The Fringe Wars

3.6

Aches and Pains and Doppelgangers

Devil Town fringe station, Spate

Throttle woke in a bed instead of on a hard, cold prison floor. She hadn't expected to wake at all. 

Her pounding head assured her she was alive. She lifted her head and immediately lowered to the pillow. The room swirled around her, and her tongue felt thick. Whatever they'd drugged her with was still deep in her system. Her mind was too fuzzy to process any logic behind drugging a prisoner—a paraplegic one at that. The CUF used stun guns, which were cheaper and easier to use than drugs, and droms tended to enjoy using pain-inflecting weapons more often.

She glanced at her forearm to find her wrist comm missing. It was then she noticed she was wearing a hospital gown rather than her clothes.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, and the room spun so quickly she became nauseous. She reached out for her wheelchair, but it wasn't where she always left it. Her head swayed as she searched the room, squinting through her double vision. Her chair was missing. Anxiety began to clear her sight. Without her chair, the droms didn't need to put her in a prison cell. It wasn't like she could haul herself out of there—wherever there even was—without drawing the attention of any drom in the area. Her only chance was if they passed out from laughing so hard at the sight of a crippled girl dragging herself around Spate.

Shoot, she would've laughed at the idea if she could've seen straight.

A lock clicked, and Throttle turned to see the door slide open and two men and two women walk in. Two pairs of twins. No, that wasn't right. She blinked and tried to focus her vision. One man, and one woman a step behind him. He was tall for a Myrad, with the bluest skin she'd ever seen. His family must've been one of the first colonists on Myr, or he'd had his skin stained. With the vibrant colors he wore and the way he carried himself, she suspected it was the former.

The woman, on the other hand, had pale white skin—maybe even a shade paler than Throttle's—with green eyes and dark auburn hair. She was stunningly beautiful and wore a long green gown. She was also incredibly familiar, yet Throttle was sure she'd never seen the woman before in her life.

Throttle rested her head against the wall to help hold it steady.

"The drugs will wear off soon," The man said. "But I wanted to see you as soon as you woke."

Throttle tried to focus on him. "Why am I still alive?"

He watched her. "You're Halit Herley, pilot and mail runner. You earned the nickname of Throttle due to your reputation for flying fast. Tell me, Ms. Herley, why didn't you take your adoptive father's surname? For all intents and purposes, you're Halit Reyne. There's no way you could remember your real parents."

She gritted her teeth and repeated, "Why am I still alive?"

He smiled, an expression devoid of humor and full of arrogance. "I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Axos Wintsel, the stationmaster of Devil Town." He motioned to the woman standing behind him, who never looked up. "And this is my consort, Qelle."

Ah. That's why the woman looked familiar. The fog was slowly clearing from Throttle's mind, but everything still felt sluggish, like she was stuck in a tank of pudding.

"You and I have something in common," he said, with a sly smile on his face.

"A colonist and a Myrad have something in common?" She belted out a dry laugh. "Let me guess. You're a cripple, too."

"I am not a cripple!" He stomped toward her with a raised fist.

She braced herself for the blow.