Authors: J.L. Hilton
Stellarnet Rebel
Stellarnet Rebel
By J.L. Hilton
Welcome to Asteria, a corporate-owned, deep-space colony populated with refugees, criminals and obsessive online gamers. Genny O’Riordan has shifted in from Earth determined to find a story that will break her blog into the Stellarnet Top 100, and even better—expose the degradation of the colony’s denizens.
Duin is an alien—a Glin—a hero of a past revolution against the Glin royal family, yet branded a terrorist. Duin speaks every day in the Asteria market, hoping to spur humans to aid his home world, which has been overtaken by the evil, buglike Tikati.
When Genny and Duin meet, what begins with a blog post becomes a dangerous web of passion and politics as they struggle to survive not only a war but the darker side of humanity…
94,000 words
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To Andrew Britton,
patron saint of lost writers
He could hear them screaming, banging on the walls, trying to claw their way out, while his mother lay dying in his lap.
“Kehlen,” she whispered through parched lips. The sound of that name, the name he never used, was more disturbing to him than the sounds beyond their cell or the smell of the five dead Glin in the corner.
“Yes, Hadi.” Holding her ashen hand, he cradled her head with his arm. Her breath wheezed in her throat and chest, when she breathed at all.
“I wish I could see the silver lake again.” Her words were in soft contrast to the desperate shrieking of those who still lived yet longed to die. It was impossible to block them out. His keen senses felt even the smallest whimper vibrating through the immense boat that was their prison.
“What silver lake, Hadi?” he asked. In a life of constant wandering, he’d never seen such a place.
“The lake where you were born.”
He wondered if her sanity was swimming away with her, beyond the Last Wave. She’d never talked about his birthplace before.
“I tried to save you,” she said.
“Save
me?
” He kissed her forehead, almost laughing as he sobbed. He had saved
her
. He’d killed all of the prisoners who shared their cell. Mad with confinement, the others scratched the walls, the floor, each other, until their fingertips were worn down to the bone. When they grew too thirsty, they threatened to drain the blood from his flesh and hers, for lack of water. They broke his mother’s arm. So he killed them.
He would have killed the Tikati, too, but they had fire. Flames hotter than the burn of a stinging
guet
, forcing him into captivity. So he and Hadi were trapped in a Tikati sky boat. He had no idea if they were still on Glin, on Tikat, or somewhere in between.
“When they attacked us, I saved you,” she said. “One of them let us go, in exchange for your soul.”
Kehlen pattered his fingers on her arm, trying to soothe her delirium. Anguish choked him when he tried to speak. “No Glin or Tikati can hurt you ever again. It is time to dream of rain.”
He hummed low in his throat, a song she used to sing to him when he was a child. He could no longer see her through the membrane over his eyes, thickened by sorrow, but he felt her exhale and the life leave her body.
“Hadi!” he cried. No, what did their secrets matter, here? He used her real name. “Vindael… mother…” He could no longer feel the rhythm of her heart vibrating through his bones. All he could feel was the symphony of terror that went on outside their cell. The crying and howling were one with him, a lament of his loss.
“Don’t leave me alone,” he begged, repeating the words in a litany, clutching her until she grew as cold as the walls, cold as the air that made it painful to move. Only then did he let her go and try to stand. Days without water or food made his head spin and he staggered, clutching the doorway for support.
Grief wrung a wild cry from his chest. For a moment, the Glin trapped in the rooms around him fell silent, waiting, wondering what new horror or hope it might herald.
The doorway sparked where his hands gripped it, the doors opened, and he fell forward into an empty corridor. More than his loss, his fear or his surprise at his sudden freedom, his body felt the urgent need for water. His nostrils flared and his brain screamed,
Wet!
He moved toward the scent. Careening from wall to wall, he passed several closed doors, some alive with whispers or pleas, others quiet as a grave pool. Around a corner and down another empty hall, he stopped when he smelled water beneath him.
Prying at the cracks in the floor, he exposed a hole and dropped into it with a small splash. It was another room, empty save for a few inches of greasy water. It tasted like dirt and waste and the bitter
krich
beetle. But he drank, cupping his webbed hands and lifting the liquid, letting it run through his fingers, down the dark blue skin of his hands and arms, and over his legs. He was filthy, but he was wet, and he felt the strength returning to his limbs. He pulled himself back out.
“Is someone there? Who are you?” called a hoarse voice behind the nearest door. It threatened to kill him if he was a Tikati, and then it begged for water.
But he had no idea how to open the other rooms. He had no idea how he’d escaped his own. And he didn’t care. If he helped anyone else he might have to kill them, like the Glin who attacked his mother, and he did not want to kill any more. The prisoners went on weeping and screaming, pleading and pounding, while he searched. More walls, closed doors and symbols of a language he could not read. But no Tikati captors and no fire.
In what he guessed to be the prow of the boat, he found a room larger than any hut he’d ever seen. It was filled with tiny lights, glowing like thousands of
weeol
, flashing, flickering, moving on the walls and surfaces. There were windows here, and he could see the sparkles of the deep sky ocean, beyond.
Out, out, out
, urged every fiber of his being and he ran forward, vaulting up and launching himself at the nearest opening. His head hit an invisible barrier and he crumpled, knees slamming the lighted surfaces. The
weeol
changed color and emitted a shrill screech.
What is this?
he wondered as he tried to push his pale face and palms through the window that wasn’t. A renewed sense of distress washed over him as he realized that there were no clouds above him and no water below. They were adrift, far beyond the raging storms of the Great Rain, far away from Glin. And he had no idea how to return.
“I am lost,” he bemoaned to the stars and the darkness.
The physicists said she wouldn’t feel a thing when the universe shifted around her, and if she did it was all in her head.
Well, fuck them
. That’s what was in her head, once the agony subsided and she could think again.
Physicists are a bunch of lying bastards.
A window opened on the wall of her compartment and a woman’s voice filled the darkness. “You are approaching Asteria Colony. Do not remove your safety restraints while the red icon is flashing.”
Genny couldn’t see the wall or the flashing icon through all the cargo. Ferrying supplies and packages from Earth was a requirement of the Extrasolar Space Colonization Consortium contract, and nearly every square inch of her block was filled with crates. So she lay strapped into her berth, waiting while the pain faded from sharp spikes to annoying pinpricks.
“Welcome to Asteria,” said the voice.
The metal walls reverberated
KA-BUM
as her block was dropped into place. Her square, standardized colonization module was designed to interlock with the others and become a permanent part of the colony. The only way to return to Earth was on a military transport, or the very rare and expensive commercial shuttle. Interstellar News Corps would finance her return trip after three years or three thousand blog posts. If she lasted that long.
Light glowed from the ceiling and the voice told her it was safe to move. Genny released the magnetic locks on her restraints and sat up. Touching her left arm, the default tattoo app on her bracer was replaced by a navigation menu and she tapped the
record
icon. “’Lo. I just arrived on Asteria. They put us in Sector K, Level 3. You can contact me here, or you can email me at G-E-O at I-N-C dot stel. Catch me on the public netcams in about ten minutes.”
She reviewed the playback. The strain of the space shift didn’t show on her face and Genny watched herself smile at her followers. Her perfect teeth and flawless skin were gen-mod. But her blue-green eyes were still natural, to her mother’s horror. She’d argued with her mother about it for the past fifteen years.
“People are going to think we can’t afford to have your eyes done.”
“If they care that much, Mom, they can l’up your credit file on the net.”
“They’ll think you’re some kind of granola or something. Or they’ll think I don’t care. It makes me look like a bad parent.”
“I don’t care what people think. Nana says the eyes are windows to the soul, and I like my soul the way it is. What’s wrong with the genes I have?”
“Nobody wants the genes they have, Genny.”
She sighed at the memory of her mother, then uploaded the vid to the Asternet. A few of her local followers replied to the new update.
FIRST
’lo noob lol
Make sure you check out Salvia. It’s a restaurant block with real olive oil.
I can haz mah cratez plz?
The vid would be relayed to the rest of the Stellarnet, but it would take awhile to reach the solar system because of the distance.
“The colony is currently under water restriction code yellow,” said the voice from the wall, somewhere behind the stacks of plastic reusable boxes. “Please remember to place recyclable items in orange chutes, compostable items in green.”
Genny tapped the name
S.A. MACGOWAN
on her contact list. “’Lo, Seth. It’s me.”
“’Sup, smexy?” A small window opened on her forearm, displaying a handsome young Airman with shimmering blond hair and eyes like faceted emeralds.
“I’m here,” she said. “What about you?”
“I’m fixing this stale goddamn wave transmitter.” The camera on his own device moved erratically as he continued to work while they talked. “If I find the assholes who keep stealing shit in here, I’ll send them to Sector Z myself.”
Asteria Colony was laid out in a five-by-five sector grid, designated A through Y. “Where’s Sector Z?” she asked.
“Outside,” he explained. “Without oxygen.”
“You can’t l’up them on an archive?” she suggested.
“That dipshit Hax in the Tech Center’s s’posed to be getting me some more netcams. If I move them from somewhere else, it’s a pain in the ass filing documentation, updating the links and all that crap. How was the space shift?”
“It sucked.”
He laughed. “It’s all downhill from here. Living in a stack of tin cans and drinking recycled piss. There’s a reason it’s called
Ass
-teria.”
In his last few emails, he’d tried to convince her not to come. But Genny was intrigued by his descriptions of a colony rife with human rights violations. She knew—or could at least make a good case—that off-world colonization was cheaper than maintaining prisons, homeless shelters, food banks, clinics, slum police and other social services on Earth. Because of this, the Extrasolar Space Colonization Consortium, or ESCC, had widespread support from people like her parents. Settlement corporations claimed to save millions of units of taxpayer money in countries across the world, even as it relied heavily on tax-funded military personnel, grants and tax breaks to operate. And Asteria Colony, being so far from Earth, was the least regulated, so everyone was taking advantage of it, from over-populated countries with unscrupulous governments to quasi-religious groups such as the Gardeners.
A voice off-screen said something Genny didn’t quite catch.
“Shut up, Tessaro, you relo-humping cocksucker,” Seth warned the unseen eavesdropper. He muted his bracer and the window went dark. After a moment, he reappeared. “I gotta go, hon, but Imma call you as soon as I can.”
“’K. See you.”
“Later.”
She began stacking boxes on the bed so she could reach the door. An address on one of the crates caught her eye.
Mary Aileen Madigan. I-55-L2.
Genny grabbed the handle and rolled that one ahead of her into the hallway.
Windows opened on her forearm and the hall wall, both displaying a guy with spiky orange hair and jade eyes. “Attention, noobs, it is Hax.” When he leaned back from his netcam, she saw his frilly neo-Victorian topcoat was worn over a T-shirt with a morphing Mysteria logo. He spoke with a slight accent she couldn’t place. Maybe Chinese. “Your data key thingy will be hot in four minutes and forty-six seconds. You will need this key to get in or out of your block. Do
not
ask me to link your access to a locator ID or your PDA. Not everyone on Asteria has one of those, so this is how we roll.”
“’Lo.” Mose joined her in the hallway. She was a missionary whose church had purchased compartments dot-four and dot-five, on the other side of Genny’s. The one would be Mose’s living area, and the other would be a school for the few unauthorized children in the colony.
“’Lo,” Genny greeted her.
“Do
not
give your key to anyone else,” Hax went on, “and do
not
lose it, ’k? Seriously. Lost keys take thirty days to replace, so you’ll be sleeping in the hallways and crapping in green chutes. But, hey, you’ll be happy to know there are no mandatory nutrition quotas on Asteria. So, nom nom nom.” All of his windows disappeared.
Taya and Wyatt entered the hall from compartment dot-one. They were on Asteria because their housing complex had been tagged for a re-greening project, and they were too far in debt to go anywhere else. Plus, Taya’s aunt already lived in the colony, for reasons Genny didn’t bother to l’up on the Stellarnet.
“Has anyone met Nik yet?” Genny touched the name
N. ZABAT
, resident of dot-two, in her contacts list. “’Lo? Anybody home?”
A picture of a red gargoyle creature appeared on her forearm. “’Sup?” said a demonic voice.
“Nik?” Genny asked.
“
Neek
,” the digital avatar corrected. “Not
nick
.”
“We thought you might want to come out and see the colony, Nik.” Genny pronounced it correctly.
“I’m raiding the Labyrinth of Vodyanoy. I’ve got to find the junk to upgrade my kit.”
“BRB,” Taya suggested over Genny’s shoulder.
“There’s no ‘Be Right Back’ in Mysteria,” Nik’s avatar growled. “It’s a real-time, fully interactive, persistent MMOG. Which is the reason I’m here. I can’t play on Earth cuz of the uber lag.”
“Later then,” said Genny.
“’K, thanks, bye.” Nik’s window disappeared.
“Do you think he’ll find time to work in the garden?” Taya asked.
“The children will help, too,” Mose said.
“I hope you’re not planning to let them eat our food,” said Wyatt.
“If they work for it, it’s their food too. The colony doesn’t have resources for children.”
“Because they’re not s’posed to be here,” Wyatt said. “You know how much they eat? Or how much they cost in med care?”
“Same as
you
did once.” Mose’s golden eyes dared him to disagree.
“I thought everyone had to be sterilized to live in a space colony,” Taya said.
Mose explained. “The children weren’t born here. They were shifted in unapproved blocks.”
The clang of metal interrupted the convo. The sounds came from the stairwells at both ends of the hallway as they were connected to the stairwells of the block below.
About to enter Asteria Colony,
Genny typed into her status update. The hallway’s netcam wasn’t on yet, so she held up her arm and took a quick vid. Her blockmates waved and were tagged in the recording by the face-recognition app. Genny uploaded the vid to her blog.
A window opened on the wall, and a woman whose eyes and hair matched her green overalls said, “This is Wrenchrat-12, with the status of block K-83-L3. This shit is totally owned. Moving on.” The window closed and the logo of Asteria—an eight-pointed star—appeared in its place.
They could now descend into the maze of interlocking metal halls and genetically modified ecosystems, carefully balanced to support the colony’s growing population. As Genny put her hand on the door, one of her Nana’s sayings came to mind and she recited, “May our troubles be less, and our blessings be more, and nothing but happiness come through our door.”
Mose said, “Amen.”
“That was random,” said Wyatt.
Genny opened the stairwell door and a surge of warm, dank air swept past her. It smelled like a thousand backed-up toilets. She gagged.
“My aunt says you get used to the smell.” Taya pushed past Genny and descended the spiral metal stairs. Wyatt followed.
Genny pulled her perfumed shawl over her head and wrapped one end around her mouth and nose, trying very hard not to breathe through the latter. Mose helped Genny work the cargo for Mary Aileen Madigan down the spiral metal stairs to Level Two and out the door into the public thoroughfare, then returned to her compartments.
As Genny rolled the crate toward Sector I, she passed a cop and a barefoot man wearing vinyl pants and little else.
“You can grow it, you can eat it, you can drink it, you can vaporize it,” said the cop. “I don’t give a great goddamn. But it’s illegal to burn anything, anytime, anywhere
inside
the colony.”
“I can’t smoke it
outside
, can I?”
“Don’t be a smartass, colonist.”
A window appeared on the wall of the corridor. An attractive, dark-eyed, tawny-skinned woman announced, “Smoke is detected in this area. Please extinguish all combustibles immediately.” Genny recognized the voice as the one which had welcomed her to Asteria. An avatar for the colony’s automated messages.
“Yeah, I got it.” The cop stomped on the smoldering roach with one large, fire-resistant boot. The uniform was typical of contracted spacecops—a lightweight, fully articulated suit of body armor that was combination riot gear, flak jacket and spacesuit. This one had digital images of the Asteria logo and a police badge glowing from her chest. Her badge number tickered across the top of her helmet. There were also glowing bands of light on her upper arms, showing her rank in Asteria’s civilian police department. “Oxygen violation. Code F1R3-420. Let’s go, Brayden Montero, you’re confined to your compartment with restricted Asternet access for the next forty-eight hours.”
“That sucks,” he protested as he was led away.
“What sucks is you wasting oxygen,” said the cop.
Genny took a detour through the Colony Square, which covered the entirety of Sector M, Level 2. Blocked in on all sides, top and bottom, by colonization modules, the Square was a large open area in the heart of the colony. It was filled with makeshift vendor stalls, gamers, performers, and in the midst of the crowd, people sleeping on the floor.
A pair of Zentai passed by in silence, covered head to toe—including their faces—with form-fitting non-identity suits. She watched them, wondering if their opposition to technology would allow them to be interviewed for her blog. Zentai were outlawed in most countries on Earth.
The stench wasn’t as bad here, mitigated by the abundance of spices, teas and fresh foods for sale. There were also several large fans circulating the air. Genny readjusted her shawl around her shoulders and then regretted it when a filthy man leaned close to speak to her. He had crooked teeth, a wonky eye and smelled like burnt plastic. This would be a colonist Seth referred to as a “relo.”
“Is that for me?” He nudged the crate with his knee.
“I don’t think so.” She checked her bracer for his proximity ID. It said
Kathie Ann Stieber-3
. Genny doubted this man could have afforded a gender remod if he couldn’t even afford the basic dental, eye or hygiene procedures. The ID was hacked.
“I think it is.” He fiddled with an old handheld device. The name tickering across the top of the crate changed to read
Kathie Ann Steiber-3
instead of
Mary Aileen Madigan
.
“Are you trying to start shit with me?” Genny touched her bracer and armed the shock app. Both of her forearms glowed red. It was a restricted feature—but news bloggers were often in dangerous situations and were allowed to apply for a license to download it.
“Sorry, my mistake,” the man mumbled, darting away through the crowd.