gender of the faceless guard, whose reflective black helmets obscured onlookers from identifying them. It was for neutrality, she’d been told. That way, all guards acted as one, and all citizens could feel they were dealing with the same guard.

All Rebecca saw was a faceless terror who shot one of her shrieking coworkers on Earth when…

Rebecca flinched. Male.

Small guy, if it is, Zain said. You’re a bit pale. You okay?

She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation. She was losing her goddamn mind. She glanced at the guard’s sidearm. Suicide by cop wouldn’t work because they used stun pulse rifles on the station. The settings weren’t even high enough to accidentally kill her via concussive forces. She could break into a weapon’s locker and steal a projectile pistol. Blow her brains out and shed a lifetime of regret.

Rebecca amended her previous thought. She really did need to see a shrink.

Motion caught Rebecca’s eye and she looked over Zain’s shoulder. Three men and three women in matching blue coveralls escorted an auto-lift of boxes. Two of the women had biosynthetic hands: metallic fingers, decorated with patches of regen skin growth, tapped against the auto-lift’s railing. One of the men returned her gaze and she noticed his one vibrant purple eye: a data uplink scanner implant.

Rebecca shuddered and looked away. That’s what the war was about. Centuries upon centuries of war, apparently, over implants and genetic modifications. They’d returned to Earth because of it and, like fools, Earth resisted against people who could colonize other planets with as much forethought as planning what to do on a long weekend. It didn’t matter that everyone came from the same base genes; it didn’t matter that they were all humans, more or less. What mattered was tissue and tech to continue scientific experimentation and exploration.

Want to go down to Jupiter with me next month?

Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter. Was that the order? Or was Mars closer? Jesus Christ, what is wrong with me today?

Zain looked at her and she could see a sheen of sweat forming on his creased forehead. His voice had been laid back, but there was a lot of weight to the question. He wanted her to travel down to the base with him. They’d have to share a room, no doubt, since she doubted she could afford her own.

I don’t have any time off, she said cautiously, sipping at her perfect-temperature tea. She glanced up at the workers, now stopped a couple of meters away. They leaned over the glass and metal railing whispering amongst themselves. They weren’t a part of any of her work teams, judging by their uniforms. Probably delivery folks from the planet.

Zain waved a hand. You don’t have time off because you haven’t asked. They’ll let you go. I’ve been down there plenty of times. It isn’t like they don’t trust you.

Rebecca looked up from her tea and asked in a flat voice, How do you know?

He put down his mug of brisbin and stared at her for a moment before answering. Let’s see, they let you work here. You do know what this place actually is, right?

I’ve heard the rumors, she said. Rumor was the station was a secret internment camp for terrorists. A working station on top and a Blackout base underneath. Obviously, I’ve only seen the public spaces.

There you go. You have several access codes and technical schematics. You have your own net link, for cock’s sake! They’ve invested into training you so that you can work on our tech. Zain took another sip of his beverage. Yeah, I can see why you’d think no one trusts you.

Rebecca glared at him. Zain, look, I don’t know if I’m even allowed to take holidays. I’m military property.

He rolled his eyes. You’re not a fucking slave, Rebecca. If you don’t want to go, just say so.

It’s not that and you know it, she snapped back.

Zain lifted an eyebrow and he grinned at her. I always thought there was a firework waiting to spark off under that mask of yours.

It was Rebecca’s turn to roll her eyes. Not everything needs to be described as a poem.

Poetry is the language of humanity. He sniffed. "Every civilized person knows that, Earther."

She ignored the jab, even if it was meant to be light-hearted. A little holiday would be nice, but what would she do, other than be awkward in a room alone with Zain? She’d not shared a bed with anyone in a long time, not since Earth. Not since Kat.

The six figures behind them fiddled with each other’s outfits in pairs, huddled together whispering and nodding. Rebecca absently watched them while one glared at her. She turned her face back to focus on her tea. Kat was dead. She needed to accept that and move on. She just didn’t think that would be with Zain.

Why are you pushing so hard? Rebecca finally asked.

What do you mean? He asked so smoothly that Rebecca’s instincts screamed there was something else going on here.

I mean, why now? Why not last week? Why not next month? Why are you bugging me about this now?

Zain kept his gaze on his mug, but she didn’t buy the shy boy act. No, he had a plan. A creepy-assed plan, no doubt. Look, I think you should come. It’ll be good for you. Besides, Jupiter is a military planet. If you were going to escape the evil clutches of the Corps, he laughed, running away to a military planet is probably not where you’d go.

I’ll think about it, Rebecca said absently. She already knew her answer was no, and would remain no. But Zain never took no well, and she wasn’t in the mood today to argue with him. She’d rather just push it off to another day like the coward she was.

They sipped at their beverages in silence. On Earth, the translators called them the Coalition, which officially her own device said was accurate. However, they were nicknamed the Corps. It took her about a year to make the mental adjustment from Coalition to Corps. It took about a year to make a lot of mental adjustments, really.

Rebecca eyed the delivery people over the rim of her mug. They shook each other’s hands and the man with the scanner implant hugged one of the other men. They pushed their auto-lift behind them, and stood in a line. In unison, they attached cables to the metal railing, the decorative part of the glass safety barrier.

One of the women with the biosynthetic arm stared at Rebecca and mouthed, Traitor.

Zain… Rebecca said. Her guts knotted.

In a flash of blue, the coveralls came off, revealing flags and names of conquered planets. The woman with the biosynthetic arm wore a white shirt that simply read, EARTH, in big block letters.

What? He looked over his shoulder and did a double take, spilling brisbin down the front of his own coveralls. Cock, he swore, and tapped the small implant behind his left ear. Security! Jumpers on the upper level of the market. Under the dome, yes. Six.

Rebecca stared at the woman who recognized her. The woman’s pale skin flushed scarlet and shimmered with sweat. A hangman’s noose of metal cabling around her neck. Rebecca’s heart raced and the tea sloshed in her guts. Her mouth hung open, unable to speak. She couldn’t stand. She couldn’t even turn her head away.

Hurry! They are going to jump! Zain shouted at whoever was on the other end of the line. Security, she supposed.

The six inclined their heads to each other. In unison, they shouted, Freedom!

They vaulted over the railing. The cables cut clean through the bone and severed heads rained down on Bubble Town.

Chapter 2

Day 1

Captain Katherine Frances took a deep breath when she stepped out of the civilian transport and toward the security scanners. From this point, she was now Captain Amelia Andrewson, or whatever her name actually was when not filtered into English. It wasn’t uncommon for military personnel to use civilian services, so she was confident no alarm bells had been triggered. She’d been allowed to board, which meant her ID was still holding. Now, she faced the real test of her forged ID files.

All she cared about was completing this mission and getting back to base. She shouldn't even be on Jupiter station, but she was the only person who could reasonably pull off the mission. She imagined she had six days, max, before her cover was blown. Six days to execute a high-stakes con and prison break was not a part of any military training she’d ever received back on Earth. Of course, they’d never trained her to be a rebel, either, but it came rather too naturally these days.

Terrorist, she corrected herself. She had to play the part. Those who fought the mighty hand of the Corps were evil insurgents who must be crushed.

Ironically, she had been trained in counter-insurgency as part of her several tours with the military police overseas. Some voluntary, some required, all the same in the end. She was now here because she could walk that walk better than the others. In fact, the only others from her resistance cell who could do it better were currently sitting in Jupiter’s basement awaiting endless torture before the sweet release of death by execution.

Katherine didn’t speak to the security customs officer who scanned her hand imprint and then ran the retina scan. She just followed the instructions like she would any other mundane task. She didn’t even watch the screen, for fear it would make her nervous. Assuming Joslin and the girls did their job right, she should still be coming up as a Blackout. Corps black ops. Extralegal. Outside the reach of the law. Ghosts. Wraiths. Whispers.

The young security guard’s eyes widened and he glanced up at her in stunned amazement. Um, everything is in order, Captain.

Katherine recognized the wide-eyed idolization of young bucks who’d had childhood dreams of special operations. She’d had them once, too. Movies had made them all look so very, very cool. Now she was doing all of those things, and more. She missed pulling over drunk drivers on base and investigating which of the Tremblay kids had broken windows with their baseball again. Now she was Jane Bond, only less cool.

She didn’t smile at the pasty-faced security officer who barely looked old enough to be finished training, though she kept her tone professional. I need to speak with Captain David Dags immediately.

Yes. Of...of course. He tapped some buttons on his screen and then began speaking. Hey, Lieutenant? Yeah. Nah. Look, I have a Captain Andrewson here to see Captain Dags. It’s... he lowered his voice, Blackout related. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Sure. I’ll close down my queue.

He locked down his terminal and said to the other officers. I gotta bring her to the Captain. Be back in twenty. Sorry about that, Captain. I’ll have to bring you up to his office, since you aren’t set with security to get through the upper levels.

Thank you, Ensign…?

Ensign Nate Lowell, sir. I’m still in cadet training. This is my first field post, in fact. Katherine gave him a tight-lipped smile, to acknowledge that she’d heard him, but had no further need for conversation. He stood awkwardly for a handful of seconds until he got the hint. Well, I’ll take you up. Do you need help with your luggage? No, I guess you probably don’t.

Katherine did let a bemused smile flicker on her face at that. She towed the little case behind her with clothes, toiletries, and enough tech schematics to make several untraceable crude bombs if her plan fell apart. She did so love blowing shit up.

Katherine followed the nervous guard through the busy corridors of the station and through two more sets of security screenings, each less strict than the first. By the time they’d reached the main market area, they were being waved through without the guards even pausing to ask her identity.

She nodded at the last set of guards, giving off the aura that she belonged in this place of murderers. She kept her eyes steady and ahead, but made note of possible escape routes, unmanned access ports, open-access computer terminals, maintenance hatches, and the like. The environmental systems were all helpfully colour-coded with blue hazard stickers. She eyed two more of the blue stickers on the other side of the wall. She had three different nerve agent schematics loaded on her phone, encrypted and pulled apart so that most cyberwarfare investigators would assume they were unfinished prototypes for various space drone needs. They’d need two different compiler apps to rebuild the schematics, neither of which were installed on her phone.

Have you been here before, Captain? Lowell asked.

No, Katherine said honestly. Lying about being here would just get her challenged. Rebels avoided extralegal prisons whenever possible as a standard practice, but she was intimately familiar with Corps tech and inner workings. Plus, her former military experience gave her that air of belonging.

Why ever not? This is a busy space port!

She shrugged. You know Command.

The ensign replied by way of a snort.

Every woman in her former life had said she was too damn good at lying. She used to think it was a curse, but lying had become a rather fantastic skill. Spin enough truth into the lie so that the seams never show.

They went through another checkpoint and again her identity wasn’t scanned or challenged. No wonder there were over a dozen undercover agents on the station, if security was this lax outside of customs. Once she got past the hurdle named Captain Dags, she’d make discreet contact and enlist some help, provided she could arrange extraction. Because once the first sign of trouble went up, they would need an exit strategy.

Katherine gulped hard to push away the lump that formed in her throat. Rebecca was onboard. What’s more was that she needed Rebecca’s help. If she said no? Well, then Katherine would need a bomb big enough to blow a hole straight through the bubble dome and all of its shields. And Rebecca was enough of a coward that she’d probably help Katherine with the prison break, just to save these murdering bastards.

Katherine had read some of the recent security surveillance done on her ex-girlfriend. Did Rebecca even realize she was being monitored by someone in Blackout? Was that why she never sent any messages, never used more than her allotted share of rations? Or had the old spitfire crashed and burned, leaving behind a husk? All she deserved, really. What a fucking waste of skin she’d turned out to be.

Here’s the Captain’s office, the ensign said, interrupting her thoughts. He tapped the wall panel. Captain Andrewson here to see you.

Send her in, came a masculine voice through the intercom.

Katherine gave the ensign a tight nod when he saluted her. Then she sucked in a breath and marched into Captain Dags’ office.

She inclined her head at him. He was tall, but not out of the ordinary. His skin tone was much lighter than hers, but their hair was nearly the same colour of dark brown. His braids were significantly longer than her own hair, matching fashion’s current gender roles perfectly. She quite enjoyed the short crop cut, and the eighties hair band fan inside her appreciated his long hair. His neat locks didn’t fool her senses, though. She noticed his brown eyes had different hues to them, a tale-tell sign one or both were implants of some kind. Though, without a scanner, she couldn’t verify which one it was.

Katherine also noticed this was a private office and not anywhere near the operations centre. One side of her mouth quirked upward. Captain Dags, I assume?

He nodded. You’ll forgive me if I don’t let you dawdle through Ops.

She let go of her suitcase’s handle and folded her hands behind her back. She made a show of looking about the room. Then, after a few seconds, she said, If our circumstances were reversed, I’d have you locked in holding by now.

Good tip. Why are you here?

There’s a problem onboard your station.

"I have nine terrorists skulking around down in the cargo bays thinking they’re not under surveillance and now I have a Blackout captain looking over my shoulder. I’m certain I have more than a problem."

Katherine knew there were fourteen rebels on the base, fifteen counting herself. She didn’t know if Dags knew that or was testing her. They were all going to be off the station or dead anyway in a handful of days. This was information to gamble. You have fourteen onboard.

Dags cocked an eyebrow. Fourteen? How do you know?

It’s my job. So, have your scans picked up yet that I’ve been speaking three different languages since I’ve arrived or do you have the biological scanner that is telling you my body temperature is off?

Mother of the soil, I hate Blackout officers. I have both, plus an implant scanner. Looks like you’ve had some reconstructive surgery done. Most of your implants seem to be life-functional, not augments.

I was in an accident several years ago on Earth.

His bushy eyebrows rose. You were on Earth?

She inclined her head. I was badly burned in an attack on a deportation office. It took several surgeries to repair my face and the rest of my skin, but well, they can never get that quite right. Some of my original implants fried in the explosion and they removed others to make way for more boring ones.

Like restoring your eyesight?

She gave him a humorless smile. Ocular nerve damage. They decided a nano-chip would be better than a full implant.

And?

It’s been itchy for seven years, she said, deadpan. We have credible intel that there will be a breakout attempt from Ward Eleven in four days.

I don’t…Ward Eleven?

Dags was a terrible liar. He worked so hard trying to make his face not twitch that he just made it twitch more. Captain, let’s cut the balls off the cockbase. I don’t give a shit splatter about your illegal little prison in the basement of this very pretty station. What I care about is that I need those prisoners under Corps control and not out acting like a recruitment poster for a hundred different terrorist organizations in this sector alone.

Dags sat back down behind his desk, sweat beading on his forehead. It made his pale face look sickly. Did they have the UV filters on full blast in this place or were they all allergic to sun? How do you know about Ward Eleven? Does Command know?

It’s not widely known, if that’s what you’re asking, Katherine said. Halifax resistance cell had known about Ward Eleven for over a year now. Too many fighters went missing upon capture. No official records. No trials. Just gone. It took them a while, but they were able to track it to Captain Dags. As a hint for your next transfer, Captain, skip opening up such a facility. It’s how we figured it out.

Oh really?

Just a friendly hint between friends. After all, we wouldn’t want such a promising potential officer go to waste.

Dags scoffed. Check your intel, Captain. I applied for Blackout three times. Failed the psych tests. Apparently, I am too much of a loose pulse rifle. That’s why I’m here in the middle of nowhere important.

Pulse rifles can be cleaned, repaired, and utilized appropriately, Katherine said, smoothly. She’d already known that he’d been turned down, but had hoped anyone who’d applied three times would want his ego stroked a little. Now? Shall we root out the terrorist scum?

It would be my pleasure.

Katherine smiled. As soon as she got full computer access, this murderous son of a bitch was going to find himself gasping for air in his own bed.

Nightmare One

Hey, Kat? Look at this, Rebecca called out to her girlfriend. She skimmed through the article on her laptop. Apparently, they found some sort of underground bunker in Italy.

Kat didn’t leave the stove nor the pancakes she was making. She was still in her pajamas. If Rebecca had been cooking, she’d be covered in splatter. Kat, however, was a genius with cooking.

Says here it was found by some oil company. Rebecca kept reading. She hit further down and deflated. Oh. Never mind.

What? Kat asked, not looking up. She was busy sliding cooked pancakes on a plate. She added more batter to the frying pan. Keep going. I’m listening.

The anonymous eye witnesses are saying the bunker was so high tech that it must have been some kind of secret military installation.

Kat chuckled. You work for a secret government installation, don’t you?

Rebecca rolled her eyes and went back to reading the News section. She wasn’t allowed to talk about her job to anyone, not even her live-in. But Kat was military and knew a bit too much about where Rebecca worked. Her bosses, and Kat’s, probably had special meetings to discuss the security risks of the two of them being together. The lie of her being an admin assistant was holding for now. How much longer until it wasn’t, though?

Rebecca glanced up at Katherine, her girlfriend of two years. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought. She was in love. And, if Kat would marry her, she could tell her the truth.

What’s that look for? Kat asked as she poured more batter into the pan.

I was thinking we should get married, Rebecca blurted.

Kat froze. What?

She shouldn’t have said that. It had just come out, her mouth spurting out crap before her brain had a chance to filter it. Rebecca gave a small shrug of her shoulder, hoping that she conveyed far more casual indifference than she actually felt. I was just thinking, we should probably get married eventually.

What…what brought this on?

Rebecca went back to her tablet. I know you want to wait, and that’s fine. It’s just that you’re helpful and shit, and I’ve always wanted a wife.

Kat was quiet for a moment before she came out from the kitchen in their tiny apartment and sat down in the arm chair across from Rebecca. I just want to take things slow. We talked about this.

Rebecca touched Kat’s face. I know. I was just saying.

It’s tough, ya know?

I know, love. It’s fine. I’m sorry I brought it up.

Kat got up from the chair, and a moment later, the stove clicked from where she’d turned the element off. She came back to sit next to Rebecca. I don’t do commitment well. You know this. Moving in together was really hard for me.

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

Don’t roll your eyes at me, Kat snapped.

Kat, hun, please. It didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry I even brought it up. Rebecca was right about that. She did regret it, though not for the way she tried to inflect in her voice. She did want to marry Kat, who was so relationship-phobic that it was wearing on her nerves lately. Still, she wanted to wait it out. Look, I have to book vacation for work and it just got me thinking about it. It’s nothing. Let it go.

Fine, Kat said, in a tone that said it clearly was not fine. Where did you want to go?

I’ve always wanted to see Australia.

Rebecca, that’s more expensive than a damn wedding.

Rebecca chuckled and leaned against Kat. We both have good jobs.

You’re an assistant and I’m in the military.

Rebecca’s lying smile was easy. She was more than an assistant, but she wasn’t allowed to say that to just a girlfriend. Perhaps, eventually, her boss would give her the clearance to say what she actually did. Fine. Scotland?

It was Kat’s turn to roll her eyes, but at least it brought a smile to her face. That isn’t much cheaper for us.

I have enough saved already. Let’s do it. Come on. I know you’re always wanted to hike in the Highlands.

Fine. Whatever. The pancakes are getting cold.

Chapter 3

Rebecca had been wide awake for hours before her pod’s alarm finally went off. She let the buzz continue for a few seconds before saying, Alarm: off.

The buzz silenced immediately, but Rebecca made no attempt to get out of bed. She hated the happy, cozy dreams about Kat the most. For days now, images of her ex had plagued her sleep. If this kept up, she’d need to see the doctor for sleep aids. She resisted simply because that would end up in the reports to her superiors and could single her out as a potential risk.

Rebecca wasn’t stupid; she knew she was under surveillance. Zain let it slip three months ago. Not to her, but she overheard him talking to one of the security techs. She’d eaten that night what she called the spicy radish supreme and the air circulators weren’t up to the task for the double fermented garlic sprouts she’d ordered. She’d cracked her door open to avoid suffocating in her cramped two-cube: a double cubic meter pod for people under two meters in height. The taller people got the two-halfer cube. That’s when she heard them outside her pod whispering. She didn’t hear all that they said, but she’d heard enough.

They’re still monitoring her.

It’s been years. If she was going to turn, she’d have done it long before now.

They don’t want to take any chances. Everyone’s on edge after the New Canton attack.

They’re being paranoid.

Paranoid or maybe she’s playing a long con on us.

Not Rebecca. She’s here, she’s happy, more or less. That’s good enough for me. Would it help if I shoved my cock into her mouth and left the door unlocked for everyone to see?

It would help you, if nothing else.

She couldn’t trust Zain after that, and guarded every single thing that came out of her mouth. Her intuition always set off alarm bells about him, but that conversation sent shivers down her spine. The only person she remotely trusted in this damned prison was a man who knew that she was under the thumb of security. She stopped asking herself how he would even know that, or why he’d be talking to someone like Wilber Pitt, who looked like a seventies’ porn star. She decided she didn’t like any of the answers her brain conjured and, for the sake of her sanity, she stopped thinking about it.

Except for now, of course. That’s what dreams about Kat did to her: scrambled her brains.

She wasn’t a risk to anyone, except to herself. Who would care about her harming herself? No one, that’s who. Anyone who would care was either dead or well out of her communication reach. All she wanted was to carry on this half-life shell of an existence until she didn’t want to anymore.

If she went to the doctors, would they gave her pills or injections? She could say she was afraid of needles. A month’s worth of sleeping pills would be enough to escape this hellhole.

Message for Rebecca St. Martin. Priority from Security.

Rebecca sighed at the computer’s interruption. She’d spent most of yesterday in security, after her medical work up declared her fit and non-distressed. She’d witnessed six self-decapitations yesterday. Of fucking course she was distressed, but what was the point of having lived in hell for seven years if she didn’t know how to fool the doctors’ sensors?

They said she still registered to the scanners as suffering from concerning levels of depression, like that was any shock. Schemes to kill herself had become her own little game as of late, a way to blow off steam and remind herself there was always an out if the cage became too much to bear. She didn’t tell the doctors that; they’d just inject her with sedatives, label her at risk, and she’d never leave the cells again.

Correction: treatment facility. Because locking her up against her will to rehabilitate her sounded so much better.

So, she lied yesterday, like she lied every six months at her required medical evaluation. Her numbers hadn’t changed much in years. That was simply her baseline. As usual, they sniffed at her refusal of medication