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  RELIANCE

  RELIANCE: A Novel

  Book One of the Reliance Trilogy

  Heliosphere Books®

  Copyright © 2019 by Kaitlyn Andersen

  Published by arrangement with the author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the publisher. For information please contact [email protected] or write Endpapers Press, 4653 Carmel Mountain Rd, Suite 308 PMB 212, San Diego, CA 92130-6650. Visit our website at www.endpaperspress.com.

  LCCN: 2019938040

  ISBN-13: 978-1-937868-73-4 (trade paperback)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-937868-80-2 (EPUB)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-937868-81-9 (Kindle)

  Cover design by chrisodesign.com.

  Planet image by Thomas Breher via Pixabay.

  Spaceship image by “NTNVNC” via Pixabay.

  Girl image by Myicahel Tamburini via Pexels.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, corporations, or other entities, is entirely coincidental.

  Heliosphere Books are published by Endpapers Press,

  a division of Author Coach, LLC.

  Heliosphere Books is a registered trademark of Author Coach, LLC.

  ONE

  Finn No Last Name startled awake, greeted by waning darkness. Five stories below, the sounds of the city echoed and bounced off of thin, cracking walls, the Mud Pit’s very own lullaby, composed of despair and harmonized with misery. Finn rubbed the back of her head and sighed, reveling in the symphony.

  She hated sleeping, hated the lack of control and hazy images that felt too real to be dreams. At least when she woke up she always knew where she was.

  Drunken yells, some of them in unintelligible alien tongues, drifted up to her, followed by gunfire. Whether a warning shot from the rifle of a Reliance soldier, or just another ticked-off Mudder, she couldn’t be sure. This far out into no-man’s land, chances were fifty-fifty.

  Safe.

  Finn repeated the word in her mind, closing her eyes and forcing the rapid drumbeat of her heart to slow. When her ears finally stopped ringing, and the claws of the past seemed to release her, she pushed herself up and off the threadbare mattress. As had become her habit of late, she tried to burn off some of the lingering unease with exercise, coaxing her exhausted body into the routine she’d been practicing. After a while, her limbs got up to speed, the muscles in her arms and legs burning.

  She finished just as dawn began to break, pulling on a pair of fingerless gloves and a set of leather cuffs over her wrists. Her eyes scanned the tiny apartment she called home: one room barely two hundred square feet, a sink, and a tiny closet with a steel toilet—no lid.

  Gray light began to seep through tattered curtains, drawing her to the only square window in the place, and she threw them back to catch a glimpse of the world outside. On Altara (or the Mud Pit as its residents had taken to calling it), ten months out of the cycle were winter months. As far ahead as Finn’s eyes could track, masses of bodies huddled so closely together for warmth it became impossible to distinguish where one ended and the next began. They moved together as one, scurrying from overhang to overhang like rats in the rain. They would find no sunlight, no reprieve from the bitter cold, only gray and brown gloom as far as the eye could see.

  Finn didn’t know why she always looked each morning, as though one day she would throw aside the curtains to reveal sapphire-blue skies and jade meadowlands stretching to the edge of infinity. She never did. She never would.

  A secret part of her longed to grow plants on the windowsill, some sage or maybe big, juicy tomatoes like the ones she’d seen in Grim’s books, but they would never grow in a place like the Mud Pit.

  Altara was only one of eight planets making up the outer rings of the system commonly known as the Farthers. Residents of the Farthers considered themselves lucky to catch a glimpse of one of the three suns their planets orbited, let alone enjoy the benefits the suns’ rays could offer.

  Finn snatched the crumpled piece of paper she’d stuffed into her pocket the night before.

  She re-read the careful script requesting her presence inside the Dirty Molly, lips twitching as she fought a smile at Grim’s choice in words. She was fairly certain her presence was more of a requirement than a request.

  Securing a scarf around the lower half of her face, she grabbed her coat, sheathed knife, and the holstered pulse gun where she’d left them in a heap. When she’d first arrived on the Mud Pit, the mere thought of guns terrified her. She shrank from the very sight of them. Grim had offered no pity, forcing Finn to learn how to handle one. Guns were a necessary part of survival in the Farthers, and Grim said he’d be damned if he let someone who feared them work for him. In her own stubborn way, Finn grew determined to overcome her crippling fear. Though she still preferred knives and a pulse gun to an actual firearm, she’d become quite the skilled sharpshooter over the cycles.

  Leaving her apartment behind, Finn made her way downstairs. As she passed the holes in the walls, the scent of wet rot and mildew wafted in from outside, filling her nostrils through the thick scarf. Throwing on her hood and positioning the holster around her waist, she headed out into the thick of it.

  Finn’s memories began and ended with the Mud Pit, but every once in a while (usually when she’d first awaken for the day) she’d hear the patter of drops before the sour scent of decay could hit her, and she’d swear she could feel a pang of longing in her chest, the distant recall of something sweet cloying in her nostrils. As though in yearning, her heart would stutter a beat, the phantom sensation of damp grasses caressing her toes as rivulets cascaded down her face.

  Strangest of all, if she concentrated hard enough, she could see a man in her mind’s eye: lines of worry that seemed to ease with the rain covering his handsome brow. A little girl sat in his lap, giggling as she told him of the shapes the raindrops formed: a whale’s tail on his forehead, bird’s wings fanning out from each eye.

  The longer Finn tried to concentrate on them, the more translucent they became, slipping away and dissolving from her mind like specters in the night.

  Today, the specters remained out of sight, her senses overloaded with the barrage of sewage the day’s downpour sent flooding down the streets around her.

  Finn’s boots sank to the laces as she made her way down the mud-covered street. She tugged the hood of her coat tighter over her face as the rain came down in acidic torrents. Taking care not to breathe in the noxious steam that arose from its contact with the thickening grime, she made her way farther into the city.

  The entire block ahead was a mass of gray, crumbling stone, each building bleeding into the next. The only break in monotony came from randomly placed graffiti dotted here and there, but even that had started to look uniform, the culprits always using the same palette of browns, grays, and blacks.

  Finn would surrender a whole block of gold for just a touch of color in her world. Of course, she’d have to actually get her hands on a block of gold first.

  Giant, iridescent holojectors mounted to the sides of every building she passed flashed in time to her steps; their smart displays adjusting to her stride as she forced her heavy boots through the muck. Reliance soldiers usually only turned them on for special announcements or reprimands, but today their digital speakers blasted the Union of the Planets’ grating six-note anthem proudly, their displays projecting images of Inner Rings’ splendor so bright they were tear inducing.

  Tod
ay marked the anniversary of the Arcturians’ arrival.

  The holojector popped out of focus and then back in again, and Finn stuttered a step at the image projected on every screen.

  A stunning upper-caste reporter filled each one, her image cast out as far as the eye could see, replicated infinitely, in an infinite array of sizes. Finn kept moving her feet to avoid sinking, but her eyes stayed riveted on the woman’s red-sequined gown. The soft material fell in shimmering waves to the ground like a glittering river of fire.

  A golden statue of an Arcturian loomed over her lean frame. Aside from its golden hue and bald head, the creation looked inauspiciously human.

  Finn had never seen an Arcturian before. Very few, if any, of the people in the Farthers had. Most of the time, they chose to communicate through the diplomats and government officials constantly surrounding them, hiding away in their Inner Rings glass castles and refusing to interact with the masses. For most of the lower castes, the brief glimpses their streets’ holojecters allowed of the Inner Rings statues, fountains, and skyscrapers made in monument to the mysterious golden colonizers were the closest they’d ever get to the Arcturians themselves.

  According to the stories, Arcturian skin shone like spun gold and their eyes glowed red like the embers of a fire.

  The reporter’s voice cut through the chill in the air, filling up every empty space with the echo of her saccharine, slightly accented drone.

  “Good morning Union citizens. Blessed be the Gods for sending our beloved Arcturian forefathers to our planets. Today marks the beginning of our annual unionization celebrations and the victory of our Reliant ancestors over the Disobedience. Our reliance and trust in our forefathers was rewarded one-hundred and fifty cycles ago when the war was fought and won. On this momentous occasion, we give thanks to the Arcturians for bringing peace to our planets.”

  “Finn, is that you? Wait up.”

  Finn cursed the bright auburn locks peeking through her hood and giving away her anonymity as Nova, a young woman in her early twenties and one of dozens of doxies on the Mud Pit, scrambled across the street as fast as her knee-high boots would carry her. When Nova reached her, Finn took in the woman’s ragged brown skirt and the tiny shreds of material barely covering her bony chest. Her normally pale skin had started to take on a bluish hue.

  “Nova, it’s freezing out here. Where’s the coat I gave you last week?” Finn reprimanded.

  Nova grinned between shivers.

  “I traded it for Red Faze.” Before Finn could interject, Nova was already cutting her off. “Coats are bad for business. You would understand if you ever got off your high horse and joined ranks.”

  Finn shot the girl a disbelieving look and laughed.

  “That won’t happen . . . ever.”

  Nova didn’t take exception to her distaste. Like Finn, she was a member of one of the lowest social castes in the Farthers. Girls in their positions didn’t exactly have a lot of options for survival. If Grim hadn’t taken Finn under his wing seven cycles ago, she could very well be standing next to Nova each night, trying to lure Reliance soldiers into parting with some of their coin. Though she was not a fan of the doxies’ methods, she couldn’t say she completely disapproved of their results; the intimate nature of their relationships with the men they serviced made them privy to the kinds of secrets people dropped a lot of gold for.

  Finn set off again, and Nova did her best to keep pace, her stringy brown hair hanging in wet hunks around her face.

  “Are you going to the Dirty Molly?” she asked with a hopeful expression.

  Finn smiled.

  “Is it raining?”

  It took Nova several moments to understand. When she did, she grinned.

  “Can I come with you? Business is always good there during the celebrations, but I don’t want to walk alone. The screaming started even earlier than usual this morning.”

  “Just make sure you don’t fall behind, yeah?”

  The streets got more than a little wild this time in the cycle. Between the constant barrage of Reliance hoopla, the drunken lower castes’ short tempers, and trigger-happy soldiers, Finn couldn’t say she blamed the woman. Finn herself had already picked up on the ratcheting levels of turbulence in the city this morning. It made her skin itch and the air practically pulse with the force of it.

  Thanks to Grim, the other Mudders tended to give her a wide berth. Working for the most renowned middleman in the Farthers had its perks. He’d taught her well, and she knew how to hold her own. She was the first apprentice he’d ever taken on, and that, coupled with a unique talent for stealing things, had garnered her a healthy reputation.

  One she cherished like a dear friend.

  “Maybe later you could take me to the black market?” Nova’s tentative question broke through Finn’s thoughts. She cast a confused look the doxie’s way.

  “What the hell could you possibly need at the black market?”

  The place was a veritable breeding ground for all things illegal, including Reliance weapons and tech otherwise impossible to get a hold of in the Farthers.

  Nova shrugged her shoulders casually.

  “I hear customers talking. I’m curious.”

  “Yeah, well get used to curiosity,” Finn scoffed. “There’s no way I’m taking you there.”

  As they passed another collapsed concrete monstrosity, several Anunnaki called out in garbled English from beneath the cover of their vendor carts. They were a striking race to be sure, known for their long, jet-black hair and radiant, pearly skin.

  Nova, as usual, couldn’t help but stare, and Finn tripped her with a boot to get her attention.

  “Don’t look into their eyes, Nova. You know that’s how they get you. One look and they’ll have taken everything but your underwear.”

  No matter what product an Anunnaki peddled, they could make anyone think it worth its weight in gold with their hypnotic multihued eyes. She’d seen it happen a million times to first-timers on the Mud Pit: upper-caste Reliance folks who thought it made them seem worldly and roguish to visit a planet in the Farthers. They’d find themselves lost in the swirling reds, greens, and purples until they left an hour later, their arms full of impractical junk they had no use for and their pockets suspiciously empty.

  For the most part Finn considered the Anunnaki to be bottom-feeders, but every once in a while she couldn’t help but feel a little grudging respect for the gold-grubbers.

  They’d found a way to survive just like the rest of them.

  “It’s not the Anunnaki, Finn. Look,” Nova whispered, moving closer in to her side.

  Finn followed her gaze and saw a young man with sallow, graying skin and sunken cheeks hunched motionless behind a dilapidated, makeshift stand. His glassy eyes (very much human and not Anunnaki) stared off into the distance, and she briefly wondered what he saw there that had him so transfixed. Then her eyes landed on his wares. Dozens of tiny vials in every shape and color imaginable, most of them marked simply by a little red F across their front, littered the top of his stand.

  Meteor extract: better known to residents of the Farthers as Faze.

  The Inner Rings may have had all the riches, splendor, and technology they could ever want, but the Farthers had one thing they didn’t: the Meteor Belt. It surrounded their planets and offered a lucrative business opportunity for the more enterprising Mudders who had discovered a whole host of benefits from mining the meteors’ rocks. Depending on the rock origin, potency, and a variety of secret chemical processes, peddlers sold extracts that could tint a person’s skin or increase a person’s strength. They even sold one called Red Faze that doxies like Nova used as hypnotic perfume when they could afford it.

  Then of course there was the most coveted extract of all: Purple Faze.

  Highly addictive, its contents granted the buyer an almost instant state of euphoria lasting upwards of twenty-four hours. Most of the upper castes considered Faze in all its various forms taboo, but the lower c
astes didn’t have the same qualms. Taboo was a small price to pay for the reprieve from reality one small vial could offer them. Finn had long ago grown accustomed to the sight of her planet’s streets littered with far-off gazes in hollow eyes, the ghost of a smile on cracked lips, and drool dripping from chins.

  “Can we stop and look, Finn? Please?”

  She met Nova’s hungry gaze.

  “Not today, Nova. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were turning into a meteorhead.”

  Nova’s lips puckered in a pout, but she kept her pace.

  They passed a cart selling brown wool capes with hoods. The garments were definitely secondhand, as evidenced by the holes near the seams and the tattered edges (not to mention the stains), but the wool looked warm. Finn nodded to the vendor and flicked a gold coin his way, grabbing a cape and putting it around Nova’s shoulders as they walked.

  “If you trade this one, you’ll be walking alone from now on,” she warned the doxie.

  Nova’s lips began to move again, and Finn braced herself for whatever ridiculous thing she was about to say, when the volume on the holojector intensified and she was no longer able to ignore the sound.

  “Citizens.” The upper-caste reporter appeared onscreen again, crying out to the heavens as the camera zoomed in. “Blessed be the forefathers. Blessed be our reliance on their wisdom, foresight, and innovation. Let us observe a moment of silence in honor of our Arcturian forefathers.”

  At her jubilant command, the surrounding Mudders lost their loose hold on the seething undercurrent of outrage Finn had felt buzzing amidst them since she’d stepped outside that morning.

  Several vendors of varying races left their carts unattended as they braved the rain, lifting angry fingers to flick the barcode markings at their necks and spit on the ground at their feet. A few even lobbed their heavier secondhand wares and broken bricks at the nearest holojector, all the while making lewd hand gestures at the reporter’s closed eyes and hands clasped in prayer. Finn’s own hand moved to rest over the holster at her waist.