The Fringe Wars

1.3

Collective Cages

Collective Unified Forces ships stopped and searched fringe haulers all the time—sometimes out of boredom, sometimes after being tipped off that a particular hauler carried contraband, most of the time just to make life harder for colonists.

Throttle's brows were furrowed in confusion. "Why do you think they used stealth on us?"

Reyne shook his head. "Don't know, but I bet we're about to find out."

It was unheard of for CUF ships to burn the extra juice needed for stealth, using the advanced tech only when they needed to make sure their prey wouldn't see them coming and run. In Reyne's twenty years as a runner, he'd been dock checked every few months by a CUF patrol, but he'd always been careful. With a past like his, he had to be. He played by their rules, and every single time he'd left with his cargo intact, often with a frivolous citation or two as a memento.

In all that time, he'd never been tracked by a warship, let alone by a warship in stealth mode.

Whatever the reason for this stop, Reyne knew it didn't bode well for him and his crew. His sore body was quickly forgotten while he watched in trepidation as Throttle brought the Gryphon alongside the massive, gray warship. He stared at the ship's name—ARCADIA—emblazoned on its hull as the Gryphon glided to its docking bay.

"I see they've rolled out the welcome mat," Throttle said, and he then noticed the opened doors a couple hundred meters down from their current position. The number 2 was painted in iridescent white near the opening.

"Slowing to point three. Setting thruster for sixty-degree turn," Throttle voiced her maneuvers aloud, a habit she picked up at the age of eight. She effortlessly negotiated the docking procedures, and claw-like rilon mooring bars clamped onto the Gryphon with a metallic clang.

Reyne took a deep breath, suddenly feeling trapped much like that Myrad hauler had been just before being destroyed by the star swarm.

"Well, I guess we're in their hands now," she said. "At least they were gentler grabbing onto us this time. We still have a shimmy in the gear after the last dock check."

"It's on the fix list."

A pressurized tube shot out from the dock wall and fastened over their port. The comm panel beeped.

"Hauler Playa-One-Bravo, we read green on docking sequence. Power down your ship immediately. The entire crew must proceed through the tube for decontamination and interviews. No weapons or hostility of any kind will be tolerated."

Throttle unlocked her seat and wheeled back. "I suppose we shouldn't keep our gracious hosts waiting," she said with her usual dash of sarcasm.

"No, I suppose we shouldn't," he echoed.

He followed her down the narrow hallway. The rest of the crew stood waiting for them at the small port door. When Reyne approached, Sixx cranked open the door. He then took a step back and waved in an exaggerated motion. "After you, boss."

Reyne chortled and entered the tube that was no more than four feet in diameter. He walked in a crouch through the tunnel, his bruised ribs crying out against the constrictive stance.

"Viggin' CUF," Boden grumbled as he crammed his muscular body into the tunnel.

"Careful. If they hear you, you'll be issued a citation," Reyne warned over his shoulder.

Throttle followed Boden into the confined docking tube that was too round and too narrow for her to ride her wheelchair. The sounds of her legs dragging behind her echoed through the confined space.