Chapter 1 - Fine Lines and Fines

  “Alright, up and at ‘em!”

  Darius jerked awake, rolling to slap at his alarm clock on instinct. Unfortunately for him, the hard plasteel bench he had fallen asleep on was much narrower than his cheap double bed, and the only thing he managed was dumping himself on the floor of the holding cell.

  He blinked blearily at the sterile white tiles two inches from his nose, brain struggling to figure out why his ribs hurt and his head pounded with the unmistakable throb of a hangover.

  ‘What the hell?’ he wondered sluggishly.

  The sharp clang of metal echoed through the cell as a baton rattled against the bars, the sound sending a spike of pain straight through Darius’s skull. He groaned, rolling onto his back and squinting up at the ceiling. The harsh fluorescent lights above did his hangover no favours, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

  “Let’s go, Kallan,” came a gruff voice from just beyond the bars. “You’re up.”

  Darius blinked, piecing together the events that had led him here. The bar. Drinks with Finn. Walking home. And then—oh. Right. The security patrol. He could almost remember himself saying something smart-mouthed to the officer in charge, but the details were still fuzzy. What had he said?

  If he was suffering the consequences, it would have been nice to at least have the satisfaction of remembering whatever smart comment he came up with.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he thought, grimacing as he pushed himself up off the floor. Whatever it was, it had clearly been enough to land him here in this sterile, soulless box of a holding cell. The walls were a mixture of white and grey, almost like they had been specifically designed to sap the joy from whoever was unfortunate enough to see them. His ribs ached where he’d hit the floor, and his mouth tasted like old boots. Fantastic.

  “What time is it?” he rasped, his voice hoarse from a night of dehydration.

  The guard, a squat man with a mean look, crossed his arms and sneered. “Time for you to get out of my cell, that’s what. You’ve got a fine to pay and a warning on your record. Congratulations.”

  Darius bit back the retort that threatened to spill out. He had a feeling his tongue had gotten him into enough trouble already. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced around.

  Being thrown in a cell for a night was one thing – he had expected that. But having to cough up credits for some stupid “disorderly conduct” charge?

  Typical. It wasn’t just the constant fines or the way the Empire held everyone by the throat – Darius had reasons, personal ones, to hate them. His family had been torn apart by one of their so-called ‘necessary operations’ years ago, a cold reminder that no one was safe when the Empire decided you were in their way.

  “Come on, Kallan,” the guard barked, growing impatient. “You’re lucky we’re letting you off with just a fine. Could’ve been worse.”

  Darius snorted, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, lucky. I feel like a damn lottery winner.”

  The guard slammed his baton against the bars again, making Darius flinch. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” Darius muttered, his headache worsening with every word.

  As the guard opened the door and gestured for him to step out, Darius shuffled forward, every movement a little too sharp, his joints creaking like rusted gears. His head was still swimming, the aftereffects of last night’s drinks making every sound louder, every light brighter. He passed the guard, offering a strained smile.

  “So,” Darius asked, trying to clear his throat. “What’s the damage?”

  “Three hundred credits,” the guard said, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. “For disorderly conduct and resisting arrest.”

  “Three hundred credits!?” Darius yelped, regretting it a moment later as his head throbbed painfully. “And what do you mean, resisting? I barely even moved! You guys dragged me in for walking home. I was just—”

  The guard shrugged, cutting him off. “Don’t care. Maybe next time you’ll keep your mouth shut, huh? Now pay up, or you can spend the night in here again. Your choice.”

  Darius bit back another less-than-polite response, instead blinking in the specific pattern that would activate his augs. He was only half surprised when nothing happened. This really wasn’t his day.

  He tried again, this time more deliberately, hoping the familiar surge of his augments kicking in would follow. But all he got was a static flicker in his vision, like an old, broken monitor trying and failing to boot up. He cursed under his breath, jabbing the side of his head with his finger as if that would help. Of course, it didn’t.

  He always knew that going for the cheaper second-hand augs was going to come back and bite him at some point, but anything halfway decent was well and truly out of his price range. Besides, it wasn’t like he used them for much anyway – all of his music was stored on his auditory implants, and that was pretty much all he cared about.

  “Having trouble, Kallan?” the guard asked, voice thick with mock concern.

  Darius shot him a glare. “My augs are on the fritz. I’ll pay when I get them sorted.”

  The guard raised an eyebrow and shook his head with an exaggerated sigh, tapping something into his wrist-mounted device. “Right. Well, since you can’t pay on the spot, we’ll just add it to your file. And look at that – an extra processing fee for the inconvenience. Five hundred credits now. Lucky day, huh?”

  Darius clenched his fists, swallowing down the string of expletives that threatened to burst out. Five hundred credits for doing nothing but walking home with a few too many drinks sloshing in his system. He wanted to scream, to throw something, but he knew better than to push it. The Empire always had ways to make things worse.

  Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, his jaw tight. “Yeah, lucky me.”

  The guard’s grin widened as he tapped a final command into his datapad. “All set, Kallan. Get that sorted soon, or you’ll have a real problem on your hands.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the door. “Now get out of here before I change my mind and decide you need more time to sober up.”

  Darius didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped through the open door, his legs still stiff and aching from the cold, cramped night on the cell bench. The hallway outside was no more welcoming than the cell—a dull, grey corridor with a flickering light overhead and the faint smell of disinfectant lingering in the air.

  As the outer doors slid open with a hiss, Darius was hit with a gust of cold, damp air. The rain had let up, but the streets were still wet, reflecting the dull neon glow of the holographic signs that hovered above. He paused just outside the detention facility, his mind still fuzzy from the remnants of his hangover, but now mixed with the fresh sting of irritation.

  His head throbbed, his ribs ached, his augs were on the fritz, and his bank account was five hundred credits lighter.

  “Yeah, perfect way to start the day,” Darius muttered, pulling his jacket tight around him as he started the long walk back to his apartment. His eyes wandered over the drab, worn buildings around him, and despite himself, he felt that familiar spark of anger return.

  This was what it was like to live under the Empire. Cuffed, fined, and shoved back into the same miserable routine, just grateful they hadn’t decided to make an example of you.

  A few people milled about the street, most of them looking just as weary and dishevelled as he felt. He spotted a man walking by, hunched over with a worn cap pulled low over his eyes. The man didn’t seem to notice him at first, but Darius stepped forward, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

  “Hey,” Darius said, his voice still rough. “You got the time?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The man glanced up, his expression half-curious, half-annoyed. He blinked, and the small glow of his augments flickered in the corner of his eyes as he checked the time.

  “8:42,” the man replied, giving Darius a quick once-over before turning back and continuing on his way.

  Darius stood there for a moment, frozen, as the man’s words sank in. His shift at the shipyards had started at 8:00 sharp.

  “Crap,” he muttered under his breath.

  – – –

  One autocab ride later – and fifty credits poorer – he was standing at the entrance to the largest shipyard on the planet.

  Not that it was a particularly high bar to clear – Caldera IV was the very definition of a ‘frontier’ colony world, with all that entailed. The only reason they had enough traffic to merit a proper shipyard was the presence of several large mineral-rich asteroid belts in the system.

  All the leaps in technology the Human Empire had made over the last few centuries hadn’t made the job of mining any more pleasant or glamorous, but it also hadn’t made it any less lucrative. Wherever there was money to be made, there would be poor fools willing to work long hours to get at it – just as there would also be rich executives ready to swoop in and take the lion’s share of the profit.

  Darius snorted lightly at the morbid nature of his thoughts, digging through a pocket to present his ID card to the guard. He was hardly the Empire’s greatest fan even on a good day – how could he be, with what they had done to his family – but even for him, that was a little more cynical than usual.

  The guard gave his ID a quick scan, the faint hum of the device barely audible over the low roar of the shipyard beyond. With a curt nod, the guard waved him through, and Darius stepped past the gate into the sprawling mess of steel, grime, and noise that was the Exeter Station shipyard.

  The shipyard was a patchwork of metal platforms, cranes, and docking bays, all threaded together with the kind of haphazard engineering that only came from decades of constant, low-budget repairs. Massive mining vessels loomed over the yard like steel beasts, their hulls scarred from years of asteroid collisions and hard use. Some were little more than flying scrap heaps, held together with mismatched panels, exposed wiring, and more than a little wishful thinking. The sound of welding torches crackled through the air, and the tang of burnt metal and machine oil clung to the back of Darius’s throat as he walked.

  The noise did his hangover little good either.

  The smell, as always, was a mix of ozone, oil, and sweat—a testament to the hard labour that kept the station operational. The workers moved like ants between the colossal vessels, dwarfed by the sheer size of the ships they serviced. Most of the vessels had seen better days; rust crept along the edges of their bulkheads, and half of them looked like they were one good hit away from splitting apart. The shipyard’s motto was simple: if it flew, it could be fixed. Quality, however, was optional.

  As Darius made his way toward the central office, something caught his eye—a ship that didn’t belong. In the far berth, towering over the usual clunky, patched-up salvage rigs, was a sleek, gleaming military vessel. Its lines were sharp and aggressive, its hull a dark, polished metal that stood in stark contrast to the dented and rusted ships around it. The Empire’s insignia was emblazoned proudly on its side, its cold, efficient design radiating authority and power. It looked out of place, too pristine for a yard like this.

  Darius paused for a moment, squinting at it. What the hell was a ship like that doing here? His mind raced with possibilities, none of them particularly comforting. The Empire didn’t send their shiny toys to backwater colonies like Caldera IV unless they had a reason.

  With a quiet sigh, he shook his head and continued toward the main office. Whatever it was, it was above his pay grade. He had enough problems of his own.

  The office was a cramped little building at the edge of the yard, barely more than a prefab shack slapped together from rusting steel plates and tinted windows that hadn’t been cleaned in years. Darius stepped inside, the cool, stale air a brief reprieve from the chaos outside. The familiar hum of cheap air conditioning greeted him, along with the low murmur of voices and the clack of fingers on keyboards.

  At the far end of the room, sitting behind a desk cluttered with datapads and half-empty cups of synth-coffee, was Finn, his supervisor and friend. He looked as tired as Darius felt, his usually cheerful expression dulled by what Darius assumed was the same hangover he was suffering from. His sandy brown hair was mussed, and his usual charming grin was absent as he flicked through a report on his terminal.

  Finn glanced up as Darius approached, one eyebrow quirking up in mild surprise.

  “Well, well,” Finn said, leaning back in his chair. “Look who decided to show up. Rough night?”

  Darius gave him a half-hearted smirk. “Something like that. Didn’t expect to see you behind a desk this early, either.”

  Finn grunted, rubbing at his temples. “Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be dealing with increased security either. We’ve all been standing around waiting for clearance to even start working. Some military types came in with that big bird out there,” he said, nodding toward the sleek vessel outside. “Haven’t let anyone near it yet.”

  Darius leaned on the edge of Finn’s desk, trying to ignore the dull pounding in his head. “What’s the deal with that ship anyway? Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing we’d see around here.”

  Finn shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care, honestly. They assigned us to do some repairs on it, but we can’t do anything until the higher-ups say so. So for now, we’re just killing time.”

  Darius felt a small wave of relief wash over him. His tardiness hadn’t gone unnoticed, but at least he wasn’t as late as he could have been. With all the extra security, no one had started working yet, which meant he wasn’t in too much trouble.

  “Well, I guess that makes me lucky for once,” Darius muttered. “So what’s the plan, then? We just sit around until the Empire lets us get near their fancy ship?”

  “Pretty much,” Finn said, cracking a small grin. “But hey, at least we’re getting paid for it.”

  Darius snorted. “Yeah, I’ll take what I can get. Hey, while we’re waiting, mind giving me a hand resetting my augs?”

  Finn rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards anyway. “Why am I not surprised your augs are down again? You really gotta upgrade those, man.” He paused for a second. “How did you even get here if they were dead?”

  “Don’t remind me,” Darius grumbled, tilting his head to allow Finn access to the connection port embedded in the back of his neck. “Took me fifteen minutes to convince the stupid autocab to put the ride on credit. Whose idea was it to give those things a VI? And why couldn’t they spring for something that actually worked?”

  “Probably someone with about a dozen PR degrees,” Finn responded dryly, plugging a cable into the exposed port. He didn’t bother answering the second question, probably because it was the same reason companies did anything – to make money. Darius tried not to twitch at the sensation of the cable dragging against his neck.

  As much as he relied on them, the augs had always made his skin crawl. They were so deeply intertwined with daily life now that going without wasn’t even an option – even out here on a place like Caldera IV, far from the bustling centre of the Empire – but that didn’t mean he liked the idea of having a machine plugged into his body.

  The familiar hum of the augment’s system rebooting buzzed at the base of Darius’s skull, sending an uncomfortable heat radiating through the back of his neck. The faint static flicker danced across his vision before finally stabilising, the heads-up display blinking to life in the corner of his eye. Of course, his interface was completely wiped—just a blank slate with none of his previous settings, preferences, or shortcuts. Typical.

  “Great,” Darius muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as he felt the remnants of his hangover mingle with the annoyance of starting from scratch. “Everything’s reset.”

  Finn unplugged the cable and gave him a pitying look. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yep,” Darius said, closing his eyes for a second as the bright displays swam before him. “I’ll be reconfiguring these things for the next week.”

  Finn clapped him on the shoulder, half joking, half genuine sympathy. “See, this is why you should just upgrade, man. It’s not worth all the headaches—literally.”

  Darius shot him a sideways glance, more resigned than irritated. “You think I haven’t thought of that? Between the bills, rent, and just existing on this rock? Not exactly rolling in credits, am I?”

  Finn raised an eyebrow. “And how much was the autocab this morning?”

  Darius rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Fifty credits,” he admitted, already hearing the lecture coming.

  Finn shook his head, turning back to his desk. “Could’ve just used that to save up for the upgrades. Or a new pair of boots. Or, hell, some synth-coffee to wake you up.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s another reason I’m going to be short on credits for a while,” Darius said absently, his mind still half on resetting his aug’s visual preferences.

  Finn gave him a wary look. “Uh-huh. What reason?”

  Darius didn’t answer immediately, but the sheepish grimace on his face told Finn enough. “Darius,” Finn groaned, exasperation clear in his tone, “what did you do?”

  “Nothing!” Darius protested, though his guilty tone betrayed him. “It’s not like I was causing trouble. Just… got caught by a security patrol on my way home last night. Said something smart, I guess. Now I’ve got a fine on my record.”

  Finn stared at him, unimpressed. “You got arrested?”

  Darius shrugged, trying to play it off. “I didn’t do anything! They just needed an excuse; you know how they are.”

  Finn crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “How much?”

  Darius hesitated. “Five hundred.”

  Finn’s eyes widened, and he slapped a hand over his face. “Five hundred credits? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “Hey,” Darius said defensively, “I was just walking home. You know how they love throwing around charges for ‘resisting arrest.’“

  Finn rubbed his temples, his face twisting in frustration. “Dammit, Darius. You’ve really got to learn when to shut your mouth.”

  “I know, I know,” Darius said, waving a hand. “Trust me, I learned my lesson.”

  “Did you, though?” Finn shot back. “Because this is, what, the second or third time this year? If you keep pulling this crap, it’s going to catch up with you.”

  Darius winced. As much as he hated to admit it, Finn wasn’t wrong. He had a habit of pushing his luck, and every time, it seemed like it was getting a little harder to brush off the consequences. Five hundred credits was no small amount—he’d be feeling the sting of that for months.

  “Look,” Finn said, his tone softening as he glanced back at his console, “just... try to keep your head down for a while, alright? I’m not going to cover for you if this keeps happening.”

  Darius nodded, the humour draining out of him. “Yeah, alright. I’ll lay low.”

  Finn politely pretended to believe him.

  “Well, guess I’d better go pretend to be useful while we wait for clearance,” he muttered, pushing off the desk and heading for the door. “See you out there.”

  Finn waved him off without looking up from his console. “Yeah, just try not to get yourself arrested again before lunch.”

  He gave Finn a half-hearted salute and pushed through the door, looking out at the sleek military ship that loomed in the distance, cutting an imposing silhouette against the drab backdrop of the yard.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was an omen of things to come.

  five chapters being released today. The release schedule is a chapter every day for the first month, or for however long this story is on rising stars, whichever is longer. So if you want to see more, reviews will bump me up the ranks!