The Impossible Book 0 Read online

  The Impossible: Book 0

  Alexandria Clarke

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Copyright 2018 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

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  1

  Nothing in the galaxy is more invigorating that the rush of a successful raid. Piracy has evolved since its origins on Earth. It’s an art form now. In the ocean, things were simple. Corner a ship, board it, then proceed to the pillaging and plundering. In space, the process requires a more delicate touch. Any legal spaceship within the Pavo galaxy is registered with the Intergalactic Armament and equipped with radar to alert crewmembers to incoming threats. Piracy no longer relies on brute force or the size of your ship. It’s all about whether or not you can outsmart the target, and our captain—Saint Rita—is hailed as the most cunning pirate in the galaxy. Like always, she’s the first to greet me when I return to The Impossible from a freshly looted, smoldering cargo ship.

  “Trouble?” she asks. “I got feedback from your comms.”

  I toss her my ruined earpiece. “An officer nicked my ear.”

  “It could’ve been your head. Move faster next time. The opalite?”

  “Got it all.”

  My team—ten of The Impossible’s best pirates—follow me on board. Two of them lug a black case about three feet in length.

  “Let’s see it,” Saint Rita orders.

  The pirates unlatch the case and open the lid. It’s full to the brim with chunks of indigo stone. Opalite in Pavo isn’t the fake stuff they used to sell on Earth. It’s precious space matter, mined from asteroids and used to power the galaxy’s weapons. Without it, Saint Rita and The Impossible would’ve been space dust a long time ago.

  Saint Rita caresses the top layer of opalite. “Perfect. Well done, Ophelia.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Take this to the weapons bay,” she orders the others. “Then report to midship for a crew meeting.”

  The crew scurries off, leaving me alone with the captain. Her dark beady eyes scan me from head to toe. I hold her gaze, trying not to squirm. From a distance, no one would consider Saint Rita intimidating. She’s five foot three and built like an arrow—slim but lethal. Her power lies in her posture and reputation. On the wall of her quarters, she keeps a tally of how many ships she’s conquered with The Impossible, and she’s running out of space.

  “Something I can help you with, Captain?” I ask. “Shall I tell Jett to chart a course to Homados? Opalite’s hot there right now. We could make a killing.”

  She pinches my injured ear, rubs the coagulating blood between her fingers, then wipes it on my teal-and-orange protective vest. “No. I have a stop to make first. We’re going to Proioxis.”

  My muscles stiffen as the captain strolls off, and my hand drifts to the data disk hanging around my neck. I catch up with Saint Rita. “Proioxis?”

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  She knows I have.

  “Why are we going there?” I ask. “IA is all over that planet. We can’t trade there. We probably can’t even get to the surface without being shot down. It’s a stupid move—”

  “Are you calling me stupid?”

  “N-no, Captain. Of course not.”

  We reach midship and take a flight of rickety metal stairs down to the main deck. Another mark of Saint Rita’s infamy is the ship itself. The Impossible used to be an IA battleship before Saint Rita stormed it—in a tiny speeder—and defeated the entire crew with just two others at her side.

  The captain pushes through the swinging doors to the atrium, the largest gathering place on the ship other than the chow hall. Everyone is already here. It’s pandemonium when all of us are together—what with over a hundred and fifty voices bouncing off the metal walls—but silence falls as soon as Saint Rita enters. She ascends the steps to the stage at the front of the room and settles in the velvet chair we looted from a luxury cruise ship a few years ago. I take my usual place on the first step rather than on the floor with the rest of the crew.

  “Friends,” Saint Rita says. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, we’ve completed another successful raid. However, before we proceed to Homados to trade, I have another mission for you. I need all hands.”

  The crew titters. If the captain needs all hands, she’s planning something big. I shift from one foot to the other, keeping my eyes on the pirates, but I can feel Saint Rita’s gaze on the back of my neck.

  “Today, we go to Proioxis,” the captain announces. “We’ll land at the port near the IA Intelligence building. No need to hide. Your mission is simple. Wreak havoc. The more, the better. Destroy everything. Leave nothing in your wake. I want IA to feel this loss in the pit of their stomachs.”

  In the pit of my stomach, acid bubbles as the crew erupts in excited shouts. This is not what The Impossible does. We are not common murderers hellbent on committing atrocities such as this one. Our goal has always been to conduct our business out of IA’s immediate range.

  “Are you with me?” Saint Rita roars over the crowd. The answering cheers echo off the atrium walls and pound against my eardrums. I feel like vomiting. “Prepare for a fight, my friends,” Saint Rita continues. “We’re jumping to hyperspeed.”

  She descends the stage as the crowd thins. I scurry after her.

  “Ophelia, prepare the opalite,” she orders. “Load every ray and blaster. We’re going to need them.”

  “Captain, I still don’t understand why we’re going to Proioxis,” I say. “Attacking the Intelligence building is a huge risk. It’ll be surrounded by Defense officers, and you know how brutal they are. They won’t spare anyone.”

  She whirls around so fast that I slam into her. She’s as firm as a stone, but I bounce off and trip over my own feet. “Your protest upsets me,” she says. “I thought you were the one soul aboard the ship who offered me unwavering loyalty, but here you are questioning my authority.”

  “I would never, Captain.”

  She steps forward and gazes upward at me. “Is there a particular reason you feel so strongly about this mission?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m curious as to its purpose, Captain.”

  “Anything else?”

  Her black irises mine holes in my own green ones.

  “No, Captain.”

  She sighs and steps back. “You’ve grown bold if you feel comfortable enough to doubt my motives. Perhaps it’s time for a new first mate. Soleil shows promise.”

  My blood freezes in my veins as she walks away. Saint Rita’s ex-first mates aren’t reabsorbed into the crew. They’re dismissed from The Impossible, a fate I cannot risk. Like everyone else on this ship, I’m what Saint Rita has made me. We are orphans, victims, and debtors, and Saint Rita gave us all a home aboard The Impossible. But her protection is conditional, and I can’t afford to lose it.

  The weapons bay is in the bowels of the ship, tucked away from the main decks. I shimmy through the last hatch door and slide down the ladder. My handprint opens the bay door. Only a few of us are cleared to access this area, the crew members that Saint Rita trusts not to murder her with the weapons inside. Usually, the bay’s pretty quiet. Not many people like the smell of grease and crushed opalite as much as I do. The indigo stones reek of sulfur when you break them apart. Today, the bay’s loud and crowded as everyone pr
epares to storm Proioxis.

  “About time, O!” Tariq—my assistant in the weapons shop—claps me on the back. He’s a stocky guy we rescued from a water planet three years ago. Ironically, he couldn’t swim. I always joke his mop of tightly curled hair should have kept him afloat. “We need your print.”

  The walls of the bay house The Impossible’s stolen assortment of guns, rays, and blasters, but crisscrossing red lasers prevent anyone from taking them down. My fingerprint unlocks them. I press my index finger to the scanner and tap in the code. The lasers disengage, and my stomach turns as the other weapons workers whoop with glee.

  “Opalite first,” I order, mimicking Saint Rita’s stern tone. Everyone knows I’m the captain’s favorite lap dog. It usually works in my favor, but it also means there’s one or two people aboard The Impossible who would love to see me blasted off into dead space. For now, they have no choice but to listen to me.

  Tariq and the others unpack the opalite from the carrying case. As they lay it out across the work tables, I admire the stones. It’s the best haul we’ve had in a while, and we’re going to waste it on Saint Rita’s brainless excursion. The crew looks at me for instructions.

  “Well?” I say. “What are you waiting for? Get to work!”

  In a few minutes, the whole bay stinks as the crew hammers the opalite into a fine powder. Usually, I’d prepare it myself. Opalite is most effective when it’s processed and condensed, but we’re short on time. I circle the room, keeping an eye out for lazy work, but Tariq keeps everyone focused.

  The ship lurches, but no one blinks. We’re used to The Impossible’s finicky jumps in and out of hyperspeed. I clench a work table for support, and Tariq notices my nervous grip.

  “Everything okay, O?” he asks as he funnels crushed opalite into a cartridge. “You’re really pale. Getting sick or something?”

  “I’m fine, Tariq.”

  “Weird, huh?” he says, focused on his task. “That the captain asked us to do this? What do you think she’s up to?”

  I sift through the opalite, checking for any chunks that haven’t been powdered properly. “I don’t know.”

  He scoffs. “Oh, please. You’re Saint Rita’s right hand. She tells you everything.” He taps the cartridge so the opalite settles then goes back to filling it. “What’s the deal? An IA Intelligence building is a pretty big target. Does she want hostages? Are we gathering intel? Ooh, do you think she wants to commandeer another ship? That would be so cool. We could start a fleet. She’d probably make you captain of The Impossible and take the new ship for herself—”

  “Tariq!”

  He startles, spilling opalite across the table. “What?”

  “I have no idea what the captain’s planning,” I say. “Stay sharp down there and don’t do anything stupid. Have you ever met an IA Defense officer in person?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope, never had the pleasure.”

  “It’s the opposite of pleasure,” I reply. “Defense hates pirates. If they get a chance, they’ll kill you. Please don’t die. It took me four years on this ship to find someone smart enough to work and trade these damned rocks with me. Don’t make me find someone else.”

  The ship lurches again, this time in the opposite direction. We’ve come out of hyperspeed. I check the Monitor—a handheld computer that shows me almost every detail of the ship—on my wrist. The holographic map pops up. It shows The Impossible hovering right outside Proioxis’s atmosphere. As soon as we breach it, IA will know pirates are descending. The all-call switches on, and Saint Rita’s voice booms over the speakers.

  “Breaching in twenty minutes.”

  The weapons workers hurry to finish their projects. Each crew member carries a crate of ray guns and blasters through the hatch to the upper decks. They’ll assign the weapons in the atrium, where everyone else will be waiting to deploy. I purposely hang back to clean up the opalite dust. Tariq carries a case of The Impossible’s most valuable weapons. I stop him from leaving.

  “Give me the R-One,” I say.

  “Don’t you have your pistol?”

  My preferred weapon rests in my belt. The weight of it usually comforts me before a mission, but today is different. I need more firepower.

  “I want the R-One.”

  Tariq quirks an eyebrow at me. I don’t often use my First Mate voice with him. He unlatches his crate to extract the blaster. The R-One is an official IA-issued weapon, the keystone of Defense operation. It’s the first gun every Defense cadet learns to operate. The R-One is a fickle beast. It requires a practiced flick of the wrist to get the cartridge in and fire off a shot. When I tried to teach the crew how to use one, only two or three people got the hang of it. Tariq stares as I expertly load the blaster, lock the cartridge into place, and raise the gun to my shoulder and squint over the sight.

  “Are you ever going to tell me where you learned to do that?” Tariq asks.

  “No.”

  When we reach the atrium, Saint Elena has already opened the bay windows. It’s ship tradition to lord over the planet or vessel we intend to invade before landing. The crew gathers to get a look at the planet. In the seven years since I’d joined The Impossible, we’d never stopped at Proioxis. This is new territory for most of the ship, a planet yet unexplored. Saint Rita smiles as everyone clamors about how pretty it is, but my gut clenches.

  “Ophelia!” Saint Rita beckons me to the bay window. “Come look at our target.”

  She’s doing this on purpose. The crew parts to let me through. Stiff-legged, I join everyone else at the window and look out.

  “Well?” Saint Rita says.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

  And it is. Proioxis is a mix of vibrant green and blues. It and its sister planet Palioxis are the two planets in the Pavo galaxy that most resemble Earth. Or so the textbooks say. I was born long after Earth’s resources expired and the human race ventured beyond the Milky Way. A shiver rocked my body as The Impossible drifted closer and closer to the planet below. I turn away from the window, and Saint Rita meets me with a smirk.

  “Prepare to descend,” she orders.

  The ship zips toward Proioxis, and the crew grows restless. Weapons buzz and light up. Safety switches turn on and off. Boots shuffle and protective gear rustles. The hum of conversation grows into a dull, throbbing roar. When an orange glow licks the bay windows, signaling our passage through Proioxis’s atmosphere, the crew lets out a chorus of delighted shouts. They gather near the far end of the atrium, where the bay doors will open in a few minutes to spill the pirates onto the unsuspecting planet.

  I return to the window and watch as we near the ground. Already, I can see the neon blue lights of opposing R-Ones as IA Defense officers prepare to meet us. My stomach heaves. I glance at Saint Rita. She’s been staring at me this whole time. She knows what I’m thinking—that I’m not sure if I can do this. It’s the ultimate test of my loyalty. Saint Rita knows my secret. I was born on Proioxis, and seven years ago, I betrayed everyone on it.

  2

  The first wave of pirates charging off The Impossible gets flattened by IA Defense squads as their assigned R-Ones pump blast after blast into the crew. The second wave is a bit smarter. They use the bodies of their fallen comrades as human shields before taking cover behind massive cargo boxes along the dock.

  Across the port, a Defense officer aims at Tariq and fires. I whip up my own R-One and take a shot. The two blasts of opalite collide and explode mid-air. The leftover powder falls like snow, and everyone scrambles to avoid it. Once heated, opalite burns like acid.

  Tariq claps me on the back. “Thank heavens for your infallible aim.”

  “Duck, you idiot.” I yank him to the ground behind a cargo crate as the officer fires another shot. It whizzes over our heads. I fire blindly over the crate. A pained grunt tells me the shot has found a mark. “This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t be out here. You’re not trained for this level of combat.”

  “And you a
re?” Tariq asks. He pops his head up and another blast ruffles his hair. He ducks down again with a yelp. “You’re right. Raiding cruisers is way easier. I can’t even get a shot off. Those fuckers are too quick.”

  I pop up, take out the officer whose laser is focused on us, and shove Tariq. “Move to that next crate. I’ll cover you.”

  He scrambles toward the spot, gasping when he trips over a fallen crew member. I keep my eyes trained on the officers across the way and refuse to check which pirates didn’t make it past the port exit. At this rate, Saint Rita will have to recruit new crew members to run The Impossible as smoothly as before. We’ve already lost too many.

  Tariq slides to safety behind the crate. I duck as another blast comes my way and shoot down three more officers before joining him.

  “How do you do that?” he gasps, mouth agape.

  “Practice,” I reply. “Again. Keep your gun up. Remember what I taught you. Steady breath, steady shot. If they’re moving, fire where they’re going to be, not where they are. Move!”

  We dart to the next crate. This time, Tariq gets a few shots off. The first two miss, but the third one lands on an officer’s leg and blows him off his feet. Tariq whoops, but before he has time to really celebrate, I order him along. We scurry up the dock with the other pirates who’ve made it this far, pushing the Defense officers into the building behind them.

  The Intelligence building looms. It gleams white as Proioxis’s two suns glance off its opposite sides. Though IA mostly recruits Defense officers from Proioxis—whereas they recruit Intelligence from Palioxis—the Intelligence building here is still large enough to present a threat to our crew. Not to mention, it’s defended from the first floor all the way up to the tenth.

  As the doors slide open, my stomach leaps into my throat. For a moment, I’m ten years old again. As a child, I spent hours upon hours here after school when my mother was too busy to watch me and my father was too exhausted to parent his own children. I half-expect to see my mother, hand on her hip as she waits to scold me on the light-blue carpet in front of the Welcome Desk. When I left Proioxis, she was already the Head of Intelligence. Was she upstairs giving orders to her subordinates on how best to defend the building?