Reliance Page 2

  The vendors’ little show of rebellion didn’t go unnoticed, and a handful of Reliance soldiers left their post on the street corner to deliver retribution. The sound of thick, wooden clubs thwacking against bare flesh mingled with pained groans.

  It took less than a minute for the soldiers to chase the protesting vendors back to their carts.

  Her trigger finger twitched of its own volition when a cloaked Anunnaki looked like she might take a stand. An overzealous soldier sent the female to her knees with a swiftly delivered blow to the head. The surrounding Mudders watched impassively as he kicked her to the ground.

  As two of her friends darted forward to drag her out of the street, the soldier yelled to be heard over the rain.

  “The next Mudder who disrespects the forefathers won’t be walking for a week. Now you’ll all bloody well observe a moment of Godsdamned silence.”

  A hush fell over the crowd at his threat.

  Finn’s pulse pounded in her ears, but with two carefully drawn breaths she tore her gaze from the scene and moved on. Just like Grim taught her.

  There was nothing she could do. Nothing any of them could do.

  As it was every cycle, chastened by the violent show, the remaining vendors returned to their posts. The soldiers lined up to resume watching the celebrations, their left hands coming up to rest over the red and gold badges protecting their hearts. One of the younger ones, most likely only a few years older than Finn and Nova, watched the proceedings on screen with such deference, honest to Gods tears sparkled in his red-rimmed eyes. His behavior was laughable but not entirely surprising, considering most of them would trade their firstborn for a planet transfer to the Inner Rings.

  The two women made it three more blocks before Nova’s steps slowed again. Finn sighed and crooked her neck, following Nova’s gaze to a fresh cluster of signs Reliance soldiers had posted in the night. The Mud Pit’s resident graffiti artists seemed to be having a wonderful time with their new canvasses. The posters encouraging Mud Pit dwellers to Report All Half-Breeds had been relatively mundane before a few Mudders had gotten creative with some red and brown clay. Now, beneath big, blocky letters reading MUTTS, they’d fashioned an image of old-fashioned, rickety gallows and the disfigured outline of a half-breed hanging limply from a rope.

  At least Finn thought they meant for it to be a half-breed. It looked more like a shapeless blob than any living thing she’d ever seen.

  She happened to think the signs were a waste of time, considering most Mudders couldn’t read. They sure liked to talk though, and she supposed they’d learned how to spell Mutts well enough. The word had spread throughout the planet like crater-pox.

  The Reliance had only recently introduced the term, and it didn’t take long for every member of the Union to embrace the slur, upper and lower caste alike.

  As it turned out, the Arcturians had finally found something that could bring the masses together: their hatred of half-breeds.

  Finn shifted on the balls of her feet to avoid sinking.

  “C’mon, Nova, it’s just a half-breed sign. If you’re going to tag along, I’m putting a ban on pit stops. We’ll be hip deep in mud by the time we make it to the Dirty Molly if you have your way.”

  As if she hadn’t heard her, Nova’s head cocked to the side, studying the images.

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  “What, a half-breed? No. No one has for a long time. They’re practically extinct.”

  Thanks to signs like these.

  “I have.”

  It took her a moment, but eventually Finn registered her friend’s whispered claim. She couldn’t help the surprise that crept into her voice as she asked,

  “You have?”

  Nova nodded, her doe eyes solemn as she gazed upward.

  “A long time ago. I must have been five or six cycles. I was waiting outside while my mother serviced the soldiers in their barracks. I saw a boy limping through the mud toward me. He was young, maybe twelve, and even skinnier than I was. When my mother came out, he hid behind some barrels. He looked so scared. I didn’t want to get him into trouble, so I didn’t say anything. A few hours later everyone smelled the smoke. They said the boy was a half-breed. They said he was half Solidarian and he could make fire with his hands. He burned the bunker to the ground with everyone inside. Every time I think about it, it gives me the creeps.”

  Nova shivered, as if to emphasize her words.

  Finn remembered the hushed whispers of old men in the Dirty Molly, drunk on moon whiskey and feeling nostalgic as they recounted the story of the half-breed who took down a company of Reliance soldiers in one night with nothing more than his bare hands. The Reliance painted him as a monster, a mixture of the genetic and the mystical: a monstrosity in the eyes of the Gods.

  They somehow forgot to mention the fact that the soldiers the boy killed had only days before massacred his entire family.

  “Was it true?” Finn asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “Did you see him start the fire?”

  “No. But the executioner hanged him with steel boxes around his hands. Why would they do that if it wasn’t true?” A good question; one Finn had no answer for. “They say all the half-breeds have dangerous abilities like that boy. They’re a punishment from the Gods for the Disobedience waging war on the Reliance. They could destroy us all if we aren’t careful,” Nova informed her sagely.

  Finn had a hard time imagining anything destroying the Reliance, let alone more half-breeds like that frightened little boy avenging his family.

  “If their biggest sin is ridding the galaxy of a few platoons of soldiers, I can’t say I’m too torn up about the ‘half-breed plague.’” Finn scoffed, but as she met Nova’s indignant stare, it quickly became a sigh. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Nova. Besides, there are only five, maybe six, alien races out of thousands that are even capable of breeding with humans. It’s basic biology they would inherit some of the things that make them different from us and then some. Different doesn’t mean dangerous.”

  At least, that’s what Grim liked to say. Not that Nova understood biology any more than she understood anything else, which wasn’t much. Finn wasn’t all that keen on biology herself, but she did understand the basics, and she was a lot more prone to believe Grim’s explanation of the science behind half-breeds than she was to buy into the Reliance’s explanation of Gods and mysticism.

  “It’s wrong,” Nova countered, “aliens and humans breeding. It’s an abomination.”

  A direct quote from Reliance propaganda no doubt, considering abomination was not a word often tossed out in casual conversation on the Mud Pit.

  In all their grand wisdom and foresight as they began to unionize the planets, the Arcturian forefathers never thought to account for cross-species breeding. It was rare, but it happened, and they’d been trying to remedy the oversight ever since.

  Obviously dissatisfied with her silence, Nova continued.

  “Well, I’m glad they’re all dead. If I ever see one again, you can bet all your gold I’ll be reporting him to the first Reliance soldier I can find. If I don’t kill him myself, that is.”

  Finn turned her back on the bold proclamation and started walking. Nova wouldn’t know how to kill a half-dead, three-legged dog if it limped right up to her, handed her a loaded gun, and rolled over.

  After all, the woman prioritized Faze over a coat on a planet known for its acidic rain. Granted, Nova’s Mudder parentage made her thick skin less likely to be affected by the chemicals constantly pouring down on the Mud Pit, but still.

  The fact that she was foolish enough to buy into the Reliance garbage about half-breeds amused and irritated Finn in equal measure.

  “Maybe the half-breeds just got better at hiding, Nova. Did you ever consider that?”

  The conversation died on Nova’s surprised, fearful squeak.

  In the distance, the Dirty Molly’s fluorescent green lights burned bright like a beacon; one of the o
nly taverns on the Mud Pit where the criminal underbelly could conduct their business free from prying eyes. Reliance soldiers made a point to steer clear of it. Finn figured it was their way of fooling themselves into believing they controlled the Farthers.

  They would never admit the truth of who really ran things here.

  A chorus of yells and laughter coming from inside the tavern called to her, and they quickened their pace. Finn pushed her way through the wooden slatted doors, Nova hot on her heels, and the familiar scents of smoke, ale, and sweat immediately enveloped them. Most people wouldn’t understand the comfort such smells brought Finn, but the Dirty Molly and all her unique scents and sounds became home the day she’d stumbled through the tavern’s doors seven cycles ago, a filthy, half-crazed child on the brink of starvation who couldn’t even remember her own name.

  Grim showed her kindness that day, despite her feral attempts to sever his fingers from his hand with her teeth. He gave her a decent shot at survival: quite a magnanimous gesture considering what a huge undertaking caring for a borderline savage child had been for him. She certainly hadn’t made it easy.

  Several throats cleared and eyes shifted nervously when they caught sight of her. Finn grinned, waving to her onlookers.

  “Thanks, Finn,” Nova mumbled, tossing her new cape on the sticky, crud-covered floor of the bar before making her way to a table surrounded on all sides by freshly sodden Mudders. Finn sighed and gave her a half-hearted two-finger salute, weaving her way through the crowded tables.

  “Finn No Last Name. Have a seat and a drink on me, my girl.”

  Doc, the Dirty Molly’s co-owner and resident bartender, waved her over with a webbed hand and a toothless grin. Finn’s lips quirked up in a smile at the use of the odd nickname she couldn’t decide if she loved or hated.

  Grim had taken the time to help her choose a name in their first few months together, growing tired of always calling her “girl.” It would seem, however, that he ran out of steam at first names and never got around to a last.

  She slid into an empty stool in front of him just in time to catch the flaming red concoction he slid in her direction. Blowing out the flame, she arched a brow at the steam wafting up from the glass in front of her.

  “Another one of your experiments, Doc?”

  His yellow eyes lit up with excitement behind the spectacles he wore more for appearances than out of necessity.

  “I call it ‘Dragon’s Breath.’ A special drink for a special day. Go ahead and try it. I used real sunspot juice this time. None of that synthetic garbage for my girl.”

  He watched her with barely leashed anticipation, his scaled hands rubbing together in glee, and Finn smiled despite herself. She’d never been much for drinking, not that Grim would ever allow it. He claimed the dulling of one’s senses to be the downfall of every great warrior, but Finn suspected a different motive. Though Grim was a man with few scruples when it came to Reliance law, he seemed to have several when it came to his underage ward.

  Fortunately for them all, she was no longer underage.

  Finn brought the glass to her lips and tilted her head back, letting the contents slip down her throat. True to its name, the sun-spot juice burned all the way down before settling into the pit of her stomach.

  Despite her best efforts, Finn choked and looked up at him. “Delicious, Old Man.”

  He expelled a whoop of amusement and offered her a cheeky wink. Leaning in closer, he spoke softly so only she could hear.

  “Happy Birthday, Finn.”

  He was gone before she could respond, moving down the bar to answer drink orders. She swiped the back of her hand over her mouth and grinned. The old man was a loon. None of them actually knew when her real birthday was, but exactly one cycle after the day she’d stumbled into their lives, Grim and Doc surprised her with a birthday party. Every cycle since, they’d been celebrating. She supposed life really did begin for her the day she found them, so she could never bring herself to fight the fuss overly much.

  When he returned to her again, his yellow eyes glittered with mischief.

  “Have you been watching the unionization ceremonies?”

  “They’re a bit hard to avoid these days.” She glanced meaningfully at the holojectors mounted throughout the bar. “You?”

  He smiled, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

  “About the same I’m afraid. Listening to all that Arcturian praise leaves a foul taste in my mouth, but I can’t say it’s bad for business. Puts everyone around here in the mood to get royally sozzled.”

  She choked back a laugh at that.

  “Just once I wish we could get through a cycle without having to hear about how wonderful the Arcturians are.” Finn complained. “If they’re so wonderful, how come none of us have ever seen one?”

  A few feet down the bar, a male who sounded like he was well on his way to sozzled sloshed a fair amount of foam over his pint as he locked eyes on Doc and piped up with enthusiasm. “I’ll drink to that. They invade our planets sayin’ they’ve been sent by the Gods, start a war with anyone foolish enough to argue, then we get shipped off to the filthy Farthers, and we’re supposed to be grateful while they disappear in the lap of luxury? I say, screw the Reliance and screw the Arcturian forefathers.”

  At his yell, the rest of the bar chimed in loudly, raising their glasses and downing the contents. His version of events would earn him a whipping if the wrong person heard it, but Finn couldn’t fault the man for his general attitude. Every cycle for the last century, Mudders and lower-castes alike were forced to pretend they enjoyed life in squalor.

  At least here in the Dirty Molly they didn’t have to pretend to enjoy it.

  One of the aliens seated across from the bar, a Goslan with transparent skin and white eyes, stood on one of the tables, his skinny body swaying on his three-toed feet. Finding his bearings, he lifted a mug high into the air and drank heavily.

  Once finished with that task, he turned his back to one of the many muted holojectors and dropped his pants, mooning the reporter still featured onscreen.

  The entire tavern lit up with groans and catcalls. Finn looked away so fast she almost pulled a muscle. (Goslans were known for the abundant tentacles on their backsides, and she had no desire to feel Doc’s sunspot juice coming back up her throat.)

  Not quite finished, his high-pitched voice rang throughout the tavern.

  “My ancestors fought alongside the Disobedience against the Reliance.”

  Several patrons grunted in approval.

  “They understood the Arcturians were not harbingers of goodwill and prosperity. They understood unionization really meant tyranny. They foresaw this twisted caste system.”

  He hiccupped, and his entire body jolted before righting itself. When he continued, one long, translucent finger pointed to the red X tattooed beneath his eye.

  “They put me in the criminal caste. I’ve never broken a law in my entire life. Upstanding citizen I am—”

  A burly man next to him, obviously bored with his long-winded rant, tagged the back of the Goslan’s shirt with a large mitt and pulled him back down into his seat.

  Another round of cheers broke the newfound silence.

  It was safe to say, lengthy speeches didn’t sit well with the patrons of the Dirty Molly.

  It didn’t exactly help the Goslan’s case that everyone knew him for his sleight of hand and skills as a gifted pickpocket. Not, as he’d called himself, an “upstanding citizen.”

  Doc shook his head at the display.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, my girl. It may pay the bills, but I’ll be thanking the Gods when these celebrations are over.”

  His husky chuckle followed him down the bar as another thick-tongued patron called out for a refill. Finn moved to stand, hoping to track down Grim, but a voice in her ear stopped her before she could.

  “You sure are a pretty little thing. What are you doing over here all by yourself?”

 
Finn turned to face the speaker, but the stench of liquor and various other body odors stopped her in her tracks. Unfortunately, as was the case with most Mudders, this man didn’t see the importance in bathing, and his dark hair hung in an oily mess around his face.

  Like the Goslan, a simple red X tattooed under his left eye marked him as a member of the criminal caste. According to the class system the Arcturians designed a century ago, both men sat a notch above Finn.

  Clocking the knife sheathed at his hip, she stood, pushing her stool back and doing her best not to breathe through her nose.

  “I guess that’s what I get for using soap,” she told him cheerfully. “Have you heard of it?”

  The stinky man didn’t appreciate her reply and moved to block her path, a sneer on his crusty face.

  “What did you say?”

  Finn smiled and eyeballed his body where it blocked her exit. Another man, one she recognized as a regular patron, called over from his table a few feet away.

  “Go easy on him, Finn. He’s new, he doesn’t know the rules.”

  “You shut your mouth, Lucas,” the mass of stench and oil spat at his friend. He turned his sneer on her again, his eyes slightly glossy from one too many of Doc’s spirits. “Now that’s no way to be, pretty. I just want to talk to you and maybe touch that hair of yours. I never seen anything quite like it. I bet men pay their weight in gold to run their fingers through hair like that.”

  He grinned and reached out a grimy hand to catch a few strands.

  “Hey Lucas,” Finn called, her eyes never leaving the man’s hand as it inched closer, “did he just call me a doxie?”

  Lucas’s shoulders slumped on a sigh.

  “Ah, c’mon, Finn.”

  The grimy hand near her head stalled just as Nova’s head popped up amidst a crowd of splotchy-faced men.

  “He did, Finn. I heard him.”

  “Thanks, Nova,” Finn called. Her eyes returned to the man’s, which now held a mixture of confusion and anger.

  “It was a compliment,” he mumbled through a thick tongue.

  She’d grown accustomed to the attention her wild auburn waves garnered. She took care of herself and kept her hair and body clean, which meant the fiery locks adorning her head always had an extra spring to them, bouncing and falling in casual disarray around her shoulders. The skin on her face and body were also miraculously clear, free of the craterlike scars that dotted most Mudders’ complexions, one positive to her arrival on the Mud Pit being that it took place after the crater-pox epidemic swept its way through the planet.