RENEGADE RESURGENCE

©2021 GJ OGDEN

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Contents

ALSO IN THE SERIES

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

FROM THE PUBLISHER

ALSO IN THE SERIES

Also by GJ Ogden

Readers' Favorite, 5-stars

About the Author

You can connect with me here:

ALSO IN THE SERIES

Darkspace Renegade

Wolf Squadron

Rogue World

Rikkard’s Revenge

Renegade Resurgence

Centrum Incursion

The interstellar bridges provide a lifeline for billions of people. To save humanity, Hallam Knight must tear them all down.

Acknowledgments

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to Sarah for her work assessing and editing this novel, and to those who subscribed to my newsletters and provided such valuable feedback.

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Other Sci-Fi series by G J Ogden:

The Planetsider Trilogy

The Contingency War Series

The Star Scavenger Series

1

Cad Rikkard stood on the grand terrace of the Sky Suite and breathed in the warm Feronian night air, which smelled of jasmine from the lavish gardens that extended toward the skyline. This was the Chatham House Club’s most expensive suite, in what was already the galaxy’s most exclusive and expensive hotel. The price ensured anonymity for its guests, allowing them to indulge in whatever secret pleasures they desired – no questions asked. However, for Cad Rikkard and Alexis Black, it was simply a temporary stopover to celebrate their victory over Hallam Knight and the Darkspace Renegades. Even so, as stunning as the Sky Suite was, Cad wasn’t convinced it was worth the price. He cared little for material pleasures. However, Alexis had wanted it, and while material things did not matter to Cad, Alexis Black did.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Alexis, draping herself over Cad’s shoulder, which was covered only with a silk gown. She then offered him a glass of champagne, which Cad assumed was as exorbitantly expensive as everything else in the Chatham House Club.

“It is now,” said Cad, turning to face Alexis and taking the glass that was offered. He stroked his hand down the side of her face, then straightened the raven skull pendant that was dangling around her neck.

Alexis smiled then slapped Cad across his scarred cheek, kissing the same location a moment later. “I told you before, stop getting sentimental on me,” she said, smiling demurely.

Cad knew this was merely a faux admonishment. Alexis loved compliments almost as much as she adored the finery they were surrounded by. It was finery to which she had been accustomed since an early age. To Cad, however, their regal surroundings still felt alien, despite his own immense wealth. He had clawed his way to the top from the very bottom of the pit. In many ways, wealth still repulsed him, merely reminding him of the likes of Damien Doyle, who believed that money could buy respect and admiration. Doyle had earned nothing. Everything the now deceased magnate had owned had been stolen or acquired through the toil of others. Not so for Cad Rikkard. Cad’s fearsome reputation had been hard won, and he would defend it to the last.

The anger that swelled in Cad’s gut at the memory of Damien Doyle’s many slights against him diminished as he remembered that the man was dead by his own hand. More satisfying was the knowledge that he had not only killed the magnate, but bested him too. However, that victory had come at the cost of making another enemy – the former commander of the CSF, Dexter Stone. As the newly-appointed head of the Consortium, Stone was now gunning for Cad and Alexis, backed by all the vast resources of the near limitless organization. In fact, Cad knew that the only reason they had managed to evade the CSF so far was because ninety percent of their fleet was engaged in humanitarian rescue and evacuation operations in the outer bridge worlds.

“Are we going out?” said Cad, distracting himself from these darker thoughts by admiring Alexis’ new outfit. This comprised a pair of cropped satin flared crepe trousers and a structured blazer jacket. Despite being a millionaire many times over, Cad still shuddered to imagine what the outfit cost. “Oh, and, by the way, you forgot to wear a shirt…” he added, pointing to the bare skin between the vee of the jacket’s lapels.

Alexis rolled her eyes at Cad then stepped back so that he could get a better look at her. “It’s designer, not that you’d care,” she scolded him. “So how do I look?” she added, smiling coyly and inviting Cad’s praise.

“I preferred how you looked before you got dressed again,” said Cad, returning a refined smile of his own. This time, he avoided being slapped, though only by virtue of the fact that he was out of Alexis’ striking range.

“We’re not going out. They’re coming to us,” Alexis said, undeterred by Cad’s lack of enthusiasm. She then gave him an elegant twirl before continuing. “To be more precise, the chef is coming to us. He has forty-two Michelin stars in total…”

Cad grunted and shrugged. “So I guess you want me to get dressed too?”

Alexis beckoned Cad to follow her, then led them both into the Sky Suite’s cavernous great room, which more than lived up to its name.

“I’ve laid out something for you already,” said Alexis, pointing to a dinner suit that was draped over the arm of one of a dozen sofas. She then sat down in one of the sofas opposite, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“Fine, if it will make you happy,” said Cad, throwing off the silk robe and grabbing the suit pants. Alexis let out a piercing wolf whistle as he did this, causing Cad to crack a much broader smile, though he didn’t let Alexis see it. “Though I’d love to see the face of this master chef if he rocked up here and we were sitting down, wearing our power armor.”

“That would be amusing, except for the fact that he won’t see us at all, or us him,” Alexis replied, taking a sip of champagne. “Anonymity, remember?”

Cad slipped on the shirt and buttoned it up, marveling at how Alexis had managed to guess his size to absolute perfection. Then he noticed the box of cufflinks also sat on the arm of the sofa and smiled again, this time allowing Alexis to see his expression.

“Swords…” said Cad, pointing to the gold and diamond cufflinks as he fastened them to his shirt cuffs. “Nice touch.”

“I know you so well…” replied Alexis, grinning. Her playful expression suddenly hardened and she lifted her head, pressing her eyes tight shut. Cad froze, realizing that Alexis had heard something, and also closed his eyes, listening past the sound of the breeze washing in from the terrace. Then Cad heard it too. The soft beat of stealthed rotor blades. The sound was delicate and barely audible over the background noise enveloping the rooftop suite, but to Cad’s trained ears, it was clearly discernable as a stealthed tilt-rotor craft.

“Two or three?” said Cad, grabbing a knife from the nearby bar and offering it to Alexis.

“Three very small, probably electric-powered VTOL drop-ships,” said Alexis, taking the knife from Cad, who then grasped another for himself. “They’d have to be light aircraft, so probably a grab squad of no more than six in total.”

Cad nodded then collected as many small knives as he could find from the bar’s various drawers. “So much for this place guaranteeing anonymity,” grunted Cad, setting the knives out on the counter top.

“Remind me to make a strongly-worded complaint to the management,” replied Alexis, hurrying over to one of the tables in the center of the room and turning it on its side. However, instead of ducking down behind it, Alexis then moved over to the glass windows and crouched behind an armchair, ensuring that she couldn’t be seen by anyone on the terrace or in the gardens. She nodded to Cad, signaling that she was ready, though to Cad, the sign was unnecessary. He could already see the change in her face, from the Alexis Black that had talked of Michelin stars and designer outfits, to the Alexis Black that cared only for violence.

Cad heard the drop-ships touch down and waited for the inevitable flashbang grenades to be tossed inside. He did not yet know whether the force was a mercenary group Dexter Stone had hired to take them down or the commandant’s own enforcers. It didn’t matter to Cad, though. Whoever they were, he knew their tactics would fail. It was precisely for scenarios such as this that he and Alexis had augmented their bodies with custom-designed ocular and aural implants, designed specifically to filter out sudden high-decibel noises and intense flashes of light. The procedure to install both bionic devices had been excruciating and had required weeks of painful recovery time. However, the implants had saved their lives on a dozen different occasions, just as they were about to do again.

Three stun grenades sailed in through the open terrace doors, one through the center door and one to each corner of the room. Each of them detonated a second later. Cad felt a brief moment of nausea as the implants kicked in to counteract the effects of the grenades. Then four attackers in full combat armor swung down from the landing pad above the great room, suppressed sub-machine guns slung across their bodies. Cad didn’t recognize them, but it was clear they were not part of Stone’s CSF unit.

Cad had thrown the first of the kitchen knives before the mercenaries had even detached their ropes, burying the knife into the throat of the closest attacker. The remaining mercenaries opened fire at the upturned table, forgetting to check the corners, where Alexis was lying in wait. Grabbing another blade, Cad launched it at the next mercenary. The man saw Cad just in time and instinctively raised his arm to shield his face, but only succeeded in causing the knife to lodge into his hand. Collecting another weapon from the counter, Cad surged toward the mercenary and thrust the blade underneath his armpit, where the armor was weakest. The man cried out in pain but was quickly silenced as Cad drew the razor-sharp edge of the weapon across the mercenary’s throat. The man fell, clutching his neck, but not before Cad had taken the suppressed sub-machine gun out of his grasp.

Across the other side of the room, Alexis Black had vaulted the armchair, using it as a springboard, and kicked her closest enemy in the head. She landed like a cat and slashed the wrist of the next mercenary as he tried to raise his SMG at her. Panicking, the man fired erratically into the room, smashing the enormous mirror over the fireplace and pockmarking a Jackson Pollock with a dozen bullet holes. Alexis stripped the weapon from the mercenary and turned it on him, firing at point blank range. She then spun around and used the stock of the SMG to crush the throat of the mercenary she’d kicked earlier. Gunfire rattled through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows from somewhere in the gardens outside, and Cad and Alexis were forced into cover.

“Cover me,” said Alexis, getting ready to move out. “I’ll meet you back at the rose garden.”

Cad nodded and leant around the corner, firing bursts toward where the remaining mercenaries were likely hiding. Alexis darted out and immediately vanished into the gardens on the east side of the roof terrace. Cad continued to fire short bursts until the weapon clicked empty, then ran through the smashed windows and vaulted the railings into the arboretum to the west. Pressing his back against the trunk of a weeping willow, he peered up above the great room, and spotted three compact multi-rotor stealth landing craft. Each one was capable of transporting two soldiers, exactly as Alexis had predicted. This meant that there were two more mercenaries still in the garden. Cad was about to move out again, when he noticed a logo on the wing of one of the craft. It was a horned skeleton, holding an hourglass in one hand and a spear in the other. A heart with three drops of blood in a triangular pattern hung beneath the tip of the spear.

“Blackbeard’s Ghosts…” muttered Cad under his breath. Next to the now defunct Group-X, Blackbeard’s Ghosts were one of the top private military companies working for the Consortium. However, just like Xander Blade’s group of misfits, they were more used to dealing with mobs and ill-equipped rabbles than fighters with the skills of Cad and Alexis. They were nothing more than bullies with guns and a license to kill. Cad knew their leader, Dallas Thorne, only by reputation. He was a blunt instrument but renowned for getting the job done. Even with most of his squad dead, Thorne wouldn’t back down, and Cad wouldn’t have it any other way.

Holding his last knife ready, Cad stalked through the arboretum, looking for either Thorne or the other remaining merc. The soft rustle of leaves and branches guided his path, in what was otherwise a cloudless and still night. Suddenly, there was a scream from across the opposite side of the gardens, and Cad froze, realizing it was the cry of a woman. His pulse – which up until then was steady and under control – began to pump harder in his veins. Cad changed course, looking to cut along a hedgerow and move to Alexis’ aid, when he was caught in the face by the butt of a rifle and sent down.

“Well, well, if it ain’t Cad Rikkard,” said a thick-set man with an East London accent. “I’ve heard about you. I thought you’d be harder to catch.”

“We’ve already killed four of your men with kitchen knives and our bare hands,” said Cad, spitting blood onto the perfectly green grass. “So you don’t have much cause to brag.”

Thorne levelled the barrel of the SMG at Cad’s head as he pushed himself to his knees. “Easy there, son. I’m supposed to bring you in alive, but they didn’t say how alive,” said Thorne, watching Cad meticulously with his gunmetal grey eyes.

Cad watched him back, reading his expression like a tech manual. The man’s older face was even more scarred than Cad’s was, but the tautness of his muscles and the tension in his eyes betrayed his unease. Taking down rabbles and untrained mobs was straightforward, but despite Thorne mocking the ease with which he’d seemingly cornered Cad, he knew that his reputation carried significant weight. And it was a weight that was now pressing down on Thorne with unrelenting pressure. Then there was another scream from the far corner of the garden, but this time, it was Thorne’s gaze that flickered rearward like a snake’s tongue, tasting the air.

“Make that five of your squad that we’ve now killed,” said Cad. He fought his own urge to look toward the direction the scream came from, despite still being uncertain as to who made the cry. However, Thorne’s nervous reaction had betrayed his own concerns. The thought of being alone against both of the remaining members of the revered Blackfire Squadron clearly scared him. “Face it, Thorne, there’s no way you’re taking us in,” said Cad, removing one of the sword cufflinks while Thorne’s attention continued to be diverted. “Why don’t I just pay your fee instead, and we all walk out of here?” Cad had no intention of paying Thorne off. He’d only intended to further distract him and keep him off balance. However, to his surprise, the gruff mercenary seemed interested in the offer.

“How much?” the brusque older man asked.

“Let’s say another five hundred thousand, on top of whatever Dexter Stone offered,” replied Cad, slowly rising to his feet while keeping the sword cufflink hidden in his palm.

“You got that kind of dough?” said Thorne, sounding more impressed than curious.

“Of course,” said Cad, smiling. He then nodded his head toward an area directly behind the mercenary. “Actually, she does.”

Thorne spun around, aiming his weapon along the hedgerow, and Cad pounced, flicking the miniature weapon between his knuckles and thumping it into Thorne’s neck like a dagger. The mercenary howled a grotesque harmony of pain mixed with frustration at being tricked. However, Cad did not let up his assault, repeatedly gouging Thorne’s neck and throat with the improvised weapon. Rage consumed him and Cad gave himself over to it, as he sometimes did in the confines of his own ship when no one was watching. The difference was that hammering the life out of living flesh was far more cathartic than beating metal lockers with his bare fists. Eventually, out of sheer exhaustion, Cad allowed the bloodied and lifeless body of Dallas Thorne to drop to the ground. Chest heaving, he looked up to see Alexis staring at him, arms folded with an SMG slung over her shoulder.

“You’re a damn mess,” she snapped, looking Cad over from head to toe. “Now I’m going to have to get you a whole new suit for dinner.”

Thanks to his release of pent-up aggression, Cad was able to laugh freely and with genuine delight. It was rare for him to feel so liberated, and he indulged the sensation while it lasted, which he knew would not be for long.

“I think my earlier suggestion of wearing power armor to dinner might still be a good idea,” Cad said, tossing the blood-stained cufflink onto the body of Dallas Thorne.

Alexis walked over to Cad and rubbed some of the blood splatters from his face before kissing him. “I think we’ve had our rude interruption for this evening, don’t you?” she said, turning back along the path toward the main terrace. “No one else is bothering us tonight. So come on; even you have to eat sometimes,” she added without looking back.

Cad grunted then knelt down beside Thorne, rifling through his various pockets and pouches until he found the man’s wallet. Following behind Alexis, he stopped just inside the smashed veranda doors and activated his hotel account page on a computer terminal that was built into the wall. The account page showed the ludicrous amount of money that was owed for the suite.

“What are you doing?” said Alexis, who was now frowning at him from the top of the stairwell, leading down to the bedrooms. “The chef will be here in ten minutes, and we still need to change.”

Cad went through Dallas Thorne’s wallet, adding all of the now deceased mercenary’s personal and company account fobs to the hotel invoice, instead of his own, smiling as he did so. “I’m just updating our account. I won’t be long,” he said, glancing up at Alexis, who was still eyeing him suspiciously. “What do you say we order the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu?”

Alexis unfolded her arms, though she was still eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s not like you to indulge, at least not without endless persuasion…”

“I just felt like celebrating,” replied Cad with a nonchalant shrug. He then tossed the wallet to the floor and joined Alexis at the top of the stairs. “Now, shall we both change into something a little less bloodstained?”

2

A new contact appeared on Cad Rikkard’s scanner, and he waited patiently for the transponder ID to recognize it as Alexis Black’s fighter. She’d dropped out of bridge space just under one hundred kilometers from his position, and he quickly adjusted course to join her.

“Remind me why we’ve come to Janus again?” said Alexis over their private scrambled comm channel. “This planet has the highest concentration of CSF and local enforcer units out of all the bridge worlds, and Earth,” she went on. Cad listened, remaining patient as Alexis built up to the punchline. “Which, considering that every CSF and local enforcer squad in the galaxy has us as number one and number two on their most-wanted lists, makes it a bit of a curious destination, wouldn’t you say?”

“Like I said, we need to see the Banker,” replied Cad calmly, watching Alexis’ fighter close in on his position.

“Right…” replied Alexis, still laying on the sarcasm thickly. “The Banker… Gotcha…”

Cad snorted a laugh. “It’s hard to explain, so just hang tight and you’ll see for yourself,” said Cad. “But he’s someone who should be able to help with the problem you just highlighted,” he added as Alexis formed up on his wing. “He genuinely is my banker, but his services go far beyond simply storing money.”

“Do you trust him?” said Alexis, moving in so close that Cad could see her clearly through the cockpit glass. “I’ve never needed to meet him before, but his organization has a reputation for discretion.”

“So did the Chatham House Club…” said Alexis doubtfully.

Cad’s scanner bleeped and five red markers appeared close to the planet. They were all on an intercept course.

“Looks like our auspicious presence has already been detected,” said Alexis, who had evidently also picked up the new contacts. “Four CSF combat escorts and a Janusian Enforcer Patrol Frigate. Quite a welcome party.”

Cad locked the targets into his computer and re-set his waypoint for the docking garage in District Four of the Financial Center in the Janusian capital city. He then transmitted the new course to Alexis over their secure channel.

“Stay close on me and follow my lead,” said Cad, preparing a full spread of electronic jamming countermeasures. “We pretend to be complying with their demands, then when we’re close enough, we kick out all the ECM we have, and hard-burn like hell to the co-ordinates I sent you, armor shields up.”

“Got it,” said Alexis, immediately switching gears. The playful and mischievous Alexis Black had taken a backseat to the expert, no-nonsense mercenary. “Once we’re in atmosphere, a hundred sensor beacons will pin our location. How do we get to the target without being tracked?”

This was the part where Cad had to take the Banker’s assurances on faith. This was not a situation that he enjoyed being put in. The only people he had ever relied on were Draga and Alexis. No one else had earned his trust, even the Banker, but it was also true that the Banker had never let him down. He had to trust that this situation would be no different, if only because he had no other option.

“The Banker will take care of that,” said Cad, making a concerted effort to ensure that his voice did not convey his own niggling concerns. However, as usual, Alexis could read him like a book, though, also as usual, she did not openly question him either.

“Let’s go in dark, just to be sure,” said Alexis, again with level professionalism. “Once we’re in atmosphere, we cut all active sensors systems. I’ll ride your tail, using visual tracking only.”

“Agreed,” said Cad, genuinely approving of Alexis’ suggestion, rather than merely acquiescing to appease her. The latter was only something he would ever do in personal situations. When it came to matters of the Blackfire Squadron, Cad Rikkard’s word was god, and neither Alexis nor Draga had ever questioned it. “Stay in formation. Let’s see if these hot-shot CSF pilots have the guts to play chicken.”

Cad continued on-course for his pre-determined atmospheric entry position, watching as the squadron of hostile ships drew closer. Then, right on schedule, his comms panel flashed an urgent incoming communication from the Janusian Patrol Frigate. Cad opened the channel and reluctantly prepared to play the role of compliant citizen. He knew it wouldn’t be easy or pleasant, since it would mean suppressing his natural predisposition to condescend to whomever was speaking to him.

“Mercenary vessels Blackfire One and Two, this is Commander Fox of the Janusian Enforcer Division Patrol Frigate, Chimera,” a stuffy-sounding woman began. Cad closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, preparing himself for the barrage of orders that he knew would follow. “You are hereby under arrest and ordered to bring your vessels to a full stop at position alpha. There you will surrender willingly and await transfer to this ship. Fail to comply, and you will be fired upon and destroyed. Do you acknowledge?”

Cad took several deep breaths in an effort to suppress the deep sense of resentment the woman’s nasally voice had instilled in him. Then he responded as politely as he could manage.

“Acknowledged, Patrol Frigate Chimera. We will rendezvous and power down, as ordered,” said Cad. Despite knowing that the statement was an outright lie, merely speaking the words disgusted him. He could not bear to show any weakness, even when the weakness was acted.

“Very well, Blackfire One, proceed to position alpha and power down your engines,” Commander Fox replied, sounding exceedingly pleased with herself.

“Acknowledged, Patrol Frigate Chimera,” Cad answered. He then practically punched the control panel to shut off the channel.

“Not even a hint of suspicion, can you believe that?” said Alexis over their secure comm. “What does a group of cut-throat mercs have to do in order to be treated with mistrust and fear?”

“They can’t help thinking that they’re better than us,” replied Cad, suddenly despising Commander Fox even more. “To them, we’re just crude soldiers of fortune, little better than common criminals. Underestimating us is their default position, and it will cost them.”

“Could we not just destroy them all?” said Alexis, her tone conveying matching bite.

“Some other time,” replied Cad broodingly, though he couldn’t deny that the prospect of engaging a superior force in combat appealed to him. “Right now, we need to move fast. Once we break their line, a call will go out to every Enforcer ship in the vicinity to come after us. As much as I’d enjoy it, we don’t have time to take them out and make it to the Banker’s garage, undetected.”

Cad’s scanner bleeped again, showing that they were rapidly approaching position alpha, the coordinates where the Janusian commander had ordered that they stop and power down.

“Stand by to hard burn in ten…” said Cad as both of their fighters cruised past the co-ordinates Fox had given him.

“Blackfire One, you have missed position alpha,” said Commander Fox, breaking through on an open channel. “I command you to come to a dead stop immediately, or we will open fire.”

Cad gritted his teeth, trying to force himself not to answer, but he couldn’t stomach the officer’s arrogance and disrespect any longer.

“Commander Fox, I suggest you get out of my way,” Cad snapped back, initiating his burn. He then modified his course to ensure that his fighter was aimed directly at the Patrol Frigate. “I will not waver. I promise you that.” Cad shut off the open channel and relayed his updated trajectory to Alexis, though she had already compensated and was still tight in on his wing.

Missile launch warnings flashed up Cad’s panels, and he engaged his pre-programmed suite of electronic countermeasures, then enabled the fighter’s armor shields. The thick metal plates, made from an unknown alien alloy, the secret to which either died with Damien Doyle or was lost on the rogue world, slid up to cocoon his cockpit. The virtualized external view turned on and Cad flexed his fingers, then placed them back onto the control yoke.

“Let’s see what you’re made of, Commander Fox…” Cad said out loud, though he was speaking to himself, and not to Alexis.

Cad’s velocity began to increase rapidly as the main engines built to full thrust, and he watched as the missiles snaked away, fooled by the ship’s sophisticated electronic countermeasures. Cannon fire began to rain down on the armor plates, but Cad knew that his advanced and extensively upgraded fighter could withstand the barrage for long enough to break Fox’s line. Alerts rang out and a warning flashed onto his screens, but Cad unflinchingly maintained his collision course with the Patrol Frigate. He could have destroyed it with a concentrated burst from the forward cannons if he chose to, but a quick death for Fox would not satisfy him. Killing was easy, as he regularly reminded himself. What he wanted – and needed – was for Fox to yield to him.

Suddenly, the CSF combat escorts broke off, apparently sensing a collision was imminent and moving out of the blast radius. As Consortium ships, they bore no allegiance to the Janusian Patrol Frigate. Their alliance was one of convenience, and it was now no longer convenient to fly in close escort to a moving target. Cad continued to hold his course, despite knowing that he would collide head-on with the frigate in a matter of seconds. Then Cad saw the Patrol Frigate’s dorsal thrusters fire, pushing the ship out of Cad’s path, barely a second before his fighter blasted past, engines glowing brightly, like the tail of a comet.

“They’re reforming and setting a pursuit course,” said Alexis, who, like Cad, had not flinched.

Then a series of detonations lit up the darkness behind them, and Cad smiled as the frigate blinked off his scanner, along with each of the four fighters, which had been caught in the middle of the deadly firework show. He waited for Alexis to call back over their private channel, gleefully demanding what Cad had done in order to destroy their would-be captors. However, her voice was conspicuous by its absence. Cad checked his scanner again and noticed that there had been eight separate detonations, not counting the numerous secondary explosions that were now popping off from the destroyed ships.

“Did you drop a spread of mines as we blasted past them?” said Cad, though his tone was curious, rather than accusatory.

“I couldn’t help it…” replied the more mischievous Alexis Black over their secure comm channel.

“Neither could I,” said Cad, also sounding full of himself. “Though eight mines were perhaps a little overkill. That was enough ordnance to take out a squadron double that size.”

“Whoops…” was all that Alexis had to say in reply.

Cad snorted another laugh and adjusted his course to realign with his original atmospheric entry point. He could see from the wider comm chatter from Janus, which his computer automatically scanned and condensed into a succinct report, that news of the Patrol Frigate’s demise was already propagating rapidly. Soon more ships would be en route to intercept them, and once they were inside the Janusian atmosphere, he knew to expect a hunter fleet of dozens of fighters and attack aircraft. However, for the moment, it was smooth sailing, affording Cad an opportunity to relax.

“I don’t suppose this Banker carries a stock of armaments?” said Alexis, still close enough that Cad could see the subtle raising of her eyebrow.

“You’d be amazed what the Banker has stored in his vaults,” replied Cad, being intentionally mysterious. He knew that Alexis enjoyed being surprised. “Just don’t be put off by his mask and clothes.”

Alexis laughed freely and easily. “A mask? Now you have got me interested,” she said as the planet grew larger in their virtualized cockpit view. “Do we have to get all dressed up too?”

“Trust me, the Banker has everything you might want, and so much more,” replied Cad, himself also feeling excited at the prospect of replenishing his stocks.

“And just how much will the Banker’s unique, tailored service cost us?” said Alexis, continuing to speak in Cad’s intentionally cryptic code.

Cad sighed and tried to put a number on it. By any normal measure, he was now an exceptionally rich man. However, by Damien Doyle’s standards, his vast fortune was still trivially small. Doyle may have been the wealthiest person in the galaxy, but he was not alone in being an elite member of the ultra-rich. To enlist the personal services of the Banker would cost Cad most of his fortune. Yet, if he was going to throw Dexter Stone off his scent, and – better still – teach him why it was a mistake to ever cross swords with Cad Rikkard, he had no choice but to pay up.

“It will put us back to where we started, I’m afraid,” Cad admitted, feeling slightly wary of what Alexis’ reaction to this confession would be. He knew of her penchant for the finer things in life all too well.

“I started with nothing but you, and that’s all I ever wanted,” said Alexis without a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t worry. Whatever it takes.”

Cad had always considered his heart to be forged from iron, but in that moment, even his normally rock-steady pulse wavered. He allowed his love for Alexis to take hold for a few seconds before shutting down his emotions, like throwing a switch. Sentiment will get you killed, he chastised himself, feeling weak for lowering his shields, even for that brief moment. Alexis had said whatever it takes, and Cad knew that she had meant it. She would follow him to the ends of the Earth. Cad had to believe that, should they ever reach that precipice, he would not also lead her over the edge, even if he had to cast his own body into the darkness to win.

3

Cad Rikkard’s keen pilot’s eyes spotted another distant shape moving across the horizon, above the vast capital city of Janus. He scowled and adjusted course to avoid it as best he could under the circumstances. With his fighter’s active scanners disabled and their ECM set to maximum, Cad was as blind as the pursuing CSF ships. His best guess put as many as fifty fighters and tilt-rotor craft in the vicinity, silently tracking them. However, so far, none of them had been able to get a target lock on either his or Alexis’ ship.

“I now count fourteen enemy vessels in visual range, either on our tail or moving to head us off,” said Alexis over their secure comm channel. This was the only active outbound signal either of their fighters was broadcasting. Cad and Alexis had both also set the transmission power to minimum, in the hope that the signal wouldn’t propagate far beyond their tight formation. However, it also had the effect of making Alexis’ voice sound thin and distant, as if she were talking to him from the bottom of a well shaft.

“Stay on my tail,” replied Cad, reaching into his pocket and removing the device the Banker had sent him years ago, should the need ever arise to meet in person. The Banker had called it the “garage key.” It would supposedly point the way to their final destination, as well as ensuring that they could dock without being seen by any pursuing enforcers. “When I get the Banker’s signal, we’ll need to break hard and run like hell toward the surface,” he added, trying to stay loose and relaxed. However, the pressure was even starting to get to him.

Cad then heard and felt the clatter of cannon rounds impacting his armor shields. Hurriedly, he peered around the cockpit and spotted a CSF combat escort coming at him out of the sun.

“Break left, stay on me!” Cad called out, then banked sharply and pitched the nose of his fighter toward the city. Alexis followed, as if she were tethered to his tail.

“They’re taking a big risk shooting at us over the city,” said Alexis, sounding almost impressed that someone had taken a pot-shot at them. “Any stray rounds could cause a lot of collateral damage, especially in a rich city like this.”

Cad leveled off and set a course to fly between a long row of skyscrapers that lined District Three’s principal boulevard. “It’s probably just a dumb rookie with a nervous trigger finger,” growled Cad, watching the fighter that had taken the pot-shot at them peel away and disengage from the pursuit. “Shooting us down will be a last resort. It could kill dozens and cause millions in damages.” Cad then reassessed what he’d just said, considering the volatile nature of the Consortium’s new leader. “That said, Dexter Stone does play hardball, so I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Another formation of black shapes was now visible above the city skyline ahead of them, and Cad winced, estimating that there were perhaps twenty ships within visual range.

“If their plan is to just keep us running until our fuel reserves are depleted, then they won’t have to wait much longer,” said Alexis, causing Cad to scowl down at his console. “I’m on bingo fuel…”

Cad grunted, noticing that he too was close to running on fumes, then banked around to put them back on course toward District Four. He’d already circled the district six times without any sign of the Banker getting in contact. And now, like Alexis, he’d burned up too much fuel to break orbit again. In fact, he barely had enough to escape the city limits. Cad brought up a map of the area around the city, looking for a mountain range, forest, or even cave system where they might be able to ditch the fighters and hide out. The thought of doing this made his blood boil, but the prospect of being captured was one of the few things that genuinely filled him with dread. Cad would be like a caged tiger in a zoo – a trophy for Dexter Stone to gloat about.

Cad picked a location – a dense forest region in a long mountain range about two hundred kilometers south of the city – and calculated a bearing manually. With the amount of fuel they had left, he estimated that they would just be able to reach the heart of the forest and ditch their ships before they fell out of the skies like dead weights. After that, it would be a case of pitting their survival skills against the abilities of the Enforcer squads sent to track them down. Cad and Alexis still had their power armor and a raft of advanced equipment and weaponry. He was confident they could evade capture for months, if need be. If not, he would die fighting. There was no middle ground.

Cad was about to order Alexis to change course, when the “garage key” suddenly lit up. He peered down at it, his pulse quickening, and saw that the words “Please place me on your cockpit dashboard” were written across the center in crude red LEDs. Frowning, he did as he was instructed and watched as the device latched on to the ship and projected beams of red light all around Cad’s cockpit.

“Cad, I’m on bingo fuel. We need a plan,” repeated Alexis after Cad had not acknowledged her earlier communication.

“Stand by. I’m receiving a message,” Cad replied, watching the device intently. “Get ready to move.”

Alexis acknowledged and Cad continued to peer at the device, silently willing it to do something more. Then the red beams of light disappeared and a wireframe image was projected onto Cad’s virtualized view. It showed a series of waypoints, all with timecodes hovering over them. Cad noticed that the numbers were counting down, and that he had less than thirty seconds to reach the first waypoint.

“Follow me and stay tight,” said Cad, adjusting course and speed to reach the first marker. He passed it with five seconds to spare, but noticed that the next waypoint flashed and disappeared. Then another took its place, further ahead. Crap, I need to hit these markers dead on zero, Cad realized, understanding his error. Without his navigation systems to run the numbers, he’d have to determine the correct velocities in his head. He didn’t relish this prospect, but it was still preferable to switching on his active scanners and painting a target on his hull. Calculating the necessary velocity to reach the next marker exactly on time, Cad reduced thrust and adjusted course.

“Cad, they’re all around us…” said Alexis, sounding unusually ill at ease.

“Just stay tight on me. I know where I’m going…” replied Cad, keeping his gaze fixed on the red markers. He hit the waypoint exactly as the timer reached zero, then continued on to the next marker, again adjusting his course and speed to ensure that his arrival was precisely on time. Cad hit the marker but was then forced to bank hard for the next, barely making it in time. He glanced back, confirming that Alexis had remained tight on his tail, then centered in on the next waypoint. It was like they were taking part in some sort of daredevil air race, except the prize for winning wasn’t a trophy, but retaining his liberty. Suddenly, dozens of additional red markers appeared overlaid on his cockpit view, and seconds later, Cad saw what appeared to be hundreds of drones launch into the sky. They had shot up from all over the city, from the rooftops of the surrounding buildings and skyscrapers to the streets and underpasses that weaved between them.

“What the hell are these things doing?” said Cad, watching as the drones began to buzz around the city in all directions. Some stayed at street level, while others soared far above even Cad’s fighter.

“I take it this is supposed to happen?” said Alexis. Although her tone conveyed some of her usual swagger, it was clear that she was also genuinely seeking Cad’s reassurances. However, as much as he would have liked to give them, Cad was just as in the dark as Alexis was.

“I have no idea,” Cad admitted. “But stay alert. I have a feeling this is about to get interesting…”

“Like it’s not already…” replied Alexis drolly.

Suddenly, Cad’s virtualized viewscreen shut down, leaving only the wireframed overlay projected by the garage key. Cursing, he quickly retracted his armor shields so that he could see where he was going before noticing his other instruments were dead too. Even the manual compass that was for use in emergencies only was frozen in place.

“Alexis, my instruments are down. What is your status?” said Cad, but there was no reply. He glanced right and saw that Alexis had pulled up alongside, her armor shields also lowered. She was tapping her helmet next to her ear.

Cad nodded, understanding that their comms were also down, and threw up a salute by way of acknowledgement. Then he noticed that the garage key was projecting new waypoint markers directly onto his cockpit glass. He looked at the countdown timer and saw that it read fifteen seconds. Cursing again, he signaled Alexis to follow, then accelerated hard, flying purely by eye. He hit the marker on time, more out of luck than judgment, and was then forced to bank hard and dive sharply to meet the next waypoint. Fingers and legs burning from the exertions of throwing the ship around like a paper plane in a storm, Cad was again forced to make another hard turn, skirting so low through the city that his wings almost clipped the pristine Janusian streets. Taking a moment to check around him, he saw that Alexis was still on his tail, but that no other ships appeared to be in their vicinity. More than this, every form of electronic screen or signal in the entire sector seemed to be dead, the same as his instruments. It was like the city had been hit by an EMP.

The red marker updated again, and Cad chased it down, employing all of his piloting prowess to make the next waypoint on time. Then, directly ahead, he saw a door slide open in the lower level of a large tower block. He checked the next marker and saw that it was hovering directly over the opening. The countdown timer was at ten seconds, giving Cad no time to slow down and approach it at a safe velocity.

“Crap, this is going to either be a hole in one or I’m making my own damn hole…” said Cad, racing his fighter toward its final destination. Gritting his teeth, he burst through the opening then threw the engines into reverse, pushing all the power he could scrounge into the stabilizing thrusters. The end wall of the docking garage was approaching far faster than he’d anticipated, but there was nothing more he could do now. One way or another, he was going to come to an abrupt stop. He just had to hope that he was still in one piece after that happened.

Barely five meters from the wall, Cad’s fighter finally slowed to a hover, thrusters wailing like a dozen geysers erupting all at the same time. He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief, but then saw Alexis’ ship hurtling toward him and clenched up, biting down so hard that his teeth creaked under the strain. Alexis pulled her nose up, and Cad felt the push from her ventral thrusters knock him into the wall before her ship also slowed to a stop. Both then lowered their ships to the deck, practically dropping the last few inches as their thrusters overloaded and packed up.

Cad slid back his canopy and climbed out onto the nose of the ship, eager to check on Alexis, but also eager for the feel of solid ground beneath his feet. Alexis had already scrambled out onto the hull of her fighter and was lying on the wing, legs and arms spread, as if making a snow angel. To Cad’s amazement, she was also cackling, as if someone had just told her a dirty joke.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” said Cad, able to jump from the nose of his fighter onto Alexis’ wing, since they’d come to a stop almost on top of each other.

Alexis cocked her head toward Cad, still smiling. “Can we do that again?”

“I think once is more than enough,” grunted Cad, far more stoically. “This day has been weird enough already.”

“Spoil sport…” said Alexis, lazily kicking Cad’s boots. She then closed her eyes and relaxed back on the wing, as if sunbathing.

A door opened further along the rear wall of the docking garage, and a figure stepped out, his body casting a sharp shadow onto the ground. Cad knocked Alexis on the shoulder, and she scowled then sat up and also saw the figure. Cad climbed down off the fighter, with Alexis landing cat-like next to him a few seconds later. The figure did not speak and just remained statuesque while Cad and Alexis approached, side-by-side. Defying Cad’s assertion that nothing could make their situation more surreal, the man was dressed as if attending a fifteenth-century Venetian masquerade ball, complete with a Bauta mask.

“Good afternoon, I am the Banker,” said the man with an elegant bow. “Please, come this way.” He then turned and walked back through the doorway without another word.

“Snazzy outfit,” said Alexis, draping herself across Cad’s shoulder. “What are the chances of getting you in a costume like that?”

Cad lifted Alexis’ chin and kissed her on the lips. Then he smiled and shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.”

4

Cad and Alexis followed the Banker through a exquisite marble corridor to an elevator door that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a luxury Parisian hotel. However, before he’d set off in pursuit of the enigmatic, masked man, Cad had returned to his ship to retrieve a large wooden box, which he was now carrying at his side. The mystery of its contents and origin was clearly too much for Alexis to bear.

“What’s in the box?” said Alexis, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Cad.

“Something I hope I don’t have to part with,” Cad grumbled, though deep down, he knew this was wishful thinking. However, that time had not yet come, and he didn’t want to talk about it further. Alexis, mercifully, also didn’t press him for any more details.

The sound of their boots clacking on the marble floor was crisp and almost painfully loud, as if the entire corridor was an echo chamber. The Banker pressed a gold button on the wall and the elevator doors immediately opened. The Banker then stepped inside first and waited silently for Cad and Alexis to follow. Cad felt uncomfortable about sealing himself inside the small room with the strange man, but Alexis had no such concerns. She simply breezed inside the elevator and stood beside the Banker, smiling at him, as if she was the one who knew all the secrets, rather than the other way around. Cad finally moved inside, standing opposite the Banker, still more than a little mistrustful of him, though he couldn’t quite put a finger on why. The Banker then pressed another gold button on the inside of the elevator – which was also the only button available to push – and the doors slid shut.

“You may relax now, Mr. Rikkard,” the Banker said cheerfully. “Neither the CSF nor the Janusian Enforcer Division can find you here,” he added, seeming to sense Cad’s disquiet. The man spoke with a clear, aristocratic-sounding transatlantic accent, which, like his clothing, was a fashion that had been forgotten for centuries. “I apologize for the rather convoluted manner of your arrival, though I admit to being most impressed that you both made it here alive.”

“I imagine that few people ever do, if that’s the sort of circus you put them through,” said Cad. He realized then that part of the reason he was suspicious of the Banker was due to the death-defying stunts he’d had to perform just to meet him.

“Au contraire, Mr. Rikkard, the select few people that I meet in person usually arrive by far more civilized modes of transportation,” the Banker replied congenially. “However, it is also true that these people generally are not being pursued by the city’s entire complement of enforcers. That did make planning your arrival rather more difficult, though I must say that it was also a challenge I relished. It is so hard to be challenged in a position such as my own, so thank you for making my day more stimulating.”

Cad grunted and glanced at Alexis, but she still appeared to share none of his concerns. This didn’t surprise him, considering that Alexis had gotten a thrill out of their insane journey to the Banker’s vault. In addition, everything from the man’s accent, to his dress and the way he walked, like an eighteenth-century prince, appealed to her mischievous side’s sense of theatre and drama.

“What’s with the mask?” said Alexis, stroking her finger along the ornate gilding of the disguise.

“It is merely to preserve my identity, my dear,” the Banker replied, appearing unperturbed by Alexis’ invasion of his personal space.

“What about our identities?” replied Alexis, managing to be direct without sounding rude, such was her uniquely irresistible charm. It also helped that Alexis was comfortable in the dominions of the upper-classes, having come from an ultra-rich and almost aristocratic background herself. However, although she could walk the walk in a way that Cad could not, Alexis shared his disdain for the snobbery and arrogance of these grandees.

“My dear, I doubt there isn’t a soul in the galaxy that does not know who you are,” the Banker replied as the elevator slowed to a stop and the door opened.

The Banker again took the lead, stepping out into what was another room constructed entirely from marble. Except, unlike the corridor they had entered through, this room could have housed a state banquet. In the center of the room was a desk accommodating a single computer terminal, surrounded by three chairs. More eye-catching were the three titanic vault doors, one occupying each of the other three walls. Wordlessly, the Banker stepped up to the desk and sat down.

“This feels like some sort of surreal cheese dream,” said Cad, stepping out into the room alongside Alexis, their boots again echoing around the space with near ear-splitting volume.

“I like it,” replied Alexis, which again did not surprise Cad. “I really hope we don’t have to kill him, though.”

Cad snorted a laugh and they both sat down in the chairs opposite the Banker. Cad set the long wooden case down on the floor beside his seat, its metal hinges connecting with the marble floor with a resonant clap. The Banker was already busily tapping away on the computer terminal. Moments later, the vault door directly behind Cad and Alexis began to unlock. A symphony of whirs and thumps and precisely-engineered rattles filled the cavernous space for what seemed like minutes before the door swung outward. However, all the twelve-foot-thick slab revealed was another more ornate door on the inside.

“I will be with you in just one moment,” the Banker said, causing Cad to return his eyes to the man’s masked face. He studied the Banker more closely, wondering what it was about the man that was still bothering him. And then it came to him. It was something Alexis had said earlier about hoping they didn’t need to kill him. Whenever Cad had visited Damien Doyle – another member of the exclusive ultra-rich – the magnate had surrounded himself with enough firepower to level a battalion. In contrast, the Banker appeared unarmed and entirely unprotected.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Cad, choosing to air his concerns in the hope of receiving an answer that would set his mind at rest. “But what is there to stop me from killing you, and just taking what we want from that open vault?” Cad hooked a thumb toward the newly-revealed ornate door as he said this.

“Do you intend to kill me, Mr. Rikkard?” was the Banker’s completely unflustered response.

“No, I’m just wondering why this place isn’t crawling with security guards and sentry turrets,” Cad replied. “In my experience, people with your resources don’t tend to be all that trusting of others, especially not a couple of wanted mercenaries.”

The Banker finished typing then rested his hands on the desk, fingers interlaced, and met Cad’s eyes through the openings in the ornate mask. “One never likes to speak of security, as to broach the subject directly with my clients always comes across as rather threatening,” the man said, remaining as courteous as ever. “However, if it reassures you to know this, should you attempt to rob this vault, you would be swiftly killed, and all traces of your bodies would be eradicated, down to the very last strand of DNA.”

Cad grunted. “You’re right, that does come across as a little threatening.”

“Also, despite the elegance of my appearance, I assure you that I am quite proficient in a number of combative arts, from Krav Maga to fencing,” the Banker went on, sounding more than a little boastful to Cad’s ears.

“Fencing, you say,” said Cad, who couldn’t help but latch on to any mention of swords.

“Yes, I am proficient in many European and Eastern styles, though my favorite is La Verdadera Destreza,” the Banker replied, putting on a Spanish accent and sounding genuinely enthused that Cad had raised the subject. “I am also an avid collector.”

Cad smiled, hardly believing his luck, but Alexis merely yawned and put her boots up on the desk. “You boys and your toys,” she said, resting her hands behind her head. Cad shot Alexis a dirty look, but she just blew him a kiss in return.

“My sincere apologies for boring you, my lady,” said the Banker, bowing his head to Alexis. “Shall we get down to business?”

As much as he would have enjoyed talking about swords, the mention of getting down to business made Cad sit up. He was eager to get moving again, without the burden of being hounded by the CSF everywhere he went.

“What I need is weapons and a way to stop the CSF from following me like a damn shadow,” said Cad, leaning forward on the desk. “And I need information, specifically on which other mercenary groups Dexter Stone has hired to kill me.”

“My dear Mr. Rikkard, he has hired all of them,” replied the Banker, sounding surprised that Cad would think otherwise.

Cad grunted again. “Most of those half-assed units would wet their pants if they even saw our ships,” he replied, mirroring the Banker’s earlier boastfulness. “But if Stone has genuinely enlisted them all, at least I know which ones to look out for, thanks.”

The Banker then turned his screen so that Cad and Alexis could see it. “The force that you should be most concerned about is Dexter Stone’s personal Vanguard Enforcer unit.”

Cad read the information on the display, which showed a profile of the elite CSF Enforcer squad. Cad was only vaguely familiar with them, but despite the Banker’s warning, he was not worried.

“I already took out Crimson Lynx,” said Cad, studying the information relating to Vanguard’s tactics, skills and combat abilities. “These will be no different,” he added. However, Cad had to admit that they appeared to be more than competent than Crimson Lynx, not that Doyle’s red-vested bodyguards had set the bar very high.

“Vanguard are somewhat more fanatical,” replied the Banker, still maintaining his level tone. “They are Dexter Stone’s personal protection squadron and are largely employed on the outer bridge worlds, where subtlety and discretion are not required.”

Cad sat back but still kept his eyes on the screen. Alexis had slid her boots off the desk and was also studying the information, her brow furrowed.

“Blunt instruments, just like Stone,” said Cad, briefly meeting Alexis’ eyes and reading her expression. He could tell that she too believed that Vanguard would be a problem for them, sooner or later.

“Quite…” the Banker replied, turning the screen back to face himself. “The repairs and modifications to your vessels will proceed forthwith,” he continued, tapping on the keyboard as he said this. “I will focus on improvements to your stealth capabilities. I can also provide you with access to certain safe houses around the galaxy, where you may dock, refuel, and rest.” Cad grunted again. This was another key element he needed from the Banker, though he knew it would be one of the costliest to secure. “I would caveat that I cannot guarantee these locations will be one hundred percent secure,” the Banker added. “As you discovered at the Chatham House Club,” the Consortium’s resources are extensive. Nothing escapes their watchful gaze for too long.”

“I understand,” Cad grunted, disappointed, if not surprised, by the Banker’s disclaimer. He knew that there was only one way to end Stone’s pursuit – he either had to kill him or make a deal.

“If I may be so bold, I would also avoid Epsilon Station at Orcus for the foreseeable future,” the Banker went on, sounding almost embarrassed to be offering up this new information. “There is a private military company that goes by the name of Spettro using it as their base of operations. My sources tell me that they pose the most significant threat to you, beyond Vanguard, of course.”

Cad sighed and folded his arms. “Spettro, you say?” he replied, shaking his head.

“It means ‘wraith’ in Italian,” the Banker added a little condescendingly.

“I know what it means,” grunted Cad. He knew all of the other mercenary units in the galaxy, and Spettro was one of the more competent. They were also one of the most insolent. He’d intended to teach them a lesson at some point, and this seemed like the ideal opportunity. He glanced at Alexis and could see from the gleam in her eyes that she was thinking the same thing. Punch a bully on the nose, and they back off, at least for a time, he reasoned to himself. Taking down Spettro would send a message to Dexter Stone, and perhaps make him rethink his hunt.

The Banker then removed an ornate brass key from the desk drawer, stood up, and walked over to the inner vault door. Alexis followed, no doubt eager to discover the wonders that were contained inside the vault. The heels of her boots echoed around the room like gunshots. Cad stood up then peered pensively at the wooden case, contemplating whether to bring it with him or not. If he didn’t bring it, he wouldn’t have to part with it, he considered. Yet, if he didn’t bring it, then he also wouldn’t walk out of the vault with everything he needed. Reluctantly grabbing the handle of the case, Cad carried it over to the Banker, who was waiting by the inner vault door. The Banker then placed the brass key in the lock and turned it with a satisfying mechanical thunk before pulling the door open. This time, however, the masked man did not enter first and instead invited Cad and Alexis to step through. Alexis did not need asking twice, and once Cad was able to peer through the opening, he understood why. The vault was a veritable Aladdin’s cave of military weaponry. There was enough gear inside to equip an entire army.

“I deplore talk of finances as much as I deplore talk of security,” the Banker said, following Cad inside the vault. Alexis had already disappeared, skipping along the aisles, checking out the shelves and racks like a kid in a sweet shop. “However, I must point out that despite the considerable sum of money that you recently acquired, you are still somewhat short of the requisite amount needed to cover all the services we have discussed.”

Cad blew out a heavy sigh then lifted the wooden case, resting it across his arms. “This should comfortably cover the difference,” he said, feeling a knot tighten in his gut.

Even through the mask, Cad could see the Banker’s eyes widen with interest. He imagined that it was rare for anyone to surprise a man of the Banker’s wealth and status. The Banker unfastened the clasps holding the box shut and lifted the lid, resting it gently against Cad’s chest. The man’s eyes suddenly shone with wonder and excitement, and Cad knew that his barter would be acceptable.

“But, Mr. Rikkard, this is quite priceless!” the Banker said, lifting Joyeuse, the sword of Charlemagne, from the box with almost worshipful caution. The man then held it up to the light and turned it over and over before grasping the gold grip and removing the blade from its gem-encrusted scabbard. “Quite remarkable. A true wonder…” the Banker continued, eventually sliding the blade back into the scabbard and meeting Cad’s eyes. “It must be very difficult to part with something so wondrous?”

“Believe me, I would rather not,” said Cad. The Banker nodded, seeming to sense the heartfelt sincerity in his words. “But I hope this settles any outstanding balance?”

The Banker lowered the weapon to his side, holding it as a soldier on parade might. Then he bowed to Cad. “You may take whatever you desire from this vault, Mr. Rikkard. And I will ensure the other items we discussed are taken care of.”

Cad took one last look at the sword in its new owner’s hand then closed the box and rested it on the floor at the Banker’s side. Tearing his eyes away from the weapon, he silently cursed Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun. If it wasn’t for them, the sword would still be his. If it wasn’t for them, he would never have needed to kill Doyle and make an enemy of Dexter Stone. Everything started with Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun, Cad reminded himself. And it would end with them too, whatever it took.

5

Hallam Knight rested against the back of the mining vehicle and looked back at Falken’s mountain, which they’d escaped from only hours earlier. The mushroom cloud had long since dissipated into the upper atmosphere, and Dr. Rand had insisted they were safe from any fallout. However, the mountain, and its fractured summit, was still an ominous sight. That Cad Rikkard would go as far as using an archaic nuclear weapon in an attempt to kill them showed just how far the ruthless man was willing to go to exact his revenge. That the mercenary was unaware his latest attack had also failed gave the Darkspace Renegades a brief reprieve. Yet Hallam knew that sooner or later Cad Rikkard and his equally deadly partner, Alexis Black, would discover that he, Dakota, and Dr. Rand had survived. Until then, Hallam and the others had a challenge of another kind to overcome – namely, how to get off Vediovis without a ship.

“They will have finished installing the new fuel cells soon,” said Dakota, leaning on the mining vehicle beside Hallam. “Come and grab a drink and something to eat while you still have chance.”

Hallam glanced at the diner, which was next to the repair shop in the small town of Prospect’s Ridge. It was called “Foley’s Diner,” and Hallam had to admit it looked more appealing than the “Flying Trotter Café” on Carmentis, which was the last eatery they had frequented. Then he remembered their affray with the outlaw band at that particular establishment. He thought it best to check with Dakota that the occupants of “Foley’s Diner” were less likely to kill them.

“I take it there aren’t any CSF Enforcers in there, or outlaws that might take a shine to us?” said Hallam, nodding toward the diner.

“If I remember rightly, it was you that the old hag from Carmentis took a shine to,” said Dakota, looking down her nose at Hallam. “But no, it just looks like the usual rabble. Mostly ground transit drivers and workers from the town.”

Hallam sighed and extended a hand toward the diner. “Go on then, lead the way,” he said, admitting to himself that he did feel hungry. The popcorn that he’d eaten in Falken’s lair, before Cad Rikkard had nuked it, hadn’t done much to sate his hunger. “And I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had to endure watching you devour some sort of fake-meat sandwich like a ravenous hyena.”

Dakota responded to Hallam’s sarcasm with a jab to his ribs, but she was also smiling. “I’ve already had two fake-bacon rolls, thank you, but just for that, I’m going to order another when we get inside.”

“I can’t wait,” said Hallam, continuing with the sarcasm. “What kind of sauce will I have to watch dripping from your chin this time? Ketchup? Barbecue, maybe?”

Dakota held open the door to Foley’s Diner and invited Hallam to enter first. “I’ll squirt all the sauces into your lap if you don’t shut up,” she said, giving Hallam a swift kick to the backside as he entered. Dr. Rand was already sitting at one of the tables in the diner, which was busy and alive with chatter. As usual, the scientist was working on her palm computer and hadn’t noticed them enter.

“So what’s good, Doc?” said Hallam, sliding onto the seat opposite her.

“The peace and quiet was good,” Dr. Rand replied snootily, “until you decided to interrupt it.”

Dakota snorted a laugh and caught the attention of one of the waiters, who promptly arrived to take their order.

“I guess I’ll have a cheeseburger, then,” said Hallam, looking up at the waiter. “And I guess I’ll also eat it peacefully and quietly…” he added, glancing at Dr. Rand, though she was engrossed in her palm computer again.

“A bacon roll and a couple of banana milkshakes too, please,” said Dakota while the waiter tapped Hallam’s order into his pad. “And some more coffee.”

The waiter nodded and headed away, while Hallam got himself comfortable in a position where he could see the TV screen above the counter. It was showing a news feed from one of the Doyle-owned outer bridge world news networks.

“Are you really going to drink two banana milkshakes?” said Hallam, keeping half an eye on the screen. The sound was off, but it appeared to be showing a report of the nuclear blast at the nearby mountain. Hallam then noticed that most of the rest of the diner’s occupants were watching the TV too, listening in on earpieces that seemed to be attached to the table. Hallam searched around and saw one of the devices slotted into a recessed section of the table. He was about to put it in his ear, when Dakota answered his question.

“One of them is for you, of course,” said Dakota. Hallam assumed she was referring to the banana milkshakes. “They’re made with real milk, which is pretty rare these days. I think you’ll like it.”

“I doubt that very much,” sneered Hallam, earning him another jab to the ribs for his trouble. The waiter then returned with the milkshakes and topped up their coffee cups, almost spilling the hot, dark liquid onto the table because he was half-watching the news feed himself.

Dakota slid one of the milkshakes over to Hallam then took a healthy glug from the other. “Don’t be such a snob,” she said, wiping a vibrant yellow froth from her top lip. “You almost got nuked a few hours ago. Live a little…”

Hallam picked up the glass and gave it a quick sniff. It certainly smelled like a milkshake, and it even smelled like banana. “You know, the chances of this drink having come within twenty lightyears of a real banana or a real cow are about as likely as Cad Rikkard donating to charity,” he said, taking a cautious sip. However, to his surprise, it tasted good.

“See, I told you so,” said Dakota, grinning.

Hallam realized that Dakota had been watching him closely for his reaction to the drink, which meant that his attempt at keeping a poker-face had been a failure. “It’s not bad, I suppose,” said Hallam before taking a much longer drink.

Dakota laughed victoriously and jostled him with her shoulder, causing the contents of the glass to slosh out and coat his stubbled face in sticky yellow liquid. “It’s almost like real milk,” said Dakota, taking another drink as Hallam wiped his face with a napkin.

“I thought you said it was real milk,” replied Hallam, starting to feel like he’d made a mistake in accepting Dakota’s recommendation.

“Well, it’s a local version of a cow,” said Dakota. The waiter then arrived with the bacon roll and cheeseburger, placing them on the table while still half-watching the news feed. “They call it a mook,” Dakota added, pulling the plate with the bacon roll closer.

Hallam laughed and shook his head doubtfully. He could never be quite sure if Dakota was winding him up or not. “A mook, huh?” said Hallam, raising an eyebrow at Dakota and sliding the burger in front of him.

Dakota lifted the top half of the bun off her roll and squirted it with hot sauce. She then squashed the bread back down, compacting it with her palm, before chomping into the roll like an alligator attacking a gazelle.

“Don’t believe me?” replied Dakota, wiping a line of hot sauce from her chin with her sleeve. “There’s one out there right now.”

Hallam took a bite of the burger and glanced out of the window, half expecting Dakota to jab him in the ribs again and cry, “Got you!” or something similarly banal. However, instead, he saw a bizarre six-horned animal strolling across the road. It looked like a cross between a moose and a rhino.

“See, that’s a mook,” said Dakota, pointing to it with the half-eaten roll.

Hallam watched the mighty beast for a few seconds then turned back to Dakota. “I wouldn’t like to be the poor sucker who has to milk that thing,” he said, smiling.

“They make ‘em tough on Vediovis,” said Dakota, also smiling. Then the pair burst out laughing.

“Did I mention that I ordered peace and quiet?” said Dr. Rand, glancing at Hallam and Dakota over the top of her palm computer.

Hallam and Dakota exchanged guilty looks, like two kids that had just been told off by their teacher. Hallam then took another bite of the burger, which he was surprised to find also tasted good, and glanced up at the TV screen. However, what he saw made the food fall out of his gaping jaws.

“And you say my eating habits are disgusting,” said Dakota disdainfully.

Hallam didn’t respond. He had already yanked the earpiece out of the table and plugged it into his ear so that he could hear the news broadcast.

Dakota scowled, then turned to look at the TV, which was displaying the faces of Cad Rikkard and Alexis Black. Dakota’s expression quickly mirrored Hallam’s own.

“Hal, what are they saying,” said Dakota, gently nudging Dr. Rand to get her attention too. The scientist initially scowled at her before she too saw the TV, and quickly placed her palm computer down on the table to watch it.

“The news anchor is saying that Rikkard and Black are wanted for the murder of Damien Doyle,” said Hallam, paraphrasing the broadcaster’s report. “There is an all-worlds warrant out for their arrest. The CSF and local enforcer agencies are cooperating and there’s a one-hundred-million-US-dollar reward for their capture.”

Dakota snorted derisively. “That asshole will probably just be offended the reward isn’t more.”

Hallam shushed Dakota and concentrated on the audio feed, but then they all fell silent as the image on the TV screen updated. Instead of showing the faces of the Blackfire Squadron, the screen now displayed their own faces, staring back at them.

“Ah, crap…” said Dakota, turning to Hallam and expectantly awaiting his abridged report.

“Known Darkspace Renegade terrorists, Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun, are wanted in connection with a nuclear attack on Vediovis,” said Hallam, concentrating hard to condense the report to just the important parts. “They are possibly working with an accomplice masquerading as the deceased scientist Dr. Shelby Rand, famed inventor of Randenite and bridge drive technology.”

This time, it was Dr. Rand that snorted. “Masquerading indeed…” she grunted.

“They should be considered armed and extremely dangerous,” continued Hallam, as the report rolled on. “There’s a ten-million-dollar reward for information leading to their arrest.” The report then moved on to some other incident on Vediovis, and Hallam removed the earpiece, allowing it to retract back into its housing.

“Only ten million?” said Dakota, shaking her head. “How come that asshat Rikkard gets ten times that amount? It’s insulting!”

“I hardly believe that is the key point we should take away from that report, Miss Wulfrun,” said Dr. Rand, sounding like a disappointed teacher again. “However, we should not discuss this further in public. I suggest we move on.”

Hallam nodded and pushed himself out of his seat. “You’ll get no argument from me, Doc,” he said, turning to leave. However, the eyes of everyone in the diner were already on him. “I think we may already be too late to make a discreet exit,” Hallam said to Dakota, who had also stood up and seen the faces glaring back at them.

A hirsute man-mountain dressed in stonewash jeans and a camouflage-pattern tank top then strode toward them, worker’s boots thumping across the tile floor. If there was a human version of a mook, this man would be it, Hallam thought.

“I told you,” said Hallam, casting a glance toward Dakota. “Whenever you pick the venue, it always ends in a fight…”

6

Hallam stepped out in front of the giant man, smiling amiably in an attempt to present the appearance of normality. However, the top of his head barely reached the height of the man’s hairy shoulders. He swallowed hard, hoping that the man’s similarity to the planet’s hulking cow-like “mook” creature extended beyond his physical size to include his mental aptitude too.

“Excuse me, sir, can I just squeeze past you?” said Hallam, still smiling cheerfully at the man.

“Oi, you’re that bloke on the TV, ain’t ya?” said the man, pressing out his plate-size hand to block Hallam’s path. The man’s palm was as hairy as a mook’s backside and was stained with what he hoped was only hot sauce, though he couldn’t be sure. Hallam peered at the outstretched hand in revulsion but maintained his fake smile as if nothing was wrong.

“Me? No, though I guess it did look a bit like me!” replied Hallam, forcing out a laugh. “Now, if you’ll just let me past…”

Hallam again tried to squeeze down the aisle, but the man pushed him back with his hairy palm, shaking his head.

“You reckon I’m daft?” the man hit back, his deep-set eyes narrowing. “She was on the TV too,” he added, pointing to Dakota, who made a sort of “who me” gesture in response. “Neither of ya are goin’ nowhere. You’re worth a mint!” Two other men of far more average stature then slid out of their seats and took up position behind the giant.

Hallam sighed and glanced back at Dakota, who also sighed and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, “Well, at least you tried…”.

“Remember what I told you on Carmentis,” said Dakota, casually cracking her knuckles.

Hallam thought back to the fight with the outlaws in the Flying Trotter Café and remembered Dakota’s advice to just “kick them in the balls” next time. He’d have preferred not to resort to such underhanded tactics, but trying to punch past these men would be like trying to knock down a brick wall with his bare hands. However, he still needed a distraction. Glancing down at the table, Hallam had an idea, and picked up his cup of coffee, which was still untouched. To furrowed brows from both the man mountain and Dakota, he raised the cup to his lips as if about to drink from it.

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” said Hallam, speaking in a hushed tone as he took a sip of the hot coffee, which only reminded him of how much he detested coffee. The man’s scowl deepened, but he leaned in closer so that he could hear better.

“What?” the man said, coarsely.

“I hate coffee,” said Hallam, throwing the contents of the cup into the man’s eyes. The brute yelled, but the cry had barely escaped his chapped lips before Hallam had launched a punt to his groin, striking the blow cleanly between the man’s tree-trunk legs. The giant crumbled to the floor, making a noise not dissimilar to the muted moan of the animal he resembled. Hallam then charged forward, trying to tackle through the two men behind the felled giant. However, despite their more average statures, they turned out to be stronger than they looked. Hallam’s charge was ineffective, and he found himself caught, lifted into the air, and slammed down hard onto a table, sending plates and mugs crashing to the floor.

Dakota then advanced, using the still crumpled mass of the hairy giant as a springboard to launch a flying kick at the closest of the two other men who were grappling with Hallam. The heel of her boot connected with the man’s jaw, whipping his head back with the force of a bear trap snapping shut. The man toppled over backward, knocking into another table before lying sprawled out, face down in a pile of bacon and eggs. Dakota tried to wrestle the other man off Hallam but was pushed back against the counter by a third man from another table that had decided to join the fray.

Hallam continued to struggle against the grip of the man who was still pressing him down, while feeling around blindly for anything he could use as a weapon. He managed to close his hand around a sugar pourer and swung it at the man’s head. It connected with a sickening organic crunch, like a coconut being split open. Pushing the unconscious man aside, Hallam sprang off the table and grabbed one of the men attacking Dakota. He thumped the diner across the chin with a powerful right hand. Hallam expected the punch to put the man down, but instead, the brute staggered back, holding his jaw. The man then spat out a blood-stained tooth and glared back at Hallam with malicious intent.

Meanwhile, Dr. Rand had remained seated at their original table, palm computer in one hand, coffee cup in the other, as if it were a normal day in the office.

“Doc… a little help, maybe?” Hallam called out, blocking a punch from the man he’d just clobbered and countering with a crushing blow to his ample gut. Hallam was then grabbed from behind by yet another diner and spun around to meet his wailing fist.

“You appear to be doing just fine,” Dr. Rand called back as Hallam blocked the next punch and replied with a swift jab and whirling right hook that sent the man tumbling across another table, scattering more plates and mugs as he did so.

Dakota and the other combatant had tumbled over the counter top to the service area behind and were continuing their fight. Hallam went to vault the counter to help her, but two more diners pushed away from their chairs and eyed him greedily, as if his body was covered from top to toe in a hundred-dollar bills. A resonant metallic clang diverted Hallam’s attention back to Dakota, and he saw her standing over the body of her opponent, greasy frying pan in hand. She smiled at Hallam, looking pleased with her choice of makeshift weapon, before two more diners got up and began stalking their way toward her. The smile on Dakota’s face was swiftly wiped away.

“We should look for a rear exit,” said Hallam through labored breaths while backpedaling from the group of thugs. He glanced at Dr. Rand, who was now looking toward the kitchen area, as if trying to get the attention of a waiter. “Doc, it’s time to go…” Hallam called over to her, but still the scientist did not move or appear to be concerned by the rapidly escalating brawl.

Hallam was about to rush to Dr. Rand’s table and haul her up by force, when the blast of a shotgun boomed out into the room. It acted like a freeze-ray, causing everyone inside to stop dead in whatever pose they’d adopted before the blast had shaken the walls. Hallam spun around and saw a woman in a cook’s apron standing in front of the door to the kitchen. She had a pump-action shotgun in her grasp, smoke oozing from its barrel.

“Alright, that’s enough, damn it!” the woman yelled. The diners immediately dropped their chins to their chests and scuffed their boots on the ground, like scolded children. “Duane, Floyd, sit your asses back down!” she continued, pointing at two of the larger men. She then casually aimed the shotgun at a third patron. “As for you, Woody, I already warned you about fightin’ in here!”

The man who had been addressed as Woody guiltily raised his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lucille, it’s just that these folks are terrorists!”

The woman, who Hallam assumed was the owner of the diner, then slipped out from behind the counter and stood next to Dr. Rand. The scientist was still as calm as a summer’s breeze. Hallam initially felt a swell of panic rise in his gut, since “Lucille” was holding a shotgun. However, the owner of the diner no longer appeared threatening, and Dr. Rand did not appear threatened.

“Terrorists?” Lucille hit back, spitting the word out with such incredulity that Woody may as well have called them all aliens. “These ain’t terrorists, you moron! If yer spent less time watchin’ the damn TV and readin’ the BridgeNet, you’d know that.” Then she hooked a thumb toward Dr. Rand without actually looking at her. “This here is Dr. Shelby Rand,” she added before tipping the barrel of the shotgun toward Hallam and Dakota. “And these two are Darkspace Renegades. They’re here to help, you damn eejits!”

Woody shuffled back in the direction of his table, though all the crockery was now smashed on the floor next to it. “I’m sorry, Lucille. I’ll help clean up the mess,” he said, eyes staring at the floor again.

Meanwhile, the other diners, whom Hallam and Dakota had already put on the deck, slowly climbed back to their feet, including the enormous giant of a man that Hallam had kicked in the groin. Hallam again swallowed hard as the brute straightened his legs and back, growing taller and taller, until Hallam’s eyes were barely level with his sweat-soaked chest.

“Junior…” said Lucille, talking to the huge man like he was a naughty dog that was about to pee on the floor. The brute’s narrow eyes lifted to look at the owner of the diner. “Go outside and walk it off…” Lucille continued.

The giant grunted and glowered down at Hallam, then grabbed Hallam’s armored chest plate and lifted him off his feet, as if he weighed no more than a baby.

“Junior…” Lucille said again, a little more forcefully this time.

The man grunted again then slowly lowered Hallam to the ground, snorting like Hallam imagined a mook would snort. “Junior” then turned around and hobbled toward the door, brushing the other diners out of the way as he went.

“Don’t mind him,” said Lucille, placing the shotgun on the counter top and resting back against it. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

Hallam was extremely doubtful that this was the case, but he chose not to question the owner of the diner, since she’d just saved their skins. Then Lucille turned to Dr. Rand and shook her head in disbelief. It was like she’d just discovered Elvis sat down in her diner.

“Well, it turns out that Falken girl was right after all,” Lucille began, plucking a thin cigar from her pocket and lighting it with a battered old Zippo. “The years have been a hell of a lot kinder to you than they have to me, lady,” she added while sucking in a mouthful of smoke.

“Not as kind as I would have wished,” replied Dr. Rand, slipping into her celebrity persona without a hitch. “Thank you for helping us. I had wondered how far-reaching Falken’s words had been.”

Lucille sucked in another mouthful of smoke and blew it out, then grabbed a coffee pot and topped up Dr. Rand’s cup. “Those assholes from the Consortium have been lyin’ to us for years, and now look at the mess we’re in,” she said. She slid into the seat opposite the scientist, coffee pot still in hand. “Other than more coffee and stoppin’ Junior from stompin’ on your companions over there, is there anythin’ else I can help you folks with? I have to say, I’m surprised to see you out here, all alone.”

“Unfortunately, not everyone is trying to assist our cause as you have done,” said Dr. Rand after taking a sip of coffee. “And unless you have a starship capable of bridge travel nearby, I’m afraid we must now be on our way.”

The owner of the diner rested back in the seat and scratched the side of her head, knocking cigar ash onto her shoulder as she did so. “Most of the ships capable of bridge travel already took off when news of these gravity hiccups started spreddin’,” she said, tapping the rest of the ash from her cigar into Dakota’s half-drunk milkshake. “You’d still find a transport out in the cities, but those places are crawlin’ with CSF now, I guess preparin’ for the evacuation. There’s a boneyard a couple of hundred miles north from here, but likely they don’t have anythin’ that can still fly.”

Dr. Rand finished the coffee and stood up, offering Lucille her hand. “Well, thank you again for your help,” she said. The owner of the diner rose and shook her hand with gusto. “And thank you for the information about the boneyard; it may well prove useful.”

“No problem, lady,” said Lucille. She then turned her head and barked an order at one of the waiters to write down the boneyard’s address on a napkin. “I sure do hope you manage to fix all this trouble. Likely it’s too late for this little planet, but maybe that ain’t such a bad thing. It’s been rotten for years, ever since the drug gangs moved in.”

Dr. Rand moved into the corridor, sliding her palm computer off the table and placing it back into her pocket as she did so. Hallam noticed that all eyes in the diner were still on them, though their expressions had changed. Instead of looking at them like a pack of hungry jackals, the diners now appeared awestruck, and Hallam suddenly realized why. With everything that had happened, he’d forgotten just how famous Dr. Rand was. To have the galaxy’s biggest celebrity in their diner was probably the most exciting thing to have ever happened to the small town of Prospect’s Ridge.

“We will do what we can,” said Dr. Rand, still smiling politely and maintaining her public-facing persona. “However, if you have an opportunity to leave, please take it. There are no guarantees.”

Lucille’s eyes widened a fraction and she drew on the cigar again, causing the tip to glow like the embers of a dying camp fire. “Most of us ain’t never getting off this rock, lady,” she said with a sudden solemnity. “So I sure as hell hope you can save it.”

Dr. Rand continued to smile as the two women exchanged their goodbyes, but Hallam could see that the scientist was putting on a brave face. He’d seen the same look in her eyes before, the very first time they’d met on the Darkspace Renegade hideout, after he’d been rescued. It was a look of loss. Except this time, Dr. Rand was not mourning the loss of something in the past, but the loss of life that was still to come. Hallam knew then that Vediovis was doomed, no matter what they did, and the realization of that hit him harder than he’d expected. When it came to their mission, Dr. Rand had always called it a numbers game. However, the numbers that had already perished, and the numbers that still would, were climbing to a level that was almost too terrible to fathom.

Dr. Rand made her way toward the exit, and Dakota followed close behind. Hallam was about to join at the rear, when Lucille called out to him.

“Hey, Hallam Knight,” the owner of the diner said, apparently having picked up his name from the TV broadcast. She tossed the shotgun to him, which Hallam caught instinctively. Lucille then reached over the counter and slid a box of cartridges to him. “I reckon you need this more than I do,” she said. The owner of Foley’s Diner then stuck the cigar back into her mouth and walked through the doors into the kitchen without another word.

7

Bob the bear, Dakota’s resilient lucky mascot, wobbled across the dashboard of the mining vehicle as it rumbled over the pothole-littered road from Prospect’s Ridge. Their destination was the city of Holsten, in the north of Vediovis’ most densely-populated continent. Compared to much of the rest of Vediovis, Holsten was a relatively safe city. This made it all the more ironic that it was home to the leaders of the planet’s worst criminal enterprises. It was also – or at least it had been – the location of a Darkspace Renegade outpost, hiding in plain sight as a builders’ merchant. Dr. Rand had hoped to find someone there that was still sympathetic to their cause. However, the scientist had been unable to contact any of the former hideouts or outpost leaders, since Cad Rikkard had conducted his nuclear rampage of destruction.

“News of Falken’s death is spreading throughout the BridgeNet,” said Dr. Rand. She was reading from her palm computer, which was held in one hand. The other was gripped tightly around the door handle of the mining vehicle, knuckles white from the pressure. Hallam then swerved sharply to avoid another cauldron-sized pothole in the road, causing the scientist to almost drop the device. “The Consortium news networks are still repeating the line that we are to blame,” Dr. Rand continued, after steadying herself. “However, it seems that in death, the hacker has become a martyr of sorts. People believe the Consortium killed her to silence the truth.”

“Hopefully, word starts to reach more people who don’t read the BridgeNet, like Mr. Mook from the diner,” commented Hallam, weaving past another damaged section of the road. “I don’t fancy having to fight our way out of every little town we pass through.”

Holsten was visible on the horizon now, and Hallam could see a super-transport rising into the sky from the port on the west side of the city. He could also see eight CSF Enforcer drop-ships buzzing across various sections of the skyline like angry mosquitos.

“Are you sure there’s nowhere else we can look for a ship?” asked Hallam, scowling at the Consortium vessels. “There looks like an awful lot of CSF flying over this city, and I’ll be willing to bet there are more enforcers on the ground.”

Dr. Rand looked over the top of her palm computer and sighed wearily. “Other than the boneyard the owner of the diner mentioned, I’m at a loss for other suggestions,” the scientist admitted.

“We should come off the main road and try to cut through the suburbs to reach the outpost,” suggested Dakota, who was bouncing around in the rear passenger seat. “Hallam is right, with only a single shotgun and our increasingly bad attitudes to protect us, we need to stay out of sight as much as possible.”

Just as Dakota said this, an unmanned surveillance drone buzzed overhead, on course toward the city. Hallam cursed and tried to shield his face with his hand, as if saluting the open road.

“Can you do the hacking trick on those things again?” said Dakota, also looking away without trying to make it obvious she was hiding her face. “If we’re spotted, then those CSF drop-ships on the horizon will be heading this way before we know it.”

Hallam cursed again. “We have more immediate problems,” he said, pointing to a road-block ahead of them that had been set up adjacent to a highway rest stop. Two quad-rotor drop-ships had landed in the road, blocking it in both directions. Hallam could see at least six CSF Enforcers milling around.

“Pull in to the rest stop,” said Dr. Rand, as ever working feverishly on her palm computer. “I will attempt to gain access to the CSF command system by hacking the computer on one of the drop-ships.”

“I thought that was Falken’s forte…” said Hallam, reducing speed and pulling their commandeered mining vehicle off the main road.

“Let’s just say that Falken taught me a few new tricks, while you two fell asleep watching a movie,” Dr. Rand replied.

Hallam smiled as the memory of that time resurfaced in his mind, though he was sure he saw Dakota blush. He then brought the mining vehicle to a stop around the side of the rest stop, out of sight of the two drop-ships.

“I’ll go and grab us some bottles of water,” said Hallam, patting Bob the bear on the head before jumping out of the vehicle. “It will let me scope out how many CSF there are. Besides, it will look suspicious if we all just sit here doing nothing.”

“Keep your head down, literally,” said Dakota.

Hallam threw up a salute to Dakota, then headed toward the store. A queue of ground transits had now pulled up in front of the blockade, including a large ground freighter that was towing a fifty-meter-long double trailer. Hallam hoped that the sheer volume of traffic would keep the CSF distracted enough for him to remain incognito. Pushing the door to the store open, Hallam heard a little silver bell jingle. He cursed under his breath and bowed his head, trying to avoid the eyes of the five other people inside, who naturally all looked at the door when the bell rang. This included an armed CSF Enforcer, though luckily, the man was more interested in searching through a shelf of potato snacks than in who had just entered. Hallam swiftly detoured down an adjacent aisle, idly flicking through the contents of the shelves while trying to snoop on the enforcer.

“Hey, have you got any cheese popcorn in here?” the enforcer called out to a bored-looking clerk behind the counter. Hallam reckoned the clerk was no more than seventeen or eighteen. He had his back to the store, watching a TV show on a screen above his head.

“Yeah, second shelf from the bottom, next to the bags of pretzels,” the young man called back without taking his eyes off the TV. Hallam was then distracted by thoughts of mini pretzels. They had been his go-to snack while running the bridges in the armored tankers. Hallam was momentarily lost in thoughts of that simpler time, before a sword-wielding lunatic was trying to kill him, and had to force himself to get his head back in the game.

“Got ‘em... I love these things,” the enforcer said, returning to the counter and slapping three extra-large bags of cheese popcorn down onto it. This was in addition to a wide assortment of other snacks and drinks that were already piled up there.

“What are you guys doing here anyways?” said the clerk while ringing up the items. “We’re lucky to see a local enforcer patrol more than once a week, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you CSF guys here before.”

The enforcer cracked open a can of soda that the clerk had just scanned and nodded toward the TV. “It’s all over the news,” he said, clearly surprised that the young man appeared unaware of what was going on. “There are three wanted terrorists somewhere around here. The ones that blew up the mountain?”

The clerk shrugged and started to bag the remaining items. “I heard there was some trouble. I don’t really pay much attention to the news.”

The enforcer took a swig from the can of soda, then shook his head. “You should probably tune in more, kid. This place is going to hell in a handbasket,” the enforcer commented, a little condescendingly.

“What else is new?” the clerk said, shrugging.

The enforcer tutted and shook his head, like a disappointed football coach. The man then set the can of soda down on the counter before swiping his ID across the terminal to pay for the goods. “See you around, kid,” the enforcer said, grabbing the brown paper bag of groceries and heading for the door.

Hallam waited for the enforcer to leave, then sneaked out from cover with three bottles of water in his hands. “It must be a pain having those guys hanging around all the time,” said Hallam, placing the bottles on the counter. He then quickly doubled back to grab a bag of mini pretzels, adding them to the pile. “How many are there out there anyway?”

The young man shrugged again. “I don’t know. Five, or six. Maybe eight.” he said unhelpfully. The clerk was somehow able to scan the items without taking his eyes off the TV screen, which Hallam considered to be an impressive, if entirely useless life skill. “I don’t mind that they’re hanging around, though,” the clerk continued. “While they’ve been here, I haven’t been robbed once.”

Hallam threw a bag of potato chips onto the counter for Dakota, along with another bag of pretzels for Dr. Rand. Though secretly, he hoped she didn’t want them, so he could eat them himself. Hallam then collected up the goods before realizing that he didn’t have any way to pay for them. He was about to apologize to the clerk for wasting his time when he noticed the kid’s wallet on the counter top. He surreptitiously scanned it while the young man was still glued to the TV screen. The act made him feel a little guilty, but the lure of mini-pretzels was too strong.

“Well, thanks,” said Hallam to the square-eyed clerk, who didn’t respond. Hallam then turned toward the door, but at the same time, the little silver bell chimed again. He froze, suddenly face-to-face with the CSF enforcer who had been in the store when Hallam arrived. The man was still carrying the brown paper bag of snacks he’d bought earlier.

“I forgot my damn soda,” the enforcer said, stopping abruptly in front of Hallam and locking eyes with him. For a split-second, Hallam still held out hope that the enforcer would not recognize him. However, any such hopes were quickly dashed when the man dropped his bag of snacks and reached for his sidearm.

8

Reacting on pure instinct, Hallam grabbed the enforcer’s arm and stripped the weapon from his grasp. The pistol clattered across the hard tile floor and Hallam went to recover it, but felt the enforcer grab his arm and try to place him in a restraining hold. He recognized the technique from his own CSF training and countered the maneuver, slamming the enforcer into the shelf rack of potato snacks. The rack acted like a springboard, propelling the enforcer back at Hallam. He caught a swift left jab to the chin then blocked an attempted knee-strike and countered to the body, but the enforcer’s armor absorbed the shot. The two men then locked up in what quickly evolved into more of a wrestling match than a striking contest. Neither gave an inch as they flung each other against a wall of refrigeration units, knocking more snacks and drinks to the floor. Hallam finally managed to break the hold and struck the enforcer to the throat with a knife hand. The man staggered back and Hallam followed with a kick to his gut, sending the enforcer smashing through the glass door of the store and out into the street. The little silver bell chimed chaotically then clattered to the ground moments after the enforcer hit the deck, covered in shards of broken glass.

Hallam cursed, recovered the enforcer’s pistol, then ran to the door. Five more enforcers were already racing in his direction, weapons raised. Shouts of “hold it!”, “drop your weapon!”, and “hands up!” burst out into the air. Hallam was about to dart back into the store in the hope of finding a rear exit when the screech of tires drowned out the cries of the enforcers. The mining vehicle then skidded to a stop in front of him. Hallam ducked down behind it as the passenger door flung open and Dakota and Dr. Rand piled out, using the chunky vehicle for cover. Dakota was holding the pump-action shotgun that Lucille had given them in the diner, while Dr. Rand was carrying both of the shielded metal cases containing the tech they needed to take down the Centrum.

“What the hell happened to keeping your head down?” Dakota cried, pumping the shotgun to load it.

“He forgot his soda!” Hallam cried back, throwing his arms out wide.

“His what?” snapped Dakota, flinching as bullets hammered into the other side of the mining vehicle.

“Never mind,” answered Hallam, realizing that his response made absolutely no sense whatsoever without the proper context. Shuffling around to the front wheel of the vehicle, Hallam then fired a few rounds at the advancing CSF Enforcers, driving them into cover. Dakota popped up and let off a few blasts with the shotgun, which was enough to encourage the enforcers to stay hidden. “It’s genius time, Doc,” Hallam called over to the scientist. “Tell me you’ve got some brilliant way out of this mess?”

Remarkably, despite the bullets thudding into the vehicle and tarmac all around them, Dr. Rand was calmly working on her palm computer, cases at her side. “I have hacked in to the CSF drop-ship and jammed their outbound communications,” said Dr. Rand, while Hallam and Dakota continued to lay down suppressing fire. The tires of the mining vehicle then exploded, causing the vehicle to drop by several inches. “However, I believe we will need an alternative mode of transportation…” the scientist added, again with remarkable composure.

Hallam rose up again and fired over the bonnet of the mining vehicle, hitting one of the enforcers in the leg and another twice to his chest armor. A torrent of return fire then forced him back into cover again.

“Alternative transportation may be difficult right now, Doc,” Hallam replied, shielding himself against splinters of glass tumbling from the transport’s fractured windows. A powerful air horn then blared out, distracting Hallam from the shards of glass falling into his hair. He looked around and saw that the driver of the large ground freighter parked up at the roadblock was waving, trying to get their attention.

“Hey, is that there Dr. Shelby Rand!?” the driver of the ground freighter yelled over to them.

Hallam, Dakota, and Dr. Rand exchanged puzzled glances. “Yeah, this is Dr. Shelby Rand!” Hallam called back.

“And are you them Darkspace Rebels I seen on the BridgeNet!?” the man yelled again, now hanging out of the window, seemingly without a care for the bullets flying around.

“Darkspace Renegades… but yes, that’s us!” Hallam answered, wondering where the curious conversation was going, and why the man had picked that particular moment to ask.

“Hang tight, we got ya!” the man shouted. The freighter driver then ducked back inside his cab and honked his horn another three times.

Hallam and the others huddled behind the mining vehicle, glass raining down over their heads from the relentless gunfire, then heard the mighty engine of the ground freighter start up. The air horn honked for a fifth time, then the enormous vehicle accelerated off the road, driving directly at the CSF Enforcers. The squad of Consortium heavies scattered like startled pigeons, shouting panicked instructions to each other. The huge vehicle then ploughed into the store, its long trailer cutting Hallam and the others off from the enforcer’s assault. The driver then flung open his door and jumped down, shotgun in hand.

“Get out of here; we’ll take care of these guys!” the freighter driver shouted. The man then loaded his weapon and climbed up onto the roof of his cab.

A chaotic melody of air horns sounded off behind them, and Hallam glanced back to see three more smaller ground freighters roar down the road. He moved out of cover, weapon still held ready, and watched as one of the vehicles ploughed directly through the second of the two quad-rotor drop-ships, smashing it to pieces like it was made of toy building blocks. Then four more truckers jumped out, armed with sidearms, bats, and knuckle dusters, and took the fight to the scattered and shell-shocked enforcers.

“There, I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried,” said Dr. Rand, extending a hand toward the remaining drop-ship.

“We can’t steal an enforcer drop-ship!” cried Hallam. Then he scowled and added, “Can we?”

“I have hacked its command systems, so actually, we can, yes,” said Dr. Rand calmly. “Assuming one of you can fly it, that is?”

“I flew expedition teams around the jungles of the bridge worlds for years in things just like that,” Dakota cut in. “You can bet your ass I can fly it.”

“Okay, what the hell, it’s probably not the craziest thing that’s happened today,” replied Hallam. “But first, we need to get to it.”

“I’d like to see them try to stop me,” said Dakota, pumping the shotgun and moving out in the lead. Dr. Rand stayed tucked in close behind Dakota, carrying the two cases. Hallam was about to follow, when he remembered something. Doubling back, he climbed inside the mining vehicle, searching for the item they’d forgotten.

“Hal, what are you doing!” Dakota called out, trying to keep her voice as low as possible so as not to attract attention from the CSF.

Hallam slid out from inside the vehicle’s cabin, holding Bob the bear in his hands. “Forgetting something?” he called back, crouch-running to Dakota’s side.

Dakota took the bear and pushed it into the rear pocket of her pants. Then she grabbed Hallam by the neck of his chest armor, pulled him closer, and kissed him on the lips. “Thanks, I love you!” Dakota said. Then her face fell, realizing her slip. “I mean, I love that you remembered…” she quickly corrected herself, cheeks flushing red.

Hallam could also feel his face burning, then they both looked nervously at Dr. Rand to check if she’d noticed. However, the scientist merely stared back at them, wearing the wearied expression she usually shot Hallam when he’d said something to test her patience.

“Now that we are all reunited with the stuffed toy, perhaps we can escape this raging gun battle?” said Dr. Rand in a classic display of her passive-aggressive sarcasm.

Dakota managed a smile, then moved out ahead, shotgun held ready. Hallam checked the magazine of his pistol and saw that he had three rounds left. He hoped he wouldn’t need them. Using the stranded ground freighters for cover, Dakota moved swiftly toward the CSF drop-ship. Hallam saw at least two enforcers lying on the tarmac alongside one of the freighter drivers. All of them still appeared to be alive, but none were in any condition to continue fighting. Shotgun blasts boomed out ahead of them, then the driver of the large ground freighter advanced on the remaining three CSF Enforcers, backed by two others truckers. Dakota nodded toward Hallam and Dr. Rand, and they made a run for it, reaching the drop-ship as yelps of pain filled the air behind them.

“Get it started,” said Hallam, moving up behind the wreckage of the second drop-ship and peering back at the remaining combatants. Two of the other freighter drivers had been hit and were lying on the deck, one grasping his thigh and the other his shoulder. The driver of the larger freighter was now on his knees, shotgun discarded by his side. Blood was flowing down his temple.

“Hal, get in, we don’t have much time!” Dakota called over from the pilot’s seat of the drop-ship. Its four rotor blades were already starting to spin up.

Hallam didn’t answer and continued to watch the three CSF enforcers closely. The lead enforcer was moving toward the driver, weapon aimed at his head. The enforcer kicked the man to the ground and began to beat him before the other enforcer joined in.

“Hal, come on!” Dakota yelled again.

Hallam cursed for the fourth time that day – a record for him – then got up and leant against the wreckage of the drop-ship. Taking careful aim, he took several deep breaths, held the next one, then fired. The lead enforcer dropped, clutching his backside. The other two CSF heavies scrambled away from the prone freighter driver, weapons raised, searching for the shooter. Hallam aimed again, took another deep breath, then fired a second shot. The bullet struck one of the enforcers in the calf, sending him down like a cheating soccer player who was diving to get a penalty. The remaining enforcer then spotted Hallam and opened fire, forcing him back into cover. Hallam could still hear Dakota’s pleas for him to get on-board the drop-ship. However, the freighter driver had put his life on the line for them, and Hallam wasn’t going to leave him stranded.

Leaning up against the wreckage again, Hallam took aim with his final round, ignoring the bullets that were ricocheting off the metal all around him. He held his breath and fired, but this time, the shot flew wide. A fraction of a second later, he saw a red dot land on his chest and he braced himself to take a bullet, but the shot did not come. Instead, the final enforcer was sprawled out on the tarmac, face down. Standing above him was the freighter driver, shaking his hand.

“Thanks, pal!” the driver called out, kicking the enforcer’s weapon away. “Now get gone. I’ll tie these assholes up and make sure they don’t follow you.”

Hallam saluted the driver then rushed back to the drop-ship. He was about to climb inside, when he saw the teenaged clerk through the smashed glass store front, still watching his TV show, and laughed.

“What the hell is so funny?” said Dakota, staring at Hallam with wide eyes.

“It’s funny how some people are willing to put their lives on the line to help a stranger,” said Hallam, thinking of the freighter driver and his act of bravery. Then he glanced at the clerk again. “While others are content to watch TV while the world falls apart around them.”

“How very poetic,” Dakota replied sarcastically while lifting the drop-ship into the air.

“Whether they care or not, and whether they deserve it or not, it is still our job to save them, Mr. Knight,” said Dr. Rand, speaking again as the leader of the Darkspace Renegades. “Because if we do not, then no one will.”

Hallam rested back in the seat and watched the sun steadily drop lower over the horizon, while also reflecting on Dr. Rand’s words. Cad Rikkard came back into his mind, for the first time since he had seen the mercenary’s face on the TV screen in Foley’s Diner. Rikkard certainly qualified as someone who didn’t merit saving, Hallam thought to himself. He wondered in that moment, if it had been Cad Rikkard instead of the freighter driver on his knees in front of the enforcers, would he have intervened? And he was shocked to discover that the answer to his question was no.

Hallam sighed then allowed his eyes to close, listening to the almost hypnotic beat of the drop-ship’s quad rotors. He knew that more struggles and hard choices still lay ahead of them. Choices that would ultimately determine who lived and who died. Which side of that divide he, Dakota, and Dr. Rand would land on was something they’d all discover in time. And for better or worse, he also knew that Cad Rikkard still had a part to play in the final destiny of the bridge worlds.

9

Dakota circled their stolen Enforcer drop-ship low around the builder’s yard that doubled as a Darkspace Renegade outpost. None of them had ever visited this particular outpost, not even Dr. Rand, and from what Hallam could see from the air, it looked to be deserted and in poor condition.

“I’d say this place has already been looted,” said Dakota, swinging the quad-rotor craft around for another pass. “Sections of the walls look to have been busted open, and I can’t see any commercial vehicles in the yard, which means they were probably stolen.”

Hallam could also see the damage to the exterior walls and fences that Dakota had pointed out. The whole site was vast, however, comprising ten large warehouses and five uncovered yards. Night had fallen during their journey to the outpost, and with the cloud-covered sky delivering a persistent, driving rain, the deserted outpost was a bleak sight to behold.

“This place reminds me of the rogue world,” said Hallam, shivering at the thought of that dark, stormy planet and its violent natural inhabitants.

“Jeez, Hal, I’d managed to forget about that hellish planet,” said Dakota, bringing them in to land in one of the open yards close to the main office block. “Thanks for reminding me about those creatures too. If I wake up screaming tonight, I’ll have you to thank.”

The landing struts of the CSF drop-ship touched down on the gravel and Dakota shut down the quad-rotor flying machine. Due to Dr. Rand’s recently-acquired ability to hack the CSF systems, thanks to some impromptu training from Falken before the hacker came to an unfortunate end, they had not been tracked to the yard. However, the rainy night sky above the city of Holsten was still alive with other CSF drop-ships, prowling the metropolis for signs of unrest, which had been growing more widespread as night had rolled in.

Hallam stepped out into the rain, carrying the sidearm he’d acquired from the CSF Enforcer back at the rest-stop. The drop-ship was compact and didn’t contain much in the way of equipment and ammunition, but its meagre stores had contained a spare magazine to re-load the weapon. Mercifully, considering the miserable weather, there had also been some CSF-issue trench coats. They were all black and ankle-length, which made Hallam, Dakota, and Dr. Rand look like a group of Gestapo officers. Yet, given the choice of the authoritarian-looking garments or getting soaked to the bone, they all chose comfort over appearances.

“Any idea where we should look first, Doc?” said Hallam, blinking water out of his eyes.

“On this occasion, your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Knight,” replied Dr. Rand. Hallam chuckled at the “on this occasion” part, though let it slide. “I would suggest we check inside the main administrative office first,” the scientist then added.

“That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” replied Hallam. “Great minds, huh?”

Dr. Rand frowned wearily. “Indeed, Mr. Knight. Though perhaps your great mind could lead the way, so we can all get out of this rain?”

Hallam moved out ahead, with Dakota covering their rear, still armed with the pump-action shotgun donated by the owner of the diner in Prospect’s Ridge. The place seemed even more eerie on foot, Hallam thought, jumping at the sound of warehouse doors banging in the wind. Damaged overhead lamps flickered chaotically, casting random, evil-looking shadows everywhere he looked. Hallam almost expected one of the reptilian monsters from the rogue world to charge out at him at any moment, and was glad when he finally reached the door to the administrative office building. Hallam then saw the name over the door and laughed out loud.

“CBP…” said Hallam, pointing to the sign above the door. “Consortium Building Products. You put a Darkspace Renegade outpost in one of Doyle’s own businesses?”

“I’m sure it comes as no surprise to you, Mr. Knight, that a great many of the Consortium’s employees are less than satisfied with their employer,” said Dr. Rand, pulling the hood of her trench coat further forward. “However, it took many years to position people in places of authority, where we could conduct our operations without raising suspicion.”

“Do you know the leader of this outpost?” asked Dakota, moving up to the wall, which offered some respite from the driving rain.

“From memory, I do not,” said Dr. Rand, peering around the bleak builders’ yard. “Vediovis was never a preferred destination of mine.”

Hallam tried to force the main door open, but it wouldn’t budge. He checked the lock, but it appeared to have been busted open at some point in the past, and the door was now barred shut from the inside.

“We’ll have to find another way in,” said Hallam, moving around the side of the building and scouting the walls for other entry points. Then he saw a smashed window on the second level, where the security bars appeared to have been cut away. There was a rickety-looking fire escape leading up to it. “Hang tight here, I’ll head in through that window and open the door from the inside,” said Hallam.

“Try to be a little more discreet, this time…” said Dakota, raising her eyebrows at him.

“The guy came back for his soda; what could I do?” Hallam hit back, annoyed that Dakota was still mad about the incident at the rest-stop.

“Could you please discreetly get a move on, Mr. Knight,” said Dr. Rand, talking to them like a teacher that was trying to stop two disruptive pupils from nattering in class. “I am not fond of the rain…”

Hallam shoved his pistol into the pocket of his long trench coat, ensuring the safety was on first, and began to climb the metal staircase. Thanks to the rain and accumulation of dust and dirt from the yard, it was slippery and felt unstable, as if it had not been properly maintained for years. After a cautious climb, he reached the window and hauled himself through the opening. The inside of the office building was no more welcoming than the yard outside, and now it was clear that the place had already been ransacked by looters. Windows of office units were smashed, and desks had been plundered, with all of the computer terminals cut free from their security locks and stolen.

Hallam headed toward the staircase to the lower level but stopped alongside a corner office. There was a plaque on the door that read “Gene Byers, General Manager.” Hallam tried the door and found that, like most of the others, it had been forced open. Pulling the pistol out of his pocket, he flipped off the safety and cautiously moved inside, checking the corners. However, the room was empty. He was about to leave when he saw a mug on the desk that appeared to have steam drifting up from inside it. Hallam moved over to it and picked it up. The mug was warm and the contents smelled like freshly-brewed coffee. His pulse started to climb and he placed the mug down before stalking back to the door. Head on a swivel, he stepped as quietly as he could across the landing and began to descend the stairs to the lower level. It was clear to him that there was someone still inside, and that this someone had beat a hasty retreat when Hallam entered. Considering the size of the building and lack of light, he figured that three pairs of eyes looking for the occupant would be better than one. Also, he didn’t want to get ambushed while the others were still stuck outside.

Reaching the door to the yard, Hallam saw the large metal bolt that was sealing it shut. It was clearly a DIY addition, added by someone after the lock had been broken, as a makeshift measure to secure the building. Checking around him again, he reached down with one hand, trying to slide the bolt open, but it would not budge. Cursing under his breath, he put the pistol back into his pocket and placed both hands on the bolt, which was large enough to secure a vault door, never mind the fairly standard external door of the warehouse. Then, as the bolt began to slide, he saw movement in his peripheral vision, diffusely reflected in the metal of the door. Hallam spun around and ducked moments before an object that had been swung at his head clanged into the door, creating a clash like thunder. Hallam could hear Dakota yelling on the other side, but there was no time to respond. A split-second later, the object, which Hallam now saw was a crowbar, was swung at him again. This time, he caught the attacker’s arm and twisted it, then pushed his back into the man’s chest and threw him to the ground. The crowbar clattered away across the hard floor and came to rest somewhere in the shadows, out of sight. Hallam’s assailant recovered with impressive speed, raised his guard, then launched another attack, but this time, Hallam was ready. Blocking a flurry of strikes, Hallam countered to the body, then threw the man against the metal door and hammered him with a left hook, followed by a crushing uppercut that sent him down.

Hallam stepped back and pulled the pistol out of his trench coat pocket, aiming it at the man’s chest.

“Go on then, CSF scum, get it over with!” the man yelled, blood trickling from his nose and lip.

“I’m not an enforcer,” said Hallam, trying to steady his voice and remain calm. “I’m with the Darkspace Renegades.”

The man laughed and spat blood onto the floor between his splayed legs. “Really? Last time I checked, renegades didn’t go around in CSF trench coats, armed with CSF-issue sidearms.”

Hallam lowered the weapon a touch, realizing how his appearance probably wasn’t helping his cause. “Dr. Rand is right outside that door, along with my partner,” he said, pointing to the bolt. “Open it, and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

The man laughed again and shook his head. “Sure, I open that door and a dozen more enforcers pile in. Your hired guns already killed half of my team, and the rest are rotting in cells or CSF gulags somewhere in the Darkspace. So spare me the lies and just kill me already.”

Hallam moved around to the other side of the man, still keeping the weapon loosely trained on him. He may have been down, but he clearly had skills and remained dangerous.

“See for yourself,” said Hallam, kicking the bolt open with his boot. “Now back away from the door.” The man did as he was ordered and the door flung open.

“What the hell is going on in here?” yelled Dakota, rushing in, shotgun held ready.

The man then scrambled into the shadows and returned with the crowbar in hand. He sprang up and rushed toward Dakota. Her eyes grew wide and she blocked the wild attack with the shotgun, then kicked the man between the legs, sending him down to his knees, hands pressed to his groin.

“You won’t… take me… alive…” the man moaned, water from his streaming eyes mixing with the blood from his nose.

Then Dr. Rand walked in and calmly closed the door behind her, bolting it shut again. The man’s eyes fell on the scientist and the recognition was immediate.

“Falling on your sword is a noble, if antiquated sentiment,” said Dr. Rand with her usual cool, measured delivery. “However, I would rather you did not, as I very much need you alive.”

10

The sudden appearance of Dr. Rand had convinced Hallam’s assailant that they weren’t all a group of CSF enforcer heavies, looking to murder him. Then, after recovering the ability to speak following Dakota’s low-blow, he’d introduced himself as the yard’s former general manager and leader of the renegade outpost, Gene Byers. They were all now sat in Gene Byers’ office on the second floor, waiting for him to return with a round of hot drinks to soothe away the cold and wet of the night.

“Here we are,” said Gene Byers, setting a tray down onto his desk containing four steaming-hot mugs. He passed a mug of coffee each to Dakota and Dr. Rand, then a mug of tea to Hallam – which, to his delight, actually looked like tea – before taking the final coffee for himself. Gene then flopped down into his high-backed manager’s chair opposite them and slid open his top desk drawer.

“Would anyone care to spice up their drinks a little?” Gene said, setting a bottle of brandy on the desk.

Dr. Rand smiled and slid her mug forward. “Thank you, Mr. Byers. That would certainly be much needed right now.”

Gene Byers poured a healthy slug of brandy into Dr. Rand’s coffee, then added a slightly larger measure to his own. Dakota then held her mug out to the outpost leader, but Dr. Rand scowled at her.

“I believe you’re flying, are you not, Miss Wulfrun?” the scientist said in a transparently accusatory manner. Dakota’s face fell and she slid the mug away.

“If I could fly that damn quad-rotor, I’d take the next shift for you,” said Hallam, declining a shot by putting a hand over his mug when Gene offered the bottle to him.

“Well, if we can find an actual starship somewhere around here, you can definitely take the pilot’s chair. I could use the break,” said Dakota. She then took a sip of coffee, and her face lit up as the dark liquid passed her lips. “Wow, this is great,” she said, taking another sip. “It’s been so long since we’ve had decent coffee, I’d forgotten what it tasted like.”

Hallam snorted a laugh. “Given your taste in food, I’m surprised you can tell the difference between that and a hot cup of mud.” He took an elbow to the ribs for his trouble, causing him to spill his tea in his lap. He then hopped around in his chair, dabbing the scalding hot patches of hot liquid, as if the seat cushion were covered in thumb tacks.

“You need a ship?” said Gene, his eyes narrowing. “Is that why you’re here?”

Dr. Rand set her mug down, becoming suddenly serious. “Our vessel was taken by the mercenaries who attacked your outpost,” she said, the tone of her voice immediately transforming the meeting into a more businesslike occasion. “It is imperative that we find a ship capable of bridge travel so that I can modify its systems and reach the Centrum before the bridges all collapse.”

Gene set his coffee down and took a shot directly from the brandy bottle instead. Letting out a soothing gasp, the outpost leader then reclined in his high-backed chair, deep in thought. Besides the marks on his face from the fight with Hallam, the dark circles under Gene’s eyes suggested that the man had been hiding out from the Consortium enforcer squads for some time.

“We were working on a heavy fighter when the mercenaries attacked,” said Gene, rubbing his eyes. “I set aside one of the warehouses toward the back of the yard as a temporary hangar. I’d designated it as a condemned building, full of all sorts of nasty chemicals, so no one, including the CSF, would go snooping around.”

“Is the ship still there?” said Hallam, feeling a swell of hope, which Gene immediately crushed.

“No, when the CSF raided the place after the mercenaries left, it was seized and moved to a CSF impound, a hundred or so miles out in the sticks.”

Hallam glanced at Dr. Rand, who seemed to understand his thinking. She pulled out the napkin with the address of the boneyard that Lucille from the diner had given them.

“Is this the location?” said Dr. Rand, sliding the napkin toward Gene. The outpost leader leant forward, read the address, then nodded to Dr. Rand before flopping back in the seat again. “Yeah, that’s it. It’s more of a boneyard than anything else these days. They’ve probably already stripped that fighter for parts, given how valuable Shelby Drive tech is.”

Hallam stood up, screeching his chair back across the floor. The swell of hope that he’d felt earlier was back, with a vengeance. “It’s still our best chance by far,” he said, glancing down at Dr. Rand. “It will not only have a Shelby Drive system, but one of your modified self-bridging models. It’s perfect.”

Gene Byers sighed, looking far less enthusiastic than Hallam was. “I guess there’s an outside chance it’s still there, considering this planet is going crazy right now,” the outpost leader commented with a shrug. After what the CSF and those mercs did here, and to the other hideouts and outposts, I’m not hopeful, though. Enforcer squads have been out looking for me for days.”

Dr. Rand motioned for Hallam to sit down again, which he did reluctantly. He just wanted to get moving again, but Dr. Rand’s desolate eyes told him there was still more she needed to know.

“Did any from this outpost escape, Mr. Byers?” said Dr. Rand. Hallam could detect signs of strain in the scientist’s voice. He had not considered how the loss of so many renegade sympathizers – perhaps even people she had known – might have affected her. “Have you heard anything from other outposts or hideouts?”

“I’ve heard very little, I’m afraid,” said Gene, the sadness also apparent in his voice. He pulled a set of key fobs out of his pocket, unlocked the lower drawer in his desk, then slid a communications disc over to Dr. Rand. Hallam recognized it as one of the two-way communications devices that Dr. Rand had developed to use bridge space as the transmission medium. “I tried to raise some of the other bases and leaders, but all the channels are dead.”

Dr. Rand nodded and picked up the disc. “The standing order was to destroy these discs in the event of likely capture or evacuation,” she said, turning the small object over in her hand. “Should Doyle have gotten hold of one, his scientific teams could have deciphered how they worked and tracked the locations of the hideouts.”

“Shouldn’t you have destroyed yours, then?” said Hallam. He came across sounding more accusatory than he’d intended, and the irritated expression on Gene’s face suggested he’d taken offense.

“I am not yet dead, or captured,” the outpost leader hit back. He then took another slug of brandy from the bottle while still glaring at Hallam.

“Wait, I am receiving data from this device,” said Dr. Rand, who had removed her palm computer during the time Hallam had unintentionally insulted the leader of the outpost. “There is information hidden in the carrier signal. It is encrypted, but I believe I can decipher it. The pattern is familiar.”

Dakota leaned a little closer, eager to learn more about Dr. Rand’s discovery. “How long will it take for you to crack it?” she asked.

“I already have,” said Dr. Rand, though she had not meant this boastfully. “It is a beacon from a renegade output, but one that was originally abandoned during construction. Tidal friction between the moon and the rogue planet was generating frequent seismic activity, and we did not believe it was stable enough for a hideout.”

Hallam scowled. “Tidal what-now?”

Dr. Rand sighed and rolled her eyes. “The important takeaway, Mr. Knight, is that we may still have support out in the Darkspace. I am sending my personal code back on the same carrier frequency. Hopefully, whoever is there will be able to detect it.”

Gene leant forward again and raised the bottle of brandy, as if to propose a toast. “Well, that sounds like something worth drinking to,” he said, with a modicum more enthusiasm.

Hallam was about to raise his mug of tea to chink the bottle when the beat of rotor blades started to bleed in through the windows of the office.

“Enforcers?” said Hallam, immediately getting to his feet and rushing to the window. Peeling the shutters back, he saw the familiar quad-rotor design of a CSF Enforcer drop-ship looming in the darkness outside.

“Relax, they buzz over here every once in a while,” said Gene, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Except this time, there’s another CSF Enforcer drop-ship parked in one of your yards,” said Dakota, grabbing her shotgun and moving over besides Hallam.

“Do you have any other weapons?” said Hallam, realizing that a shotgun and pistol with a single magazine of ammunition wasn’t going to help them against a full-squad of enforcers. And this time, there were no helpful freighter drivers in sight.

“If I had, then I wouldn’t have come at you with a damn crowbar, would I?” said Gene, scrambling out of his plush office seat and also peering through the window.

Hallam forgave Gene his peeved reaction, on account of the fact that they had just put him in danger. And as he watched the drop-ship descend into the yard outside, he also realized they’d need his help again, if they were going to escape unscathed.

11

Gene Byers ran into the corridor outside his office and threw a breaker switch in a cabinet on the wall. The flickering external lights in the yard outside all went dead, and a series of powerful floodlights thumped on in their place.

“The enforcer squads use night vision visors, so this should help to even the odds,” said Gene, running back inside the office.

With the floodlights on, Hallam could now clearly see that two enforcer drop-ships had landed in the yard closest to the office building they were in. Eight enforcers had jumped out of the vessels and were hastily taking cover behind stacks of timber and sacks of other building materials. Two had gone to check on the stolen drop-ship, but were already moving back to join their squad after discovering it was empty.

“Can you kill the floodlights that are specifically shining down on those Enforcer drop-ships?” said Hallam, glancing back at Gene.

The man shrugged. “Yeah, I think so, but why would you want to do that?”

“If you can keep those squads distracted and lead them on a wild goose chase away from the drop-ships, I’ll try to sabotage their vessels,” said Hallam, again forced to think on his feet. “My guess is that Dexter Stone will want us alive. Or at least he’ll want Dr. Rand alive. So they’ll not come at us all guns blazing.”

“That certainly wasn’t the case at the rest stop,” said Dakota, looking doubtful about Hallam’s plan.

“Back there, the enforcers didn’t know who we were,” replied Hallam, having already thought that part through. “I laid out the enforcer that recognized me in the store before he could alert his squad. The other enforcers would have assumed I was a looter or random outlaw. But if the CSF already knew this place was a renegade outpost, they’ll be expecting to find us here.”

Dakota looked convinced, and together they turned to Dr. Rand, who had been quietly listening to their exchange.

“Very well, Mr. Byers will help to keep us one step ahead of the enforcer squads, while Mr. Knight takes out their drop-ships,” she announced after spending a few moments to consider their options, such as they were.

Hallam nodded enthusiastically and moved out into the corridor. Dr. Rand’s confidence in his strategy helped to bolster his own conviction that it would work. Despite being the one to propose the idea, he was under no illusion of the risks his plan involved.

“I’ll head out through the fire-escape again,” Hallam said. Then he turned to Gene Byers. “Hopefully, you know this place well enough to keep everyone out of the enforcers’ line of fire?”

“I can take us out through the basement level, and then head to the warehouse I requisitioned as a hangar,” Gene replied with the most enthusiasm he’d shown since they’d met him. “I set up a few small booby traps in and around that building that should certainly keep those heavies on their toes.”

Hallam removed his sidearm from his pocket and pressed it into Gene’s hand. “Here, take this. You’ll need it more than me.”

“Hal, that’ll leave you unarmed,” said Dakota, not even trying to hide her agitation. “It’s too risky.”

“Don’t worry, Dak. I’ll take Gene’s crowbar,” Hallam replied, though the look on Dakota’s face told him she wasn’t reassured – or amused – by that suggestion. “Just circle around to our drop-ship as soon as you can,” Hallam added while backing up along the corridor to the room where he’d entered the building. He didn’t want to give Dakota any more opportunity to protest, since time was already short.

“We need a signal,” said Dakota, having to raise her voice so that Hallam could hear her. “How will we know when you’re ready?”

“You’ll know…” Hallam called back. “If what I have in mind works, it should be obvious to everyone within half a mile of the yard,” he added.

Hallam swung inside the room with the broken window and climbed out onto the rickety fire escape. As he began his descent down the grime-covered steps, the floodlights along the east side of the yard where the enforcer drop-ships had landed all shut down. However, with the other powerful lights still active, his planned route remained partially illuminated, meaning that he’d still have to proceed with caution. Hallam already felt exposed. Every clack of his heels on the metal steps and every creak of the hinges felt like he was sending up a flare to the enforcers stalking outside. And although he couldn’t see them, he could hear them getting closer.

Reaching the foot of the stairwell, Hallam ran toward the trees that lined the boundary of the yard, just beyond the perimeter wall, and moved slowly forward. There was a crash as one of the enforcers broke down the door of the office building with a hand-held battering ram. A squad of four CSF Enforcers then rushed inside. He could hear the shouts and see the flicker of flashlights through the windows, and tried to push his concerns for Dakota and the others from his mind.

The remaining four enforcers remained outside, splitting up into two groups of two. One of the groups began to move around the side of the building toward him, and Hallam ran behind a stack of piled up cement bags to stay out of sight. The two enforcer drop-ships were parked on the closest open yard, separated from Hallam by dozens of rows of bricks and breeze blocks, piled three meters high. Beyond those were rows of five-meter racking containing other building materials and equipment. It was a maze of obstacles, but Hallam hoped it would provide effective cover too.

Waiting for an opportune moment, Hallam hurried across the yard, keeping as low as possible, and slid in behind a stack of concrete blocks. Chancing a look toward the enforcers still scouting around outside, he saw that one had turned back in his direction, and he quickly ducked out of sight again. Crap, that was close… he thought to himself, scuttling in behind the next stack of blocks. It was like a high-stakes game of hide and seek, except that if he was caught, he’d end up incarcerated, or dead.

Chancing another quick look toward the enforcers, Hallam saw that their backs were now turned to him. He rushed out ahead to the next stack of blocks and pressed his back up against them, feeling the stack wobble as he did so. Fearing being crushed beneath an avalanche of concrete, Hallam spun around and raised his hands in case a loose block was about to fall onto his head. Instead, he got a face full of dust, which fell into his eyes and mouth and nose. He coughed and covered his mouth with his sleeve, trying to stifle any further noises, but the irritation was too severe and he sneezed. Hallam cursed then froze, listening through the sound of the rain pattering down around him for any sign the enforcers had heard him. Anxious seconds ticked by and he closed his eyes, concentrating hard to shut out the rain and focus on other sounds. Then he heard the tell-tale thump of bootsteps cautiously crunching through the coarse gravel surface of the yard, each crunch growing louder and closer.

12

Hallam cursed and clawed the dust and dirt from his eyes, all the while conscious that the enforcer was drawing closer. He gripped the crowbar more tightly and chanced another look around the stack of concrete blocks, then wished he hadn’t. The enforcer was barely twenty meters away, and Hallam had practically looked the man square in the eyes.

“Hey, come out with your hands up!” the enforcer yelled, but Hallam had already run, weaving a chaotic path through the stacks of concrete towers, like a football player doing a zig-zag drill. Suddenly, his boots slipped from under him on the wet gravel and he tumbled into a stack of blocks. Pushing himself up, he scrambled back into cover. Cursing again, Hallam realized he’d instinctively let go of the crowbar when he broke his fall with his hands. However, there was no time to retrieve the crude weapon. Shouts and more barked orders from the enforcers were cutting through the soft patter of rain. Some of the shouts were more distant and Hallam felt panic grip him, concerned that Dakota and Dr. Rand had been discovered. Then there was an explosion, close the warehouse on the opposite side of the yard. It wasn’t big, sounding more like the pop of a gas canister exploding than an actual bomb, but it was enough to turn the stealthy game of cat and mouse into an open manhunt.

Hallam checked his distance to the two enemy drop-ships, but with the enforcers on his tail, he needed to improvise his plan. Moving swiftly, Hallam slipped between a row of shelf racks and ducked down, trying to catch sight of his pursuer. The enforcer was stalking toward him, weapon raised but eyes down, apparently following the scuff marks in the coarse gravel surface, where Hallam had moved. A second enforcer was also approaching, but the rest were still out of Hallam’s field of view.

Gunshots in the distance caused the two enforcers to spin around and hurriedly talk into their radios. Hallam used the opportunity to inspect the area around him and saw a ladder leading up to the mid-level of the shelf-rack. He scrambled up it while the enforcers’ backs were turned and pressed himself against bags of cement, above where his heavy combat boots had left a trail in the gravel. The closest enforcer finished speaking to his squad mates then resumed his search, moving quickly between the rows of concrete blocks while sweeping his pistol from side to side, finger on the trigger. Still following the tracks Hallam had left in the gravel, the enforcer moved directly beneath where Hallam lay in wait, like a spider ready to pounce. Bracing himself against the thick steel frame of the rack, Hallam pushed with all his strength, toppling several of the heavy sacks from the level above. Alerted by the scraping noise of the sacks dragging across the rack, the enforcer looked up and raised his hands, but it was too late. The man was flattened beneath the falling objects, like a snail stomped on by a boot.

More gunshots filled the air and Hallam instinctively ducked into cover. Bullets pinged off the metal frame of the shelf rack and thudded into the heavy sacks, which protected Hallam like sandbags. He jumped down from the shelf, rolling through the fall, but still felt pain bite into his knees and elbows, despite the limited protection offered by his renegade armor. Faster, heavier bootsteps approached, and Hallam made a choice. Instead of running away from the sound, he turned on his heels and sprinted toward it, through the passageway between the two shelving racks. An enforcer appeared at the entrance, and his eyes widened in shock, clearly not expecting to find an armor-clad Darkspace Renegade charging at him at full throttle. The enforcer’s weapon discharged, but Hallam had already tackled the man, spearing him through the midsection with his armored shoulder. Both of them skidded across the sodden gravel surface, but Hallam could see that the enforcer had come off far worse from their encounter.

Hallam pushed himself up and scrambled to where the enforcer’s sidearm had spun away after being tackled. The injured CSF heavy was down for the count, but two other enforcers were already rushing toward him, weapons raised. Neither appeared willing to risk taking a shot with their partner in the firing line. Hallam used their moment of indecision to his advantage, firing several shots at each of them. One of the enforcers went down, hit in the thigh, but the other rushed behind a stack of steel girders and took cover.

Hallam moved again, racing into the passageway between the next two rows of shelving racks. He then threaded himself through gaps in the piled-up building materials to make his way over to the drop-ships. He still had the other enforcer to worry about, but his priority was to disable their vessels so that they couldn’t pursue. Jumping into the cabin of the first drop-ship, Hallam slid into the pilot’s seat. Seeing the control key fob still attached to the console, he breathed a sigh of relief and touched the device to start the engines. Then Hallam peered at the controls and his face fell, realizing he didn’t know how to fly the machine. He’d gone through some basic training on rotary wing and tilt-rotor aircraft during his time with the CSF. However, that was many years ago, and his unfamiliarity with the cockpit layout brought that fact home hard.

“How tough can it be?” Hallam commented out loud, flicking switches randomly. “Besides, I don’t need to fly the damn thing, just crash it…” he continued, still chatting to himself.

Bullets ricocheted off the cockpit glass, and again Hallam ducked instinctively. Two more enforcers were approaching, yelling at Hallam to get out of the drop-ship. Leaning out of the door, he returned fire with the pistol, scattering the two CSF heavies before the weapon clicked empty. Cursing, he tossed it into the dirt and focused on the controls, increasing power to the rotors and lifting the craft of the ground by a few inches. Bullets again started to hammer into the drop-ship’s windows and hull, but the craft was hardened against small arms fire. Hallam knew he was safe, so long as he stayed inside the cockpit. Unfortunately, his plan wasn’t to remain in the cockpit. In fact, his plan very much relied on being able to get out of the cockpit again, in one piece.

Lifting the aircraft higher, Hallam tried to aim the drop-ship at the second enforcer craft, which was sitting on the gravel a few meters away. However, instead of flying toward the second enforcer ship, the vessel slid backward, knocking into a five-meter-tall shelf rack. The shelf rack toppled, slamming into the next rack, which toppled the next and the next, like a stack of dominos falling. Gritting his teeth, Hallam adjusted the controls, but this time veered off wildly toward the two enforcers, who both darted for cover. Unable to stop the vessel, the drop-ship slammed into the stack of steel girders that one of the enforcers had hidden behind. There was an anguished cry as the heavy metal beams collapsed onto him. Then Hallam winced as the cries were quickly snuffed out under several tons of metal.

The second enforcer grabbed hold of the craft’s forward landing strut and tried to haul himself in through the open cockpit door. A pistol was thrust inside the cabin, but Hallam managed to grab the man’s hand and deflect the shot, which smashed through his control console. Alarms rang out inside the drop-ship and the controls became erratic. The enforcer had now managed to pull himself inside the cabin, but Hallam held on to the man’s weapon like a limpet, knowing that if he let go, it would cost him his life. Another shot rang out, deafening in the confines of the cabin, and more controls sparked and crackled into flames. Letting go of the controls, Hallam hammered a punch into the enforcer’s face, stunning him enough to yank the pistol out of his grasp. Then a swift counter from the enforcer made him drop the weapon, which tumbled into the footwell of the pilot’s seat.

“Land this damn ship!” the enforcer growled, hammering a second punch to the side of Hallam’s face.

The ship was now spinning around in the middle of the yard like a plate on a stick. Hallam took another punch to the face, which only served to enrage him. Blocking the next attack, Hallam then hammered a succession of powerful strikes into the nose of the enforcer. The man lolled back, heavily dazed from the brutal onslaught, and slid out of the cabin. Moments later, the body of the unconscious enforcer slammed into the sodden gravel and lay in a twisted heap like a broken puppet.

In the near distance, Hallam could see Dakota, Dr. Rand, and Gene Byers running toward their own stolen drop-ship. Dakota and Gene Byers were firing at what remained of the enforcer squads, who were following some way behind. Gritting his teeth, Hallam grabbed the controls again, bizarrely starting to get more of a feel for the craft, and set it on a course directly for the second enforcer drop-ship. Panic swelled in his gut as he realized the two ships were about to collide, and he grabbed the harness of the seat, bracing himself as best he could. The impact of the collision winded him like a gut punch, and his face was stung by falling glass and the spit of electrical fires sparking out all around him. A few seconds later, the drop-ship ground to a stop, and Hallam clawed himself toward the door, shaking his head to regain his senses and coughing from the smoke that was starting to fill his lungs.

Hallam flopped out onto the ground and scrambled away from the burning wreckage of the drop-ships. Still dazed and winded, he ran for Dakota and the others, then the fuel ignited and an explosion sent him hurtling through the air. He landed hard and skidded across the gravel like a motorcycle racer that had taken a corner too quickly, ending up on his back, feeling like he’d just gone twelve rounds with Tyson Fury. He felt hands lifting him up and saw Dr. Rand hauling him to his feet. The crack of pistol fire and boom of a shotgun masked any words she was trying to speak to him, but he could guess what she was likely saying. It was no doubt something along the lines of “Get up!” and “Come on!”, though delivered with the calm, authoritative tenor the scientist was famous for.

Bullets danced off the gravel around them and Hallam forced himself onto his feet and inside their stolen drop-ship. Dropping into the rear seat, he saw Dakota pile inside and start the engines, glancing back at him with concerned eyes.

“That was really stupid!” she yelled, turning her attention to the controls.

“It worked, didn’t it?” replied Hallam between harsh, hacking coughs.

Dr. Rand entered next and pulled the door partially shut, using it as a shield against the incoming fire.

“Mr. Byers, you must get in!” the scientist called out to the leader of the renegade outpost.

“Go! Get out of here!” Gene Byers called back, continuing to hold his ground. He was using the shotgun to hold off the enforcers, and Hallam realized Dakota must have handed it to him before she boarded the vessel.

“Gene, get in, damn it!” Dakota shouted out through her open door, but still the renegade leader held fast.

Dr. Rand slid her door back, ready to jump out, but then Gene Byers was hit and knocked to the gravel floor. Hallam peered out of the window and saw the man staring blankly up into the drizzling night sky, a single bullet hole to his temple.

“He’s gone, Doc!” cried Hallam, grabbing hold of Dr. Rand’s shoulders to make sure she didn’t run to the renegade’s aid.

Dr. Rand slammed the door shut then hammered the console in front of her in a rare display of emotion and aggression. “Take off, Miss Wulfrun,” Dr. Rand said over the sound of bullets rattling off the drop-ship’s armor. “There is nothing we can do now. We must go.”

Dakota growled out of anger and frustration then lifted the drop-ship into the air like a rocket. Within seconds, they had flown beyond the perimeter walls of the builder’s yard, and soon they were merely a fast-moving blur in the rainy night sky.

13

Cad Rikkard’s fighter dropped out of bridge space just under a thousand kilometers from Epsilon Station near the pharma-planet of Orcus. Alexis Black arrived seconds later, dropping out of bridge space a kilometer from Cad’s position. This was far closer than usual, thanks to their recent and phenomenally expensive upgrades, courtesy of the Banker.

“Whatever the Banker did really improved the navigational accuracy of the bridge drive, as well as everything else,” said Alexis, immediately adjusting course to form up on Cad’s wing.

“I should think so, considering what they cost,” grumbled Cad. Then his computer bleeped an alert, registering the station’s defensive platforms. “It’s the upgrades to our defensive and offensive systems I care about, though,” he added.

“I’m picking up four perimeter defense satellites, stationed a kilometer from Epsilon Station on each major axis,” Alexis continued, appearing out of the inky blackness of space on Cad’s right side. “We’ll need to take those out before we attack the station.”

“If the Banker was telling the truth about these new stealth upgrades, we shouldn’t be detected until we get within a hundred kliks, minimum,” said Cad, locking on to the sentry satellites above the poles of the station. “I’ll deal with the sentries above and below the station, while you take out the other two,” he added, arming his missiles. Cad glanced across to Alexis’ ship, spotting her missiles also drop down from concealed stows inside the fighter’s wings. “If we go in hard and fast, we can still turn and burn back to the station before the CSF or those morons from Spettro manage to launch.”

Back on Janus, the Banker had told Cad and Alexis about how the mercenary group, Spettro, was using Epsilon Station as their base of operations. The enigmatic member of the galaxy’s ultra-rich nobility had also advised Cad to give it a wide berth as a result. However, Cad was tired of running from Dexter Stone and those the Consortium leader had charged to hunt him down.

Cad’s plan was simple – destroy Spettro and send Stone a message to back off, or else. He admitted to being unfamiliar with the Consortium’s new boss, though from his reputation, Cad doubted Stone would heed such a warning. However, even if the commandant and leader didn’t limp away with his tail between his legs, Cad still judged the attack to be worth the risk. A suitably brutal takedown of the galaxy’s current top guns would make the lesser mercenary groups think twice about coming for the Blackfire Squadron. This was despite the huge dollar value that had been placed on Cad’s head.

“Hard burn on my mark…” said Cad, adjusting the position of his foot, ready to press the thruster pedal all the way to the metal. “Three… two… one… engage!” he called over their private comm channel, then kicked the fighter into a full-power burn. The force of the thrust pressed him back into his seat, but thanks to his advanced power armor, he was still able to operate the vessel without the immense pressures impairing his ability to move or concentrate.

Epsilon Station grew rapidly from a glinting speck of light in the distance to a visible lump of metal in a matter of seconds. Cad’s targeting computer signaled that they were in range, and he squeezed the trigger, launching a full spread of four missiles, which snaked off in pairs toward their targets. On his scanner, he could see another four missiles, launched from Alexis’ ship, also break off and pursue their targets. Alarms then rang out inside his cockpit, and Cad checked his displays, noting that the station’s sentry turrets had acquired their stealthy mercenary ships. Cannon rounds erupted from the sentries’ spherical armored shells, and Cad saw four of their missiles blink and vanish from his scanner, shot down by the advanced space-based weapons. However, Cad understood how the sentries operated, and he also knew how to beat them. With the second missiles slipstreaming close behind the first, the sentries were unable to discern them as separate contacts. And by the time they did, it was already too late. Four bright flashes lit up the darkness above and to the sides of Epsilon Station as the sentries exploded in perfect unison. Cad and Alexis then shot past the space station like flashes of lightning, before Cad cut his burn, spun the ship around and decelerated, again slamming his foot to the metal.

“I’m seeing two CSF escort fighters flying patrol close to the station, and four heavy combat shuttles docked around the station’s central ring,” said Alexis. Cad could see the fierce exhaust flame from her engines on full burn in his peripheral vision. “Do you want to take the fighters or the Spettro ships?”

Cad cut his burn and set himself on a more leisurely course back to the space station, which was now unarmed, save for its fighter defense.

“I’ll take the Consortium fighters,” said Cad, accelerating ahead of Alexis. “I feel like venting my frustrations on Stone’s supposedly elite pilots,” he added, locking on to the CSF ships.

“Got it, moving in on the docked Spettro vessels,” replied Alexis. From the harder-edged tone of her voice, Cad knew Alexis had already switched modes. He then saw her armor shields raise up, ready for a close-range strafing run on the station.

Missile lock warnings flashed up on Cad’s screen, and he flicked on the newly-enhanced electronic countermeasures the Banker had installed. The alarm tone solidified into a long, low howl, signifying that the CSF fighters had fired, though Cad didn’t alter course. Let’s see if this equipment was worth bankrupting myself for… Cad thought to himself, remembering how their upgrades had cost him ownership of the priceless sword of Charlemagne. He didn’t care about the money, but he was still bitter about parting with the sword, and it was anger he intended to vent on the CSF fighters. Brow furrowed, Cad watched the missiles race toward him on his scanner. He maintained a tight grip on the control yoke, foot again placed on the thruster pedal, ready to burn hard should the new ECM systems prove inadequate to the task. Then the missiles suddenly veered away and vanished into the nothingness of Darkspace. Cad smiled, then lined up his cannons with the first target and opened fire. The CSF ship desperately tried to flee, realizing that its attack had failed, but it was already too late. The CSF fighter erupted into flames and a bright flash of light filled Cad’s cockpit.

A new target lock warning then flashed up on his screen. Cad checked the information and saw that the second Consortium fighter had not disengaged. Instead, it was pressing its attack, using guns only.

“Finally, someone from the CSF with guts,” said Cad, throwing his fighter into a series of evasive maneuvers. The CSF fighter fired burst after burst at Cad’s ship, but the cannon rounds simply snaked past him and vanished into the darkness. Thanks to his superior maneuverability, Cad was easily able to evade each attack. “Playtime is over, my friend,” sneered Cad, spinning his ship around and putting on a hard burst of speed. The CSF fighter shot past and Cad flipped his vessel, accelerating hard to stay on its tail. Now it was Cad’s turn to press the pursuit – the hunted had become the hunter.

Cad closed on his quarry, using his own considerable piloting talents and the mercenary fighter’s superior abilities to hone in on his target. Cad respected the enemy pilot’s skills and the fact that he had not run from the fight. However, the outcome had never been in question, at least not to Cad. Chasing down the fighter like a cheetah racing after a gazelle, Cad finally forced the CSF pilot into making a fatal error. He squeezed the trigger, sending a trail of light flashing through the emptiness of space. Each projectile landed directly on target, turning the fighter into a mass of fire and smoke.

Cad flew past the debris then turned back to the space station. Alexis’ armor-clad fighter was strafing the third of four Spettro armored shuttles that were docked at Epsilon Station, powerless to resist the Blackfire Squadron’s surprise onslaught.

“Leave that last one,” said Cad over the comm channel to Alexis. “I have an idea.”

Alexis aborted her attack run and formed up alongside Cad, her armor shields sliding back into their housings as she approached.

“I assume this idea doesn’t involve letting them go?” said Alexis, moving so close to Cad’s wing that he could see her face clearly through the glass.

“No, it’s more fun than that,” replied Cad. “I think you’ll like it.”

Cad then glanced down at his comms panel, taking his eyes of the station, and the three burning ships that were still partially tethered to its docking ring. He scrolled through the list of incoming communications that he’d ignored, all of which were either from Epsilon Station or other CSF patrols that were still too far out of range. Then he found the one he was looking for. Opening the channel, Cad rested back in his seat and peered out at the final Spettro vessel.

“Hello, Leandro, fancy seeing you here,” said Cad, already enjoying himself. Leandro Volta was the leader of Spettro, and a man that Cad had wanted to teach a lesson to for some time.

“You won’t get away with this,” said a man with a resonant Italian accent. “Dexter Stone will just send me more ships. And I can easily hire more crews. Everyone in the galaxy wants a piece of the famous Cad Rikkard. And for the price that Stone is offering for your head, this little stunt of yours will not deter anyone, including me.”

“Your new master can’t help you now,” replied Cad, casually flicking an array of switches on his weapons console. “And more ships won’t help you when you’re dead.”

Cad could see the running lights of the final heavy combat shuttle flicker on, and his scanners detected an increase in the vessel’s heat signature, consistent with a reactor warming up. He locked on to the space station and slipped his finger onto the trigger.

“Even if you kill me, you can’t win,” Leandro hit back, sounding impressively composed. Cad at least granted him credit for not blubbing and begging for his life. “The entire might of the Consortium is against you. You must realize that you cannot succeed?” Leandro added.

Cad listened attentively, all the while watching his scanner and waiting for the precise moment to pull the trigger. He wanted Leandro to feel a glimmer of hope that he might yet escape the same fate as his crew, before he took that hope – and his life – away.

“Let me bring you in alive,” Leandro continued, growing in confidence. Cad huffed a laugh through his nose, finding it amusing that the arrogant man actually believed he was changing his mind. “You have my word that you will be delivered to Dexter Stone unharmed,” the mercenary went on, unaware of Cad’s true intentions. “You will not get such a generous offer from the other mercenary leaders, or from Vanguard.”

“I have an alternative suggestion,” said Cad, tapping a message to Alexis, telling her to be ready to raise her armor shields. “How about you serve as a warning to all of those who would stand against me?” Cad then pulled the trigger to launch a solitary missile and engaged his armor shields. “Once they see what I did to you, they’ll think twice about coming after me.”

The nuclear missile raced toward Epsilon Station, and Cad heard panicked cries of “Detach! Detach now!” over the comm channel. Then the line between their two vessels was abruptly severed. Through his virtualized view, Cad watched the nuclear warhead hammer into the side of Epsilon Station, burrowing deep into its guts before detonating with the full force of nature. Leandro’s ship was engulfed in the flash, and within seconds, debris from the station was rattling off the armor surrounding Cad’s ship.

“You’re right; that was entertaining,” said Alexis over the rattle of metal clattering against Cad’s thick armor plates. “There just needs to be one change for next time.”

Cad frowned. He thought he had lured the arrogant mercenary into his trap perfectly. “What change?” he asked.

“Next time, I get to fire the nuke,” said Alexis, and even though he couldn’t see her, Cad knew she was smiling.

Cad then saw another incoming message flash up on his comms panel. However, this message had been transmitted over a unique priority channel, usually reserved for planetary emergencies. “I think we may have gotten Stone’s attention…” said Cad, patching the call through to both of their ships.

“That was not wise, Mr. Rikkard,” said the robust and confident voice of Dexter Stone.

“No, what was unwise was setting your wolfpack against me,” Cad hit back, ensuring his own voice conveyed a matching level of authority. “I did you a favor by killing Doyle. That was a personal matter between me and him. You should be thanking me, instead of sending these hapless guns-for-hire to kill me. It’s a waste of both of our time.”

Cad heard Stone laugh over the comm channel. It was a free and easy laugh, as if Cad had said something genuinely amusing, rather than the more sinister laugh of a megalomaniac.

“Perhaps you did do me a favor,” Stone admitted, to Cad’s surprise. “But you also openly murdered the richest and most influential man in the galaxy. And you committed this act of terror on a private building in the heart of New York City. Do you really think you can just walk away from something like that?”

“That’s up to you, Stone,” replied Cad, shrugging, despite the commandant being unable to see him. “But what’s done is done. Now I suggest you back off, or Epsilon Station won’t be the last problem I add to your already growing list of issues. Nor will it be the last Consortium base I nuke.”

There was a brief silence over the channel, though Cad could sense the tension between them. He could practically feel Dexter Stone’s eyes burrowing into him, despite them being separated by millions of miles.

“You are again unwise to threaten me,” growled Dexter Stone, the bassy tones of his powerful voice rattling the speaker grille in Cad’s ship. “Turn yourself in and I give you my word that you will be treated fairly. Defy me, and you will regret it.”

This time, it was Cad who laughed, though his was derisive and scornful. Stone, like Doyle before him, was making the mistake of speaking to Cad like a subordinate – a lesser man. Cad may have been on the run, but he had already taken down the most powerful man in the galaxy. Stone would learn the hard way that Cad Rikkard was the one in control.

“No, you will be the one who regrets their actions,” Cad spat back, struggling to contain his rage. “Keep coming for me, and I’ll raze your empire to dust.”

Cad then shut off the comm channel and rested back in his chair, shaking with fury. Despite all he had done, and all he continued to do, it amazed and infuriated him that men like Dexter Stone still considered themselves to be above him.

“Where to now?” said Alexis, interrupting Cad’s angry musings.

“We need time to think and plan our next move,” said Cad, bringing up the list of safe houses the Banker had provided and scrolling through them.

“And I need to catch up on my tan,” said Alexis playfully. Now that the danger was past, Alexis had switched gear again.

Then a message from her ship flashed up on Cad’s console. He snorted a laugh, realizing that Alexis had already chosen their next destination.

“Fine, just no tequila this time,” said Cad, plotting a course to the small, unpopulated island off the coast of Mexico. “You know I hate that stuff.”

“I only need you to do two things while we’re there,” replied Alexis, still in a playful mood. “One of which is to rub sun cream on my back.”

“And what’s the other?” said Cad, playing along with Alexis’ game.

There was a pause before Alexis replied, though this time, her voice was lower and more enticing. “You’ll find out when we get there…”

14

Cad reclined back in his sun chair, which was sitting in the shade on the porch of the beach house. An ice-cold Mexican beer was in one hand, while the other dangled lazily over the side. He was watching Alexis slowly rocking from side to side on a hammock set between two palm trees under the hot Mexican sun. Even to Cad’s cynical and calculating gaze, it was a veritable paradise. And while he doubted it would remain so for long, he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

The safe house was on the Isla María Cleofas, an uninhabited island off the coast of Mexico. Cad and Alexis had made it to the idyllic location undetected, thanks to instructions provided by the Banker. The directions had specified CSF and local enforcer patrol routes and sensor buoy positions, and detailed the precise flight path they had to take to avoid detection. And despite Cad having misgivings about flying to Earth, given the crime they had committed the last time they had visited humanity’s homeworld, it had all been plain sailing.

“Do you think the Banker owns this entire island?” said Alexis, cocking her head to the side to look at Cad. She was wearing an ivory beach dress that she’d found in the luxury house’s extensive wardrobe.

“I doubt it’s in his name, whatever his name actually is,” replied Cad, who was wearing shorts and a thin black cotton shirt that was unbuttoned. Yet despite his more relaxed attire, Cad’s reforged Black Prince sword was not far away. The weapon was rested up against the wall of the beach house, just to his side. “But yes, I imagine he does own this island, and probably many others, on Earth and other worlds,” he added.

They had been on the island for four days, during which time Alexis had managed to convince Cad to relax and unwind, at least a little. However, he had also spent the time thinking and planning for how to deal with Dexter Stone. More importantly, he had been plotting how to resume the more important task of killing Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun. He was still aware that despite Dexter Stone’s current vendetta against him, the new Consortium boss was also hunting for the Darkspace Renegades. Cad did not want Stone to spoil his chance at vengeance. Thankfully, the resources provided by the Banker had allowed Cad to stay on top of the situation in a way that would not have been possible without the mysterious masked man’s help. He could now monitor the Consortium’s activities closely from the comfort of their Mexican island retreat, and know exactly when they planned to attack.

What had surprised Cad most of all was just how extensive the Banker’s intelligence had been. It was revealing to learn the magnitude of the corporate espionage that rival ultra-powers had undertaken against the galaxy’s mightiest corporation. The vast size of Damien Doyle’s empire had made it almost impossible to defend fully. And although his rivals had lacked Doyle’s resources, they had adapted guerilla-style tactics by infiltrating and sabotaging parts of his empire at its weakest points. Randenite had been Damien Doyle’s saving grace. In addition to being the Consortium’s most profitable enterprise, given their total monopoly on its production, it was also the one part of Doyle’s entire operation that was untouchable. It was in no one’s interest to sabotage the supply of Randenite, as to do so would simply sabotage any competing operations as well. Cad had known that Randenite had always been Doyle’s trump card, but the last couple of days had made him understand why the magnate had protected it so fiercely, and at any cost.

“I think when this is all over, we should buy this place,” said Alexis, again interrupting Cad from his daydreaming. “Either that or we torture the Banker until he signs it over to us.”

Cad grunted. “Tempting, but first let’s wait to see if this planet is even still here in a few months,” he replied. Then he remembered the Banker’s confident assertion that he could eradicate Cad and Alexis down to the “last strand of DNA,” and reconsidered murdering him. What had irked him more than the Banker’s bold statement, however, were his boasts about his skill with a sword – a boast that Cad would have sorely liked to have tested. However, they had enough enemies at the moment, and there was no need to make the Banker one of them, Cad considered reluctantly.

Alexis’ palm computer bleeped. It was a starkly alien noise in an otherwise unspoiled environment. Alexis glanced across to Cad, smiling sweetly at him. “Grab that for me, would you?” she said, teasing Cad by dangling one of her long legs over the side of the hammock.

Cad spotted the palm computer sitting on top of Alexis’ sandals in the golden sand underneath the hammock. Taking a soothing drink from the bottle of beer, he then made his way over to the hammock and picked up the computer. Alexis stroked her toes along his back as he did so.

“Sometimes I wonder who is really in charge of this outfit,” Cad said, handing Alexis the device.

“This outfit?” said Alexis, pulling the drawstring of her dress loose and allowing it to slide open to reveal her naked body.

Cad laughed and shook his head. “Before you make me forget everything besides what I’m looking at, you’d better tell me what that bleep was,” he said, toying with one of the ivory straps of Alexis’ dress. Alexis smiled then activated the computer and read the message on the screen. The disappointed sigh that followed told Cad that it was not good news.

“Vacation’s over…” she said, holding the device out to Cad. “Vanguard is on the way.”

Cad took the computer and read the message. There was no identifiable sender, though he knew it could only have come from the Banker. He switched off the device then let out a long, exasperated breath.

“We have about two hours before they get here, though accounting for message relay delays, it will be less,” said Cad, setting the computer down then staring out to sea. “We should get ready.”

Alexis nodded and refastened her dress, then rolled out of the hammock with her usual gymnastic grace. “We’ll make sure that Stone gets the message this time,” she said, her voice suddenly dripping with malice and violent intent. Alexis had already switched modes, except this time, the transition was absolute, so that no element of the playful Alexis remained. As ever, she had judged the mood precisely, and Cad would need every inch of Alexis Black the merciless warrior in order to take down Vanguard.

“We’ll have to build a new beach house, assuming there’s still a beach to build one on once we’re done here,” said Cad, peering back at the building that had felt more like a home to Cad than any other single location in the galaxy.

“Then let’s clear the grounds properly,” replied Alexis. She then slipped on her sandals and picked up her electrified Bo staff, which had been resting against the trunk of the tree.

Cad nodded then examined the weapon in Alexis’ hands. Like their ships and armor, the Banker had upgraded the weapon so that it was now doubly lethal. It was a serious weapon for a serious task. And, like the Blackfire Squadron, it would take no prisoners.

15

From their camouflaged hideout in the cliffs above the beach house, Cad and Alexis watched the Vanguard Enforcer squad creep closer. The elite enforcer unit had landed two stealth drop-ships on the far side of the island an hour earlier. However, Cad had been able to follow their progress, thanks to a high-altitude recon drone that had tracked the unit as they approached. This was yet another vital service that the Banker had provided.

Unaware that the Blackfire Squadron were no longer inside the beach house, the squad of eight enforcers shot cannisters of tear gas through the doors and windows then stormed inside. From their distant vantage point, the cries and barked orders of the squad were barely audible.

“Blow it…” said Cad, once he was satisfied that all the enforcers were deep enough inside the house.

Alexis smiled then held out a remote detonator and depressed the plunger. A powerful explosion engulfed the beach house, shaking the ground and rolling like thunder across the remote island. A thick black plume of smoke then began to rise above the burning remains of the luxury villa.

“The second squad are in the trees to the west of the beach,” said Cad, turning his attention to the location of the remaining eight Vanguard Enforcers. Cad and Alexis were both wearing their power armor, complete with full-cover helmets. The sensors in Cad’s helmet and visor allowed him to detect the squad’s movements, though strangely, they were not showing up on his thermal scans. “They must also be wearing some sort of advanced armor,” said Cad, thinking out loud. “It’s making them harder to track.” Cad then picked up his rifle and rested a hand on the pommel of his Black Prince sword. The medieval weapon, re-forged from the remains of Draga Vex’s alien-alloy armor, was attached to his side, resting in its sheath.

“They’re splitting up,” said Alexis, pointing out the location of the two new four-man squads. “I’ll take the squad heading along the beach front and lead them into the traps,” she added, drawing her newly-modified Five-Seven-Seven pistols.

“Go,” Cad grunted, resisting the urge to tell Alexis to be careful. Normally, he wouldn’t be concerned about her taking on four-armed enforcers by herself, especially in full power-armor and with the element of surprise. However, ever since Draga’s death, the thought of losing Alexis had weighed heavy on his mind. And if the rumors about the Vanguard Enforcers were true, he knew they would be far harder to kill. Nevertheless, now was not the time for caution, Cad realized. And nor was it the time for sentimentality. “Give them hell,” Cad added, glad that his visor hid his eyes from Alexis. She had always been able to read and understand his feelings better than he knew them himself.

Alexis nodded then moved off, vanishing into the trees with barely a sound. Cad sighed and gritted his teeth, watching her go, then exited the hideout and began his advance across the cliffside toward the second squad. When he lifted the rifle to his shoulder, the advanced weapon interfaced with his visor and highlighted the targets that were approaching him. Cad knew there were four enforcers ahead, but only one was clearly marked in his visor display, while a second flickered chaotically. The remaining two were still somehow invisible, and this put Cad on edge. He hoped that his own armor’s stealth systems – another augmentation added by the Banker – would similarly confuse Vanguard’s weapons and visors. If that were the case, then the battle would come down to iron sights, or even to close quarters fighting. It was the latter Cad wished for most of all. The Banker had talked up the capabilities of the Vanguard Enforcers, and Cad was eager to discover the truth of these assertions for himself.

Aiming at the identified target first, Cad fired five rounds in close succession and saw the outline of the figure disappear. Quickly adjusting his aim at the flickering target identifier for the second enforcer, Cad peppered it and the surrounding area with a more intense burst of fire. Moments later, bullets were flying back at him, chipping away at the rocks surrounding the cliff face. Cad continued to fire, but then felt bullets thudding into his armor. Cursing, he ran into the trees to escape the intense barrage of incoming fire. Like Alexis, he too had laid traps for the CSF’s supposed top fighters. If they were smart, Cad knew they would anticipate this tactic, fall back, and re-group. However, if they were as fanatical and fearless as the Banker had suggested, Cad expected the squad to advance, come what may.

The sound of rifle fire, interspersed with the crack of Alexis’ Five-Seven-Sevens, was then picked up by Cad’s audio sensors. His heart began to thump in his chest and he glanced back toward the beach, hoping to spot her. In that brief moment of hesitation, he heard footsteps thudding along the rocky soil and turned just in time to see an enforcer in dark green power armor charging at him. Bullets thudded into Cad’s chest then raked along his right arm, breaking his grip on the rifle, which fell to the ground. The Vanguard Enforcer then swung the butt of his rifle at Cad, but he caught the weapon inches before it smashed into his helmet. The Vanguard Enforcer tried to wrestle the rifle out of his grasp, but Cad’s armor was stronger and more powerful. Grabbing the rifle at both ends, Cad forced the weapon against the enforcer’s neck and drove the man to his knees. The rifle then suddenly snapped like a twig from the immense strain it was under, and Cad was unbalanced. The Vanguard Enforcer recovered quickly and thumped an armored fist into Cad’s chest, knocking him back several paces. Pulling a pistol from his belt, the enforcer then shot Cad at point blank range. He felt the dull thud of each shot resonate through his bones, but Cad’s alien-alloy armor spared him from injury. Rushing the enforcer, Cad caught the man’s wrist and used his superior strength to force the barrel of the pistol underneath the enforcer’s helmet. Two sharp cracks rang out and blood gushed down the neck and chest of the Vanguard’s green power armor.

Cad had barely taken a breath before more bullets thudded into his body, and this time, he felt the bite of pain. Spotting his attacker, Cad used the body of the first Vanguard Enforcer as a shield. He then charged at the second enforcer and bulldozed him to the ground, using the man’s dead squad mate as a battering ram. Incredibly, the second Vanguard Enforcer was on his feet again within seconds and gave no indication of retreating. Reaching behind his back, the elite CSF fighter then drew a tactical tomahawk. The metal of the blade was dark and shimmered like the alien-alloy metal used in Cad’s power armor.

“Come on, Blackfire Squadron, let’s see what you’ve got,” the Vanguard Enforcer said, the words sounding distorted and alien through the man’s full-cover helmet.

“You should have run while you had the chance,” replied Cad, drawing his reforged Black Prince sword from its scabbard.

The Vanguard attacked, but Cad blocked the strike, the clash of the blades piercing the air with the clarity of a wind chime. The enforcer backed away, and to his surprise, Cad saw that the tomahawk was undamaged by the exchange. Cad flourished his sword then attacked, but the Vanguard blocked the first swing, then trapped the blade of the sword through a hole in the center of the axe. However, before the enforcer attempted to yank the sword from Cad’s grasp, he stepped in and pummeled his fist into the man’s visor, cracking the glass like a broken windshield. The enforcer was stunned and Cad used the distraction to drive the blade of the Black Prince deep into the rocky ground, trapping the tomahawk along with it. The enforcer tried desperately to pull his weapon free, but the man’s dark-green armor lacked the power of Cad’s heavily upgraded suit. Free to attack, Cad hammered another blow into the enforcer’s face mask, sending the man staggering away from his trapped weapon. Cad then struck him again and again, each blow dealing more damage to the enforcer’s helmet, until finally, the face mask was smashed completely. The enforcer’s eyes were now clearly visible through the broken mask, bloodshot and fearful. Cad gritted his teeth then drove his fist through the enforcer’s face, smashing cartilage and bone, and killing the man instantly. The body slumped to the ground, and Cad peered down at the beaten Vanguard Enforcer with a sense of triumph and satisfaction, knowing that he had proven himself the superior fighter.

“Alexis, re-group on me,” said Cad, drawing the Black Prince sword from the rock, like Arthur drawing Excalibur from the stone. “They’re using weapons and armor similar to our own. We need to take them down together.”

The sound of jet thrusters then caused Cad to spin around, sword raised, before he realized that Alexis was flying toward him. Bullets whistled all around her, and Cad saw sparks as several shots impacted on her armor. Her thrusters were hit and Alexis suddenly dropped like a stone. However, her altitude was low enough that she was able to safely roll through the fall without taking further damage. She ended up on her feet directly in front of Cad, as if the maneuver had been executed intentionally.

“I took down two of them, but they could see my traps,” said Alexis, releasing the magazines on both Five-Seven-Seven pistols and reloading them. “I think it’s time we switched things up a bit,” she added, holstering the weapons to magnetic stows on her armor. Cad watched Alexis run to one of the weapons caches they’d set up around the island. She returned with an M292L medium machine gun, which despite its name, still looked almost comically large in her hands. “You’re going to need something more lethal than that, Cad,” Alexis said, pointing to the Black Prince sword in Cad’s hand, which was currently his only weapon.

“Tell him that,” answered Cad, pointing to the pummeled corpse of the Vanguard Enforcer behind him. Cad couldn’t see Alexis’ eyes because of her visor, but from the subtle tilt of her head, he knew she hadn’t been amused by Cad’s response. “Just get into cover, and I’ll draw them out into the open,” Cad went on, reaching behind his back and detaching a personal shield. He held the device out in front of his body and hit a button on the handle, deploying it to full size. “I’ll line the rest of them up for you to take down.”

Alexis did as she was ordered and backed away into cover. Then the peaceful calm of their beachside setting was again shattered by the sound of gunfire. Cad raised the shield and deflected the incoming bullets while moving up to a rocky outcropping on his right side to gain additional cover from the Vanguard’s onslaught. One of the four remaining enforcers then advanced toward Cad with rifle raised, raining fire into his shield, which quickly began to buckle. Cad charged out to meet the enforcer head on, thrusting his sword around the side of the shield like a Spartan warrior and piercing the Vanguard through the gut. Cad twisted the blade viciously and the man cried in agony, his voice sounding as twisted as his intestines now were.

More rifle fire then pressed Cad back, and his shield collapsed, allowing bullets to thud into his body. Alexis quickly removed her own personal shield and threw it to Cad. He caught it and activated the device, but not before six projectiles had pierced his alien-alloy shell. Bullets continued to rain down on Cad, and he slumped back against the rocks, feeling blood wet his base-layer suit beneath the armor. However, his gung-ho tactic had worked, drawing all but two of the remaining Vanguard Enforcers out into the open.

Alexis sprang out from cover and opened fire with the machine gun, concentrating on the closest of the Vanguard Enforcers. The powerful weapon was a level above even the Vanguard’s advanced rifles, and shredded the enforcers’ green armor like it was tinfoil. Alexis pressed her attack, taking down more of the elite enforcers, until only one remained. However, her assault had also taken her further away from Cad, meaning she was fighting on her own. Cad tried to get up, but his armor wasn’t responding. He cursed and initiated emergency repairs, but for the moment, he was powerless to help.

Alexis’ machine gun then clicked empty and she tossed it at the remaining enforcer from the group that had broken cover. The man smashed it away with his armored forearm, then drew a tomahawk and attacked. Alexis dodged the swing of the axe blade, kicked the man in the gut, then pulled her Bo staff from her belt. The weapon expanded to full size in her grasp, the end of the staff crackling with electrical energy. The enforcer attacked again, and a ballet of attack, parry, and counter-attack between the two combatants ensued. Both were masters, but Cad knew that mastery of a weapon, and the drive and intent to use it were not the same thing. And he also knew which of the two fighters involved in the melee had the stronger desire to kill.

Finally, the Vanguard Enforcer scored a hit, chipping away a small section of Alexis’ armor on her thigh, but the victory was short lived. Alexis deflected the axe and whirled the Bo staff across the side of the enforcer’s head, smashing his helmet clean off. A split-second later, she had thrust the electrified end of the Bo staff underneath the man’s chin. The weapon discharged a massive electrical current into the enforcer’s head, causing his skin to ripple and burn like pork crackling. Alexis held the weapon in place for longer than was necessary, finally withdrawing it and allowing the enforcer to fall. Even from his vantage point, sitting up against the rocks hundreds of meters distant, Cad could see the smoke rising from the body as a result of the horrific burns. But as impressive as Alexis’ display had been, Cad knew that two more enforcers remained. And he also knew that these two were likely to be the most difficult to kill.

16

Cad’s visor alerted him to his injuries, as well as to the damage his armor had sustained. He cleared all of the warnings and boosted power to the suit, using the last of its energy reserves. The alien-alloy metal creaked and groaned as he stood up, forcing the suit to yield to his commands. Pushing himself off the rocks, Cad tried to locate the remaining Vanguard Enforcers. However, his sensory systems were damaged and malfunctioning, which meant all he had to rely on were his own instincts.

“Stay alert, Alexis,” said Cad, scouring the cliffside terrain for the final two enforcers. Then he saw movement and his gut tightened. The Vanguard Enforcers were both advancing on Alexis, and he could tell that she hadn’t seen them. “Alexis, check your eight o’clock; they’re moving through the trees!” Cad called out to her through their private comm channel, but there was no response. Cad slapped the side of his helmet in a desperate and futile attempt to shake the comms system into life, but the channel remained dead. Growling with frustration, he removed the broken helmet and tossed it aside. “Alexis!” he yelled, but still she did not hear him.

Cursing, Cad sheathed his sword then scooped up a rifle that one of the dead Vanguard Enforcers had dropped. Digging his personal shield into the ground to protect his already weakened armor, Cad then crouched to one knee and took aim. The enforcer’s rifle was powerful, but the optics had been destroyed during the fight. Cad ripped the broken scope from the top of the rifle and flipped up the backup iron sights. He tracked the enforcers that were moving on Alexis, took aim, and fired. The shot flew wide, but it helped Cad to gauge the accuracy of the weapon. Alexis also heard the shot and instinctively ran into cover. A burst of rifle fire peppered her from out of the tree-line and she fell, before scrambling behind a cluster of rocks.

A Vanguard Enforcer then appeared out of the trees, continuing to fire down at Alexis’ position. Each burst from the enforcer’s rifle nibbled away at the rocks, wearing down Alexis’ cover, bit by bit. Cad fired at the moving target but missed again. The enforcer was now less than fifty meters from Alexis and would soon be in a position to get a clear shot. Cad squeezed the trigger for a third time, and the bullet struck the enforcer’s leg. However, the shot did not penetrate the man’s dark-green armor, and instead merely alerted him to Cad’s position. Dropping to a crouch, the enforcer then took aim at Cad and opened fire.

Cad could see and hear bullets landing in the rocky soil all around him, but he held his ground and fired again. The shot thumped into the Vanguard Enforcer’s chest, but again the man’s armor stopped the bullet from penetrating. The enforcer had also zeroed in on Cad’s location, and bullets were now thudding into the shield Cad had dug into the ground as a barrier. The shield began to crack, but Cad had another idea. Sucking in a deep breath, he raised his aim by the slightest fraction, then fired. The bullet struck the enforcer in the neck, where the armor was weakest, and this time, it did pierce the dark-green shell. Blood spurted out like water from a burst pipe. The Vanguard Enforcer dropped to his knees, hands clasped around his throat, but Cad knew he’d dealt a killing blow.

Suddenly, Cad caught sight of more movement out of the corner of his eye. Grabbing the personal shield, he swung it in front of his body mere moments before bullets hammered into it. The final enforcer was now charging toward him. However, unlike all of the other Vanguard they had fought and killed, this man was unmasked. Cad tried to aim the rifle at the Vanguard Enforcer, but the man was already on top of him. Launching a baseball slide kick into his shield, the enforcer bowled Cad over and sent him crashing into the rocks on the cliff face, the rifle and shield both tumbling from his grasp. He struck his head on the rocks, and without the protection of his helmet, Cad was momentarily stunned. When his vision cleared again, he saw the Vanguard Enforcer standing over him.

“I knew it would eventually come down to me and you,” the man said, throwing his rifle to one side and drawing a weapon from a mount on his back. However, unlike the other enforcers, this weapon was not a tomahawk, but a sword. “In fact, I prefer it this way, just so I can find out if you really are as good as everyone says.”

Cad pushed himself to his feet, his armor creaking and groaning like a rusted car door. The twisted and bullet-riddled metal cut into his flesh with each movement of his aching body. However, in the same way that pain had been like a drug to Draga Vex, it also spurred him on. It didn’t matter that two members of the Blackfire Squadron had already killed fifteen elite Vanguard Enforcers. That alone was enough to cement their reputation as the greatest fighters in the galaxy. What mattered was winning. And one man still stood in the way of Cad’s victory. Tearing away the worst sections of his mangled armor, Cad then slowly drew his Black Prince sword from its scabbard, not taking his eyes off the sole remaining Vanguard Enforcer for a second.

“That’s big talk, especially from a man who just watched his entire squad get slaughtered,” said Cad, stepping out into the clearing to face the enforcer. In the distance, he could see Alexis, frantically stripping off her broken armor, but he knew that she would not reach him in time. More than this, he didn’t want her to. This enforcer was his alone to kill.

“All that matters is who is left standing, wouldn’t you agree?” said the man, showing no affinity or remorse over the loss of his squad mates. “Besides, there are more where they came from.”

Cad circled around the enforcer. He was roughly the same size and build as he was, and had a plain, square face with almost dead, soulless eyes.

“I’ll kill them too,” said Cad, studying the way the enforcer moved, and how he placed his feet.

“You’ll have to get through me first,” the enforcer hit back, seeming to relish the contest just as much as Cad was.

“You’re no more special than the corpses at my feet,” said Cad, adjusting his grip on the sword in readiness to strike.

The man’s eyes suddenly showed a glimmer of emotion. It was a strange mix of anger and excitement, as if he was both enraged and amused at being provoked by Cad.

“We shall see,” the Vanguard Enforcer said, raising his sword.

Cad looked at the weapon with interest, not because of his affinity for ancient weapons, but because the enforcer’s choice of sword was revealing. It was a replica of an 1860 Heavy Cavalry Sabre. It was a beautiful and formidable weapon, but also a weapon that Cad could clearly see had been forged using earthly metals. Cad smiled and adopted a defensive posture, inviting his opponent to attack first. The Vanguard Enforcer came forward and swung the sabre, but Cad parried the attack, and his reforged alien blade sliced through the Vanguard’s sword like it was made of cheese. Cad reveled in the look of surprise and horror in the man’s eyes, then swung the Black Prince sword with all of the power he could muster, splitting the enforcer clean in half. The fight had lasted barely more than a few seconds.

“So much for Vanguard,” spat Cad, sliding the Black Prince back into its sheath.

Alexis came running toward him, dressed only in the thin base-layer outfit that they both wore underneath their armor. She saw the severed body of the Vanguard Enforcer on the ground and slowed to a walk instead, breathing heavily. Cad could see the relief on her face at seeing him still alive. The cutthroat, unfeeling Alexis Black was beginning to take a back seat once more.

“That must have been the shortest sword fight in history,” said Alexis, standing over the cleaved remains of the enforcer, hands pressed to her hips.

“He lasted half a second longer than I expected him to,” said Cad, though the comment was not said in jest, and Alexis didn’t take it as a joke either.

“These were the toughest we’ve faced yet,” said Alexis, draping herself over Cad’s shoulder, though this appeared to be more out of a need to rest than any attempt to seduce him. “I wonder how long it will be before Stone knows that they failed?”

Alexis had barely finished the sentence when there was a buzzing sound from the body at their feet. She knelt down beside the two halves of the slain enforcer, rummaging through the various pockets and pouches in the man’s webbing. Then she stood up and held out a compact ruggedized palm computer and a standard holo transmitter. Alexis read the display on the holo transmitter, then showed it to Cad. The ID of the incoming call was none other than Dexter Stone.

“Do you want to tell him, or shall I?” said Alexis, smiling.

17

Cad activated the holo transmitter and set it down on the ground alongside the mutilated body of the Vanguard Enforcer. A couple of seconds later, the image of Dexter Stone appeared, dressed in the uniform of a high-ranking CSF Enforcer, which was adorned with a gold aiguillette and two long rows of medals. The sight of Cad Rikkard standing in front of him, instead of the leader of his Vanguard Enforcer unit, caused the man’s brow to furrow. However, Stone controlled his surprise well.

“Nice try, Stone, but not good enough,” said Cad, forcing himself to stand tall despite the searing pain shooting through his entire body.

“Impossible,” replied Dexter Stone, his brow becoming more deeply furrowed by the second. “That was two entire squads of Vanguard Enforcers. You cannot possibly have defeated them all.”

Cad pointed to the two halves of the body at his feet. “See for yourself,” he said. Dexter Stone then stared down at the body of the enforcer through the holographic lens of the emitter. Stone continued to avert his gaze for several seconds, perhaps intentionally trying to hide his expression before turning back to Cad.

“You must have had help,” spat Stone, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “The two of you could not have done this alone.”

“If you doubt me, then why not come for us yourself?” Cad hit back. “I would be happy to personally show you how the Blackfire Squadron deals with those who stand against us.”

Dexter Stone straightened up and folded his muscular arms across his chest, bunching up the rows of medals untidily. “We’ll meet soon enough,” he said, clearly trying hard to contain his anger and frustration, though it was obvious to Cad that the man was seething. “But you will have to wait until I have found Shelby Rand and dealt with the remainder of her insurgent band of rebels.”

This time, it was Cad Rikkard’s eyes that narrowed. “Rand is dead, along with her two nuisance companions, Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun,” he said. Cad wondered how a man with Dexter Stone’s resources did not already know this. “What remains of them is entombed inside the mountain mine on Vediovis that I blew up with a nuclear warhead.” Then he aimed a finger at the holographic image of Stone. “Weapons that I still possess, and will use again, unless you back down.”

Dexter Stone regarded Cad for a few moments, a look of intense concentration gripping his square-jawed, wrinkled face. He then unfolded his arms and pressed them to the small of his back, standing in the parade rest position.

“I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Rikkard,” Dexter Stone began, the volume and timbre of his voice becoming more assured. The balance of the conversation had shifted, and now Stone had the advantage. “Dr. Rand and the renegades you speak of were sighted on Vediovis, long after the detonation on the mountain top. They attacked my CSF enforcers and stole a drop-ship.”

Cad glanced across to Alexis, and he could see the doubt in her eyes too. “That’s impossible,” said Cad, refusing to accept the news. “Why would I believe you?”

Stone smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. “Why would I lie to you?” he replied. “If Rand were already dead, then I assure you I would not be wasting my time with you.”

Cad glared back at Stone, scrutinizing his face and eyes for any hint of deception, but his instincts told him that Stone was telling the truth.

“Where are the renegades now?” Cad asked, feeling a knot tighten in his gut. After everything he’d already sacrificed, including the priceless sword of Charlemagne, the thought that Hallam Knight had once again thwarted him made him feel sick to the stomach.

“That is none of your concern, Mr. Rikkard,” said Stone. Then he aimed a finger at Cad, mimicking the threatening gesture that Cad had used earlier. “I need Rand alive. If I told you where they were, you’d level an entire city just to kill her and the others.”

“I don’t care about Shelby Rand,” Cad spat back, furious that Stone knew the whereabouts of the renegades and was withholding it from him. “I just want Knight and Wulfrun. Besides, why do you still need Rand anyway? Surely, with all of your vast resources, you can figure out how to fix this mess with the bridges without her?”

Stone laughed and shook his head at Cad, as if he were a dumb rookie on his first day at training. Rage bubbled inside Cad, but he contained it so that he could hear what else the pompous man had to say.

“What do you think we’ve been trying to do for the last ten years?” Stone said in a mocking tone, taking delight in talking down to Cad. “Doyle had the best scientists in all of the bridge worlds working on this problem for a full decade, but all of them drew blanks. And Rand destroyed her initial research during the cyberattack. Whatever ‘eureka’ moment allowed her to understand the secrets of this alien technology has never been replicated. We need Rand. It’s as simple as that. There is no alternative.”

This time, it was Cad who folded his arms, the damaged alien metal and gears of his armor creaking under the strain. Despite talking tough, Stone was actually in a position of weakness, Cad realized. And it was a weakness he could perhaps exploit.

“So you can’t replicate her work, and when it comes to tracking these renegades down, your enforcers continue to fall at every hurdle,” Cad said, drawing another angry glare from Stone. “In fact, there’s only one person in the galaxy that’s ever managed to track Rand down. And do you know who that is?”

Stone remained in his stiff-looking military stance, but Cad could see that his well-developed muscles had tightened. The chairman and commandant of the Consortium was clearly not used to being challenged or disobeyed.

“Yet you have also resolutely failed to capture or kill them, Mr. Rikkard,” Stone hit back. Then, to Cad’s surprise, the commandant offered a morsel of praise. “Though it pains me to admit that you have come far closer than my enforcers ever have.”

Cad thought for a moment, again glancing at Alexis, whose raised eyebrows suggested she was also surprised by Stone’s admission.

“What if we continue our prior arrangement?” Cad then offered, causing Alexis’ eyebrows to raise even further up on her forehead. “The arrangement between the Blackfire Squadron and the Consortium, I mean.”

Stone grunted another derisive laugh. “You obviously have not heard the tale of the scorpion and frog,” he sneered. “You are hardly trustworthy, Mr. Rikkard. It is in your nature.”

“I killed Doyle only because of his continued slights, slanders, and threats to ruin me,” Cad hit back, the anger inside him suddenly bubbling to the surface. “Mistakes that you are continuing to make in his stead, with the same outcomes,” he added, again gesturing to the dead Vanguard Enforcer at his feet. “I suggest we break the cycle. You need Rand alive. I can bring her to you. I want Knight and Wulfrun to bleed at my feet. The same way I have bled the criminals in the renegade bases, Crimson Lynx, your Vanguard Enforcers, and Damien Doyle himself. Help me to get what I want, and I will bring you what you need.”

Dexter Stone again folded his arms, flexing his considerable biceps in the process, and peered down his nose at Cad. For the first time since they had started speaking, Stone did not look like he wanted to crush Cad’s skull with his bare hands.

“What’s the catch?” Stone eventually said. “You want something more than just revenge.”

Cad shook his head. “Just withdraw the warrants you have out for our arrest and clear our names,” Cad said, genuinely not wanting anything more from the man. “Call off your dogs, in essence.”

Stone drew in a long breath then let it out slowly, all the while regarding Cad with the same intensity with which Cad had also scrutinized the leader of the CSF. Then Stone returned the slenderest of nods.

“Very well, Mr. Rikkard, it seems that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or, at least, my reluctant ally. I will suspend the warrants and charges against you, and allow you free passage along the bridges. Then once you bring me Shelby Rand, I will expunge your records. You will be in the clear, and all our debts are settled in full.”

“Agreed,” said Cad. He could still see Alexis out of the corner of his eye, and she appeared far less certain of the arrangement than Cad was. “Send me all of the information you have about the renegade sightings on Vediovis,” Cad continued, again staring back into Stone’s holographic eyes. “I will find them for you.”

Stone nodded, this time more enthusiastically, but then scowled. “To where should I send this information? You are a hard man to find, Mr. Rikkard.”

Without needing to be asked, Alexis offered Cad the rugged palm computer that she’d also taken from the Vanguard Enforcer’s dead body. Cad accepted the device, then held it up to the holo image of Dexter Stone. “Send it to your lead Vanguard Enforcer,” he said, patting the device against the palm of his hand. “He won’t be needing it anymore.” Stone’s eyes narrowed again and he simply cut the transmission without so much as a goodbye.

“Are you sure we should be making another deal with the devil?” said Alexis before the light of the holo emitter had even fully gone out. “I trust Stone even less than I did Doyle.”

Questioning Cad’s decision was something Alexis would normally never do. To have done so now, so openly, meant she was seriously concerned.

“Stone needs us even more than Doyle did,” said Cad. The palm computer then bleeped and Cad saw that it was receiving data. “And I can’t stomach knowing that Knight is laughing behind my back,” he added, passing the computer back to Alexis. “We can’t fight the Consortium and the renegades at the same time.”

Alexis considered this for a moment. “And did you mean it, about capturing Rand and delivering her to Stone?” she asked.

Cad grunted. “Yes, but only so that Stone clears our records. After that, the commandant is disposable too.” Cad then frowned down at Alexis, curious as to why she was not more enthusiastic about this new arrangement. “That was what you wanted us to do, wasn’t it?” he added. “Deliver Rand to the Consortium, I mean.”

“If you mean do I still want there to be planets to live on when this is all over, then yes, that would be my preference,” replied Alexis, laying on the sarcasm thickly.

Cad tapped the palm computer in Alexis’ hand. “Then find out where they are, so we can end this,” he said. In truth Cad was growing weary of the chase. He just wanted Knight and Wulfrun dead, and if making a deal with Stone got him that, then so be it.

“And then what?” said Alexis, raising her eyebrows again. “After we’ve killed the renegades and had our records cleared, what comes next?”

There had been a time not all that long ago when Cad was so blinded by his rage that he didn’t care if the universe fell apart, so long as he got Hallam Knight. However, now he felt differently. He’d always been close with Alexis, but while Draga had been alive, they’d kept their closeness closeted and restricted to brief moments alone. This had allowed Cad and Alexis to maintain a level of detachment. Yet in the time since it had been just the two of them, their connection had grown stronger. The roots of his feeling for her were now too deep for Cad to cut away. On top of this, the time he’d spent with Alexis alone on the private Mexican island had given him a taste for something beyond mere killing and notoriety. And it was a taste he wanted more of.

“Then we start something new. Just you and me,” said Cad stroking a blood-stained finger down Alexis’ cheek. Alexis smiled then took Cad’s hand and held it against her face.

“Then I’ll find out where the renegades are, and we’ll finish this,” Alexis said, eyes locked on to Cad’s. “Then we start something new.”

18

Hallam Knight crawled through the long grasses on the hillside overlooking the CSF facility on Vediovis, where a renegade fighter was impounded. It was the dead of night, but light from Vediovis’ twin moons still cast a cool, silvery glow across the landscape. Through the binoculars that he’d found inside their stolen drop-ship’s small storage locker, he could see the renegade heavy fighter toward the middle of the yard. It was covered by a grey tarpaulin in an attempt to disguise it, but compared to the ground vehicles and stripped-down spacecraft in the yard, it stuck out like a sore thumb.

“The ship still looks intact,” said Hallam, speaking to Dakota and Dr. Rand, who were also lying flat on their stomachs in the long grass. “How come I never saw one of these heavy fighters in the hideouts?” he added, realizing that the ship was perhaps thirty percent larger than the regular renegade fighters that he’d flown.

“We stopped using them in favor of the smaller, nimbler ships,” said Dakota. Hallam then handed her the binoculars so that she could also get a good look at the fighter. “When it came to tanker assaults, the larger size of these heavy fighters made them easier for the flak gunners to hit. We lost almost our entire fleet of them pretty early on, but a few survived. They were redeployed for recon runs or transport runs between bases. This is the first one I’ve seen in years, though.”

Hallam turned his attention to the area surrounding the impound lot, which seemed to double as a boneyard and scrap reclamation facility. It was basically in the middle of nowhere, which was likely because no one would want to live near such a mammoth dumping ground.

“I count four CSF Enforcers patrolling the fence around the impound,” Dakota continued, still scouting the location through the binoculars. “It’s hard to tell how many more there may be inside. Probably at least the same again, but likely more,” she added, pulling the binoculars away from her eyes.

Hallam continued to survey the surrounding area until he spotted a power sub-station about a kilometer further along the hillside. This gave him an idea. “Hey, if we take out that sub-station, it should throw the entire yard into darkness,” said Hallam, indicating the structure to the others. “In the confusion, it will take the enforcers a few minutes to get any backup generators online, by which time we can have sneaked into the impound and inside that fighter.”

Dr. Rand slipped her palm computer out of her pocket and started working. The glow from the screen shone brightly on her face and cast crisp shadows in the grasses.

“I can disable the sub-station remotely,” Dr. Rand began, tapping on the screen. “Once inside, we will need to supply the fighter with some conventional fuel in order to get it off the ground. It should, however, still have a sufficient quantity of Randenite in its tanks. I do not see any equipment in the yard that is capable of safely extracting it.”

Hallam nodded. “That’s likely why the CSF haven’t stripped it down yet,” he suggested, extrapolating from what Dr. Rand had just said. “The Randenite and that fighter’s Shelby Drive are the most valuable components. But without the right gear, they’d end up irradiating themselves or blowing this entire place sky high.”

“I think we’ve all seen enough apocalyptic explosions for one visit, don’t you?” said Dakota, bringing the memory of the nuclear explosion at Falken’s lair back to the front of Hallam’s mind. “We need to employ stealth. Though that’s not exactly been our forte, recently.”

Hallam then pulled a CSF-issue shock pistol from the back of his pants – another acquisition from the drop-ship. “That’s why I have this,” he said loading the weapon then shoving it back inside his waistband. He still carried a regular CSF-issue sidearm too, but agreed with Dakota that charging into the yard, all guns blazing, was probably not the smartest option.

“Great minds…” replied Dakota with a thin smile. She then drew a similar weapon and waggled her eyebrows at Hallam.

“The only problem is that the stun bullets will be most effective at close range, perhaps fifty meters or less,” Hallam continued. “We need to avoid their armor, so aim for the neck and other exposed areas, like the arms and legs.”

Dakota released then checked the weapon’s magazine of shock bullets before slapping it back into the handle. Besides its vibrant orange-colored grip, the shock pistol otherwise looked like a regular, if slightly bulky sidearm.

“Just shoot them in the ass, Hal,” Dakota said without any hint of sarcasm. “That’ll put them down even quicker than one of my famous right hooks.”

Hallam snorted a laugh. “I’ve taken plenty of your ‘famous right hooks.’ They’re not so bad.”

Dakota rolled onto her side and glowered at Hallam, nose scrunched up in disgust, as if he’d just broken wind. “We should test that again very soon then, shouldn’t we? Better still, how about I shoot you in the ass right now, then clock you round the head with my fist, and you can tell me which hurts more?” Hallam smiled then raised his hands in surrender, but Dr. Rand just sighed and tutted.

“Honestly, how you two ended up with the task of saving the human race is quite beyond me,” Dr. Rand said. She then finished working on her palm computer and slid it back into her pocket. “We have a few minutes until the virus I inserted into the power systems mainframe runs its course. I suggest we get down to the impound, preferably without punching or shooting one another in the ass...”

Hallam moved out first, carrying the two metal cases that contained the equipment Dr. Rand had engineered while they were on Vesta. Using the wild terrain for cover, he managed to get within twenty meters of the fenced boundary to the impound before the searchlight and patrolling enforcer guards forced him to again lay low.

“How long until the sub-station goes offline?” asked Hallam, watching an enforcer stroll past the fence, yawning and idly twirling a riot baton. Then the electrical hum of the overhead powerlines abruptly stopped, and all of the lights inside the impound went dead.

“I’d say around about now,” said Dakota, rushing past Hallam and jabbing him in the ribs as she did so. Hallam winced and followed her, with Dr. Rand picking up the rear.

“What the hell, not again!” cried the voice of one of the enforcers from somewhere inside the yard. “Wes, drive out and drag that guy from the power company back here, will ya?” the angry voice continued. “I’m gonna make him fix the damn distribution board at gunpoint this time.”

A bored-sounding male voice shouted back, acknowledging the order. A few seconds later, Hallam saw an enforcer trudging toward a ground transport that was parked near the main gate.

“Hey, Nick, fancy a ride into town?” the enforcer, whom Hallam assumed was ‘Wes,’ called out to another enforcer. The second man was resting against the wall of a building, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette and scratching his backside. Hallam could smell the cigarette smoke even from outside the impound. It was one of the many recreational drugs that was farmed on Vediovis.

“Sure, it beats standing around here, I guess,” the enforcer called Nick replied. The man then drew in another lungful of smoke, causing the tip of the cigarette to glow brightly, before tossing it to the ground. The enforcer put on a sudden burst of speed and jumped into the passenger seat of the ground transport. “Waste of damn time guarding this dump anyway,” Nick continued as Wes started the vehicle’s motor. “Anyone with half a brain has already fled these doomed outer bridge worlds by now.”

“That must explain why we’re still here…” Wes replied with a wry smile.

The transport’s headlights flashed on, shooting an intense beam of bright light into the darkness. The enforcer called Wes drove the transport up to the gate, then his companion jumped out to manually unlock and open it.

“Hell, this gate weighs a ton,” the enforcer complained, his boots slipping in the gravel as he struggled to push open the heavy metal barrier. The man’s already red face became brighter and brighter under the harsh headlights of the transport. “Drive through already, will ya!” Nick yelled, struggling to hold the gate back. The enforcer called Wes chuckled and slowly drove through the opening, then waited for his buddy to jump into the passenger seat. “On the way back, you open the damned gate,” Nick complained, which again only caused his squad mate to chuckle.

“Why the hell Stone has us stationed here when all the worlds are going to hell is anyone’s guess,” the driver added. They both then fastened their harnesses and turned on the radio, which was playing some middle-of-the-road Janusian indie-rock.

“Tell me about it,” Nick replied, the two enforcers clearly enjoying their opportunity to have a shared moan. “That guy was an asshole as Commandant, and now he’s the damn head of the entire company. I bet he killed Doyle himself!”

The two enforcers chuckled again, then the transit drove out into the darkness along an unmetalled road. A hundred meters further on, it swung a hard right to join up with the highway toward the nearest town, which was over on the other side of the hills.

“Now’s our chance. Go!” said Hallam, ushering Dr. Rand and Dakota through the gate, which was now slowly sliding shut again. Hallam followed at the rear, moving slower thanks to the bulk of the metal cases, and just managed to slip inside the impound before the wire-mesh gate clattered shut again. The remaining enforcers were now scurrying around in the darkness, and Hallam counted at least six flashlight beams dancing around inside the yard. One of the flashlights briefly illuminated a row of conventional fuel tanks, which reminded Hallam that they still needed to tank the heavy fighter.

“I’ll grab a hose from the tank over there and drag it over to the fighter,” said Hallam, nodding in the direction of the fuel store. “Stash these cases in the ship’s hold then see if you can get the damn thing to fly.”

Dakota nodded, took the cases, then crept ahead with Dr. Rand in tow, while Hallam skulked between piles of junk and partially stripped-down vehicles toward the fuel store. Keeping a watchful eye out for flickering flashlight beams, he then connected a hose to one of the tanks and locked it in place. The sound of the mechanical clamp system engaging was shockingly loud in the still night air, like a phone suddenly ringing at full volume during a two-minute silence. Hallam cursed under his breath and froze, listening intently for the scrunch of approaching boots, but all he could hear was the gentle whoosh of the wind flowing past his ears. Moving around to the control panel, Hallam then threw a switch to activate the pump. If the sound of attaching the hose to the tank’s outlet had been enough to cause Hallam’s heart-rate to spike, the resonant whir of the pump system as it kicked in almost caused it to explode. Immediately, Hallam heard the sound of heavy boots thudding toward his position, and he ducked down behind the fuel tank, pulling the stun pistol from his waistband as he did so. An enforcer skidded to a stop a few meters from where Hallam was hiding, aiming a flashlight and a sidearm at the fuel store.

“What the hell?” the enforcer said, shining the torch onto the control panel. “Who started this up?” the man added, though so far as Hallam could tell, he was talking to himself.

The enforcer then peered back into the central courtyard of the impound, and Hallam’s heart rate jumped again. If the man called for help, their plan was shot. Without a second to lose, Hallam leant around the tank and fired. The stun bullet thudded into the back of the enforcer’s neck and discharged a crippling electric current, which prevented the man from doing anything other than grimace and tremble. Hallam rushed out from cover and quickly rifled through the enforcer’s equipment belt, while the man was still incapacitated. Tearing a long strip of fabric from the man’s shirt, Hallam tied it around the enforcer’s mouth as a gag. Then he dragged the helpless man behind the fuel tanks and cuffed him to the fence, using the man’s own binders.

“Thanks for this,” said Hallam, taking the enforcer’s baton, then tapping the man’s helmet with it and slipping it through his belt. “And thanks for this too…” he added, releasing the magazine from the enforcer’s sidearm and shoving it into his own pocket. The enforcer was now starting to regain some level of control over his muscles, but his muffled cries and futile attempts to shake the binders loose were unsuccessful in attracting any attention.

Checking that the coast was still clear, Hallam moved out again. He grabbed the other end of the fuel hose he’d attached to the tank and dragged it across the gravel toward the heavy fighter. Flashlights were still flickering all around the impound, but the remaining enforcers still appeared to be oblivious to the renegades’ presence. As he drew closer, Hallam could hear their chatter clearly in the still night air, and none of them appeared to be overly concerned by the power outage. The enforcers’ banal small talk included complaining about being stationed on Vediovis, talking trash about the useless power utilities company, and making jokes about Dexter Stone. Hallam’s favorite was, “How do you know that Commandant Stone doesn’t like you?” The answer to which was, “When he’s only patted you on the ass once today.”

Hallam reached the fighter, connected the hose to the fuel inlet, then opened the valve. The fuel began to flow smoothly, causing the long pipe to snake around in the gravelly surface before finally settling down. Hallam again held his breath, hoping that neither the sight nor sound of the thick hose slithering over the gravel like a giant python alerted the enforcers. However, to his relief, they all still seemed to be preoccupied with making jokes and generally loafing off. Suddenly, a hand landed on Hallam’s shoulder and he jerked around, raising the stun weapon at the intruder. Dakota deflected his aim, though Hallam just had the presence of mind not to fire.

“Damn it, Dak, don’t go sneaking up on me like that,” snapped Hallam, struggling to keep his voice under control. “I nearly shot you.”

“Why are you so jumpy?” Dakota hit back, looking over Hallam’s shoulder as a group of the enforcers burst into laughter.

“I already had to take one enforcer down,” Hallam replied. They both then moved around to the rear of the ship and stepped up the already lowered rear ramp to get out of sight. “It feels like we’re tiptoeing around a damn minefield. One foot wrong, and the whole place goes off like a bomb.”

Dakota nodded. “I know how you feel. The good news is that the ship will still fly. But it will take Dr. Rand a few minutes to reinitialize the Shelby Drive and program in some escape co-ordinates.”

The sound of a ground transit approaching caused Hallam and Dakota to freeze. Feeling his heart-rate spike again, Hallam ran down the rear ramp and lifted the tarpaulin. The same vehicle that had departed the impound a few minutes earlier was trundling along the unmetalled road toward the main gate.

“Crap, those two enforcers are back already,” said Hallam, squeezing the grip of the stun weapon more tightly.

“They can’t possibly have made it into the town and back by now?” said Dakota, ducking down so that she could also peer under the canvas.

The enforcer that Hallam remembered was called Wes was now hauling the gate open. He was struggling even more than his squad-mate had done, a fact that the second enforcer was gleefully pointing out. The transit then drove through the gate and stopped just inside.

“Serves you right for forgetting to fill the damn transit up,” the enforcer called Nick shouted from the driver’s seat. His companion’s swift response comprised of a blue curse and a middle finger gesture. Nick laughed then suddenly went quiet, his gazed fixed on the gravel ahead of the transit. Hallam frowned, wondering what had distracted the driver’s attention, then noticed that the fuel hose was clearly visible underneath the light of the vehicle’s powerful headlights.

“Crap, he’s seen the hose,” Hallam pointed out, realizing they were about to be discovered. “We need to take them down now!”

“Draw their fire while I ambush them,” said Dakota, rushing out into the impound and taking up a position behind what remained of a crushed ground freighter.

“Why the hell am I the one drawing their fire!” Hallam called back, though Dakota was already too far away to hear his hushed cries. Cursing, Hallam ducked under the tarpaulin and made a run directly through the vehicle’s headlights.

“Hey, who was that!” Wes called out, drawing his weapon.

However, Hallam wasn’t going to give the enforcer an opportunity to gain the upper hand. He fired a burst of stun bullets then slid into cover behind an industrial-sized skip. However, the shots were all stopped by the enforcer’s armor. A second later, the enforcer began to convulse violently then fell flat on his face. Hallam squinted through the gloom and saw a stun bullet lodged into the man’s left butt cheek.

Hallam huffed a laugh. “Good shot, Dak,” he said under his breath. “I guess shooting them in the ass works after all…”

However, the driver of the transport still remained. Hallam and Dakota fired more stun bullets at the vehicle, catching it in a crossfire. The windows and light clusters all smashed, but the enforcer had already ducked his head out of sight. Suddenly, the strident sound of a horn being honked angrily on repeat blared out into the yard. It was like the enforcer had succumbed to a spontaneous bout of road rage. Torch beams flashed toward Hallam and he dropped to a crouch, firing the remaining stun bullets into the mass of approaching shadows. Two out of the eight figures he could see fell to the ground, convulsing, but the others kept on coming. Tossing the stun weapon to the gravel at his feet, Hallam pulled the regular CSF pistol from his waistband and took aim. Stealth was no longer necessary or prudent, he realized. Their capture was not an option. Capture would mean the end of any hopes of destroying the Centrum, and it would mean the eventual demise of the entire human race. It’s a numbers game… Hallam thought, reminding himself of the cruel reality that Dakota and Dr. Rand had both highlighted to him in the past.

Hallam opened fire, striking an enforcer cleanly in the chest and sending him down. The others scrambled into cover and shot back, but it was clear they hadn’t yet spotted Hallam’s position. Bullets thudded into the ground transit, causing the enforcer still holed up inside to scream and yell for them to stop. Then a flashlight swung across the yard and stopped dead on Hallam, half-blinding him. Moments later, bullets ricocheted off the skip he was hiding behind, and he scrambled away before diving behind a pile of scrap metal that had yet to be processed. More gunfire split the night air, and Hallam saw Dakota firing at the enforcers from the top of an impounded commercial vehicle. Another enforcer fell, but Hallam could now clearly see that there were six more still in the yard.

“Come on, Doc, we need that fighter!” Hallam said out loud, hoping to will the ship into life. To his astonishment, his plea seemed to work, and the crack of gunfire was drowned out by the vibrant thrum of the heavy fighter’s reactor. Hallam punched the air. It was like he’d just uttered a magic word. However, he also knew that it would still be several minutes before the ship was ready to take flight. Then he felt a lump in his throat, realizing that before that could happen – and even before Dakota could spin up the main engines – he had to detach the fuel hose.

Hallam was about to make a run for the ship, when a sonic boom split the air. Seconds later, a fighter craft roared overhead then turned on a dime and descended into the open courtyard. The ship was not a CSF design, and the enforcers also seemed to immediately recognize this. They spun around to face the new arrival, re-grouping and rushing into defensive positions, ready to take on the new combatant. Then Hallam recognized the configuration of the fighter and cursed. With the enforcers’ backs momentarily turned to him, he raced across to Dakota’s position to warn her.

“That’s a Blackfire Squadron fighter,” said Hallam, hauling himself up onto the vehicle alongside Dakota. “It must be Rikkard or the raven-skull woman. I’d know that ship design anywhere.”

Dakota also cursed then reloaded her pistol. She’d also switched to a conventional firearm. “Whoever it is, those enforcers aren’t expecting them; otherwise, they’d still be gunning for us,” she said, pushing her weapon into Hallam’s empty hand. “Hold them all off while I get the engines started. Our best bet now is to blast the hell off this rock.”

Hallam adjusted his grip on the second pistol, then peered out toward the mercenary ship. A figure in full power armor strolled out of the lowered rear ramp with a casual, arrogant swagger that could only have meant it was Cad Rikkard. The enforcers were all barking commands at the intruder to stop and stay where he was, but Hallam knew the mercenary would ignore any such demands. In the flickering light from the enforcers’ torches, the intruder’s iridescent armor looked somehow demonic, as if the figure had stepped out from the underworld, rather than from a space fighter. Then Hallam saw a sword hanging from the figure’s waist, which removed any doubt in his mind that the armored intruder was Cad Rikkard.

Suddenly, Hallam remembered about the fuel hose. He spun around, spotting Dakota already down on the gravel, in front of the heavy fighter.

“Dak, you have to detach the fuel hose first!” Hallam yelled at her, but Dakota seemed to be frozen to the spot. “Dak!” Hallam called out again with a little more volume, but still she didn’t react.

Assuming that Dakota simply couldn’t hear him over the clamorous whine of the fighter’s reactor, Hallam jumped down and moved closer to her. Then he discovered the cause of Dakota’s apparent paralysis, and he himself froze. Standing beside the renegade heavy fighter was Alexis Black, and she had a Five-Seven-Seven pistol pressed to the side of Dr. Rand’s head.

19

Hallam aimed his pistol at Alexis Black, but he quickly grasped the futility of the act. He wasn’t going to risk accidentally shooting Dr. Rand, and the smug look on the mercenary’s face told Hallam that she knew this too.

“Pointing guns at people isn’t nice…” said Alexis, pouting like a spoiled child. “I thought we were friends?” Then her whole face changed, turning suddenly cruel and malevolent, as if she’d torn off a mask to reveal an inner demon. “So put the weapon down, or I blow her head off.”

“If we’re friends, then let her go,” said Hallam, his voice sounding more confident than he felt. He took a half pace toward Alexis, but the mercenary swiftly removed the barrel of the weapon from the side of Dr. Rand’s head and shoved it into her mouth instead.

“Get back, or she’s dead,” Alexis snarled. The order was given so fiercely, Hallam instinctively complied. It was like the mercenary was a cobra that had just hissed at him. “And toss them to the ground before you hurt someone.” Alexis added, her eyes flicking to the pistols in Hallam’s hands.

Not wanting to risk pushing Alexis Black over the edge, Hallam threw the weapons down then held up his hands as if trying to tame a wild horse. “Please don’t kill her,” Hallam said, locking eyes with the mercenary. He doubted reasoning with Alexis would work, but he had to try. “She’s the only one who can stop the bridges from collapsing. What use is revenge if you and Rikkard end up dead too?”

Alexis pouted, putting on a show of pretending to think hard about Hallam’s point. Then she shot him a wicked smile and shrugged. “There would be no point in killing Rand, which is why we’re not killing her.”

Hallam scowled back at the mercenary, completely thrown by her answer. “So what do you want with her?” he asked.

“The scientist gets delivered to Dexter Stone. A barter of sorts.” Then she smiled cruelly again. “You two just get delivered straight to hell.”

Dakota now took a step toward Alexis, her hands balled into fists. The mercenary reacted by pushing the barrel of the pistol further into the scientist’s mouth, causing Dr. Rand to wince with pain.

“Uh, uh, uh, that’s not a smart idea, Wolfy leader…” snapped Alexis, and Dakota also immediately backed off, just as Hallam had done.

“Why don’t you put the weapon down and take off the armor?” said Alexis, fists still clenched. “Then we’ll see how tough you really are.”

Alexis’ pout vanished and her eyes hardened, but then a second later, a smile returned to her lips. It was like the mercenary had run through three distinct emotional states in as many seconds.

“I’d maybe get my armor off for him,” Alexis said, blowing a kiss to Hallam. “But I’m afraid you’re not my type.”

Hallam met Dr. Rand’s eyes, which stared back at him without fear. She was clearly in pain, but she was not panicking. Hallam tried to channel some of the scientist’s ability to remain composed, but their situation seemed desperate. Then the voices of the enforcers in the yard behind him grew louder and more urgent. Alexis’ smile broadened and she flicked her eyes in the direction of the shouts.

“Cad will be with you in just a moment,” said Alexis, as if Hallam and Dakota were merely waiting for an informal appointment with the mercenary leader. “You can watch, if you like? It will give you a nice taste of what’s to come.”

Hallam and Dakota both anxiously turned just in time to see Cad Rikkard draw his dark-bladed sword from its scabbard. The group of enforcers opened fire, but it was already too late. Cad attacked with the speed and poise of a ballet dancer. In the blink of an eye, three enforcers lay bleeding on the gravel, the shimmering blade of the mercenary’s sword cutting through their armor with terrifying ease. Another enforcer turned and ran, fleeing in the direction of Alexis. However, before the panicking enforcer had even spotted the mercenary, Alexis had raised her second pistol and shot the man in the head. The two remaining enforcers continued to fire at Cad, but their weapons were ineffective against the mercenary’s armor. Cad thrust his sword through the gut of the closest enforcer, driving it in all the way to the hilt. At the same time, he caught the final enforcer around the neck. Hallam watched in horror as Cad then lifted the impaled man above his head, blood gushing down the mercenary’s arm, painting it red, before tossing him aside like garbage. The mercenary then released his grip on the final enforcer, leaving him gasping for air. However, the man did not suffer for long before Cad swung the sword, slicing clean through the man’s neck, as easily as if he was dead-heading a rose.

Hallam glanced at Dakota, who had also watched the gory spectacle in silence. Dakota was normally the optimist, but Hallam could see that even she knew their situation was hopeless. They were trapped. And even if they did run in the slim hope of saving themselves, it would mean abandoning Dr. Rand and all chances of completing their mission.

Suddenly, Dr. Rand grabbed the pistol that Alexis had pressed inside her mouth and forced it away. “Let them go,” she croaked, massaging her jaw. “Let them go, and I’ll cooperate.” Cad Rikkard was now approaching, blood still dripping from his arm and from the tip of his sword. “It’s me that Stone wants. Let them go, and I’ll agree to help the Consortium fix the bridges.”

Cad stopped a few meters away from Hallam and Dakota and removed his helmet, revealing the mercenary’s scarred face. It was a face that Hallam had never wanted to see again. The mercenary glowered at Dakota then locked eyes with Hallam. The man’s arrogance and self-importance shone through as brightly as ever. However, there was also hatred burning behind the mercenary’s eyes, and it was directed squarely at Hallam.

“Don’t play games, doctor,” said Cad, turning his dagger-like stare to Dr. Rand. The scientist was now on her knees in the gravel, with a pistol pressed to the back of her head. “Your own mission is to fix the bridges, so we both know you’ll cooperate no matter what. Your bargain is worthless.”

There was a boom in the sky, like the crack of thunder. Hallam glanced up, expecting to see dark storm clouds rolling in, but the sky was clear. The scrunch of Cad Rikkard’s armored boots in the gravel as he took a step closer to Hallam then drew his full attention back to the mercenary. Cad was again peering into his eyes.

“You’re a hard man to find, and an even harder man to kill,” said Cad. He dug the tip of the sword into the gravel and leant on the pommel, like the weapon was a walking stick. “But even with your renegade tricks and the help of the galaxy’s most famous genius, you can’t beat me. Now do you see that I am the stronger, better man?”

Hallam sighed and shook his head. The mercenary was like a stuck record that was constantly looping the worst part of a bad song. “I don’t give a damn about you, Rikkard,” Hallam hit back, strangely unafraid, despite the slaughter he’d just witnessed. This outburst seemed to surprise Cad. Hallam assumed that the mercenary leader had expected him to drop to one knee and humble himself before the mighty Cad Rikkard. “This was never about me and you,” Hallam continued, while Cad remained strangely silent. “Why can’t you understand that? All we’re trying to do is save the bridge worlds. Damn it, we’re trying the save the human race!”

Cad laughed and pointed the tip of the medieval sword at Hallam’s chest. “You’re not nearly as noble as your name implies, Knight,” the mercenary spat. “All you are is a disgraced CSF washout with delusions of grandeur. Dumb luck is the only reason you made it this far.” Then Cad leant in closer, his cold, hard eyes drilling into Hallam like lasers. “But your luck has just run out.”

Hallam still could not understand the intensity of the mercenary’s bitterness and resentment toward him. However, the few words that Cad Rikkard had spoken had been revealing. Cad didn’t just want Hallam to die; he wanted him to prostrate himself at the mercenary’s feet. Cad wanted to break him, but Hallam wasn’t going to give the sadistic warrior his wish.

“If you really want to prove that you’re superior to me, take off that armor and drop your sword. Then we’ll find out who is stronger.”

Cad Rikkard’s eye twitched, and Hallam knew that he’d twanged a nerve. It was a risky gambit, and even if Cad did accept his challenge, there was no guarantee Hallam would win. Cad was still a lethal weapon, even when unarmed and without his power armor. However, fighting the mercenary one-on-one would at least give him a chance. And a chance, no matter how slim, was better than none.

Cad Rikkard opened his mouth to respond to Hallam’s challenge, when a deafening roar cracked the skies. Then, out of nowhere, a ship soared overhead. The downdraught from the vessel’s thrusters knocked Hallam, Dakota, and Dr. Rand off their feet. Strengthened by their armor, Cad Rikkard and Alexis Black barely managed to remain standing, but both were blinded from the dust storm the ship’s engines had kicked up. Hallam shielded his eyes then peered up at the ship. A shiver of electricity raced down his spine as he realized what it was.

“It’s a renegade fighter!” Dakota called out, scrambling away from the mercenaries while they were still blinded. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“The doc’s beacon!” Hallam cried out, also rushing into hiding alongside Dakota. “She transmitted her ID code using Gene Byer’s communicator disc, remember?” Then Hallam’s stomach knotted. “The doc, where is she?” he cried. Then he spotted the scientist, face down in the gravel in front of the mercenaries. Hallam cursed. “I have to get her!” he yelled, then scrambled out of cover, but the thud of the fighter’s cannons opening fire drove him back.

Cad was hit, but Alexis managed to snatch Dr. Rand and race into cover, firing up at the ship with one of her Five-Seven-Seven pistols. Bullets pinged off the renegade fighter’s hull, but the vessel continued to track Cad Rikkard. The mercenary was hit again, and this time, Hallam could see that the iridescent black armor had taken heavy damage. Forced to retreat, Cad ran deeper into the yard, vanishing into the darkness.

“Wolf Squadron, get in!” a voice cried out of an external speaker. Hallam peered up at the ship and saw the rear ramp of the fighter had lowered.

“We can’t leave without Dr. Rand,” said Dakota, holding on to Hallam to brace herself against the downward current of air from the fighter’s thrusters. “All of her gear is in the heavy fighter too. If we leave either, we’re finished!”

Hallam picked up the pistols he’d dropped earlier and offered one of them to Dakota. “We’re not going anywhere,” he said, meeting her eyes with a determination that was as dogged as the scientist herself. “We find Alexis Black and get the doc back,” he said, struggling to be heard over the roar of the fighter’s engines. “Then we fly this old fighter out of here, together.”

Dakota took the pistol from Hallam, then they both ran in the direction they’d last seen Alexis heading. However, they’d only made it a few paces before more cannon rounds split the air. This time, it was not the renegade fighter firing, but a trio of CSF Enforcer drop-ships that were surging toward them from over the mountains. The renegade fighter was hit and forced to pull away. Hallam glanced into the yard and saw Cad Rikkard stalking toward them, now sharply illuminated by floodlights shining down from the drop-ships. The damage to the mercenary’s armor was impairing his progress. Yet, while Cad Rikkard’s approach was slow, it was relentless. Cad’s eyes were not only murderous but desperate too. He’d had Hallam cornered, and once again, his chance at vengeance had been ripped from his grasp. If they gave Cad another opportunity, Hallam knew they would not get lucky a second time.

“We have to go, Dak,” said Hallam, making one of the hardest decisions of his life. “In less than a minute, this place will be crawling with enforcers, and Cad Rikkard will have us.” Dakota shook her head and tried again to run after Alexis Black, but another burst of fire from the drop-ships drove her back. “Dak, we’ll find her again,” Hallam said, holding Dakota’s shoulders and forcing her to look into his eyes. “They won’t kill Dr. Rand. They need her. And now we know there are more renegades out there, we can use their help to rescue her.”

Dakota cursed and pounded her fist into the gravel, cutting her knuckles in the act. “This isn’t over,” she snarled, her eyes flicking toward Cad Rikkard. “If they want a fight, they’ve got one.”

With cannon shells thudding all around them, Hallam and Dakota ran to the heavy fighter. The renegade ship swooped back over the impound and opened fire, obliterating the lead drop-ship with a concentrated burst from its cannons before it was hit again. However, this time, the attack had come from a CSF combat shuttle that was dropping down from the skies above them like a bird of prey. The renegade ship continued to take fire from multiple directions. Outgunned and outnumbered, the ship’s engines glowed hot and the vessel powered away into the darkness.

Dakota ran into the cockpit of the heavy fighter while Hallam shut off the fuel valve and practically ripped the hose away from the ship’s inlet. He then chanced a look into the yard and wished he hadn’t. Cad Rikkard was still dragging himself closer, sword cutting a trench through the gravel as he hobbled on, forcing the damaged armor to bend to his will. However, Hallam wasn’t about to let the crazed mercenary get any closer. Running into the cargo hold of the fighter, Hallam punched the button to close the ramp, then raced into the cockpit, throwing himself into the seat beside Dakota.

“The fuel hose is detached; let’s go!” he cried, pulling on his harness.

“Here goes nothing…” said Dakota, punching the initiator. Straightaway, the heavy fighter’s engines sparked into life, blowing the tarpaulin away like a gust of wind blowing laundry off the line. Bullets began to clatter against their hull, but the heavy fighter was a tank, and its armor repelled the attack from the lightly-armed drop-ships. Dakota engaged the thrusters and lifted the fighter into the air in a straight vertical line. The blast of air sent Cad Rikkard tumbling back across the yard, his sword falling from his hand and clattering into one of the scrap heaps piled up all around the impound. More cannon rounds flashed past the cockpit glass, then Dakota slammed the thruster pedal to the deck, blasting them toward space like a rocket. The ship’s navigation systems initialized, and Hallam saw another vessel trailing them. His pulse raced, fearing that the CSF armored shuttle was in pursuit. The scan then updated, revealing their wingman to be the renegade fighter that had come to their aid, and Hallam felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“I’m spooling up the Shelby Drive,” said Hallam, running through the procedure faster than he’d ever done in his life. “And I’ve synchronized with our new escort. With any luck, we can rendezvous in the Darkspace and tank enough Randenite off them to make it to wherever the hell they came from.”

Dakota didn’t answer, and Hallam almost repeated his statement before he saw the look on her face. It was a look of pure, unbridled fury. Hallam realized then that no words could make her feel better or tame the fire in her blood. More than this, he didn’t even want to try. Dr. Rand had been taken from them and would soon be in the custody of Dexter Stone. If they were to get the scientist back, it would mean playing a different game. It would mean no more sneaking around the galaxy. No more hit and runs. No more stun guns. This was an all-out war, and it was a war they had to win, at any cost.

20

Cad Rikkard stood in the center of the impound, staring up at the two renegade fighters that were blazing a fiery trail through the night sky. The remaining CSF Enforcer drop-ships had landed behind him, along with the armored shuttle that had also arrived during the fight. The latter had contained Dexter Stone, who was now marching toward Cad, flanked by two Vanguard Enforcers in dark green power armor and full-cover helmets that hid their faces. Cad recognized their powerful rifles and could see the handles of black tomahawks protruding from stows on their backs.

“I take it from your appearance that you failed,” said Dexter Stone, standing a little off to Cad’s side, guarded by the pair of Vanguard Enforcers.

“As usual, you are wrong,” Cad hit back, still staring up at the smoke trail that was now all that remained of the ships containing Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun.

Stone bristled at the insult, but then the appearance of Alexis Black, moving out from behind blocks of compacted metal trash, stifled any response. Alexis was shoving Dr. Shelby Rand ahead of her, the barrel of her Five-Seven-Seven pistol pushed into the scientist’s back.

“My apologies, Mr. Rikkard,” said Stone, sounding genuinely impressed. “Perhaps you live up to your reputation after all.”

Cad didn’t answer and just stared into the sky while Alexis and Dr. Rand drew closer. Two full squads of regular enforcers then filed out of the drop-ships. One squad began piling up the dismembered remains of the enforcers who had been stationed at the impound, while the second squad fanned out to secure the perimeter. Alexis stopped beside Cad and shoved Dr. Rand toward Dexter Stone.

Cad then finally tore his eyes away from the sky and peered at the commandant. “As promised, here is your precious scientist,” spat Cad, not even bothering to look at Dr. Rand.

“A pleasure to meet you, doctor,” said Stone, sounding painfully insincere. “You’ve caused me a lot of problems. And these are problems that you will now fix, so we can all get back to normal.”

Dr. Rand folded her arms and met Stone’s eyes with a look of utter disdain. “I already know how to fix the problems you are referring to, Mr. Stone,” she said. The scientist sounded composed, though Cad could sense her bitterness and resentment. “The only issue is that you will not like my solution.”

“Then you’d better find another solution,” Stone hit back. He then ordered two of the regular CSF enforcers in the yard to escort Dr. Rand to his shuttle. “You’re supposed to be a genius, right?” Stone added. Two enforcers moved forward and grabbed Dr. Rand by her upper arms, but the scientist angrily shook them off.

“I can walk, thank you,” the scientist snapped. She then set off toward the armored shuttle, cutting between Stone and Cad Rikkard, barging into the mercenary as she went. Cad glowered at the scientist, but then Dr. Rand stopped abruptly and peered up into his eyes. “Hallam Knight is a better man than you will ever be, Mr. Rikkard,” she said, though Dr. Rand did not appear to speak the words with the intention to cause hurt. She was talking plainly and factually, as a scientist. “It doesn’t matter what you do or what happens from this point on. You will never be the superior man.” Dr. Rand then continued on toward the armored shuttle, flanked by the CSF enforcers.

Cad’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to hit back, and to tell Rand she was wrong, but the scientist’s surprise verbal attack had disarmed him.

“The renegades you wanted got away then, I take it?” asked Stone, drawing Cad’s attention back to the burly commandant.

“They won’t get far,” Cad replied, swerving the question. “And now that our debt is paid, it will be easy for me to find them again, without your meddlesome enforcers getting in my way.”

Dexter Stone drew in a long breath and let it out. He then nodded at the mound of mutilated bodies that the second enforcer squad had piled in a bloody heap twenty meters away. “I take it that those ones got in your way, then?” he said, asking the question in a matter-of-fact manner that sounded cold and unfeeling.

“Collateral damage,” replied Cad with a similar lack of compassion. “So I take it that we are done?”

Stone sighed again then folded his arms, which caused the commandant’s jacket to bulge from the sudden flexing of his muscles. “No, Mr. Rikkard, we’re a long way from being done,” he answered with a malevolent sneer.

No sooner had Stone spoken the words than the two Vanguard Enforcers pounced. Long baton-like weapons sprouted from the forearms of their armor, striking Cad and Alexis in the chest before either had chance to react. The batons released a powerful electrical charge into their power armor, and Cad dropped to his knees, feeling what remained of his augmented strength fail him. Grimacing under the weight of the suit, Cad saw that Alexis was similarly incapacitated. The Vanguard Enforcers held the batons to the armor for a few more seconds, then pulled them away. However, while the weapons were no longer in contact with his armor, Cad’s suit remained inactive.

“It’s fascinating the sorts of things you find in Damien Doyle’s experimental weapons labs,” said Stone, crouching down in front of Cad and lifting his chin so that he was forced to meet his eyes. “I liberated these useful devices on my last trip to Vesta. It’s a shame that planet is already almost burned to a crisp, but luckily, I managed to remove anything of value.”

“We had a deal!” Cad growled, trying to stand, but the combination of the suit’s mass and its mangled condition made it impossible. “I gave you Rand!”

“I thought you’d be smarter than that,” spat Stone, his lips still curled into a cruel sneer. “You will stand trial for Damien Doyle’s murder, in addition to many other offenses. You will be found guilty, of course, then imprisoned in one of my gulags for the rest of your miserable life.”

Cad began to feel the effects of the weapon start to dissipate, and he managed to force himself to a standing position. Alexis had also just about managed to stand, but her Five-Seven-Seven pistols now lay on the gravel. Alexis reached for the weapons, but her fingers had barely touched the grips before one of the Vanguard Enforcers struck her with a baton again. Alexis screamed like a banshee, then the Vanguard kicked her in the chest and sent her skidding along the gravel on her back. Cad roared and tried to grab Stone around the neck, but the commandant and leader of the Consortium thumped him with a powerful right hand, sending him down. Cad remained in the gravel on all fours. The weight of the armor, plus the thumping blow from Stone’s powerful punch left him unable to respond.

“This has turned out to be a very good day,” said Dexter Stone, picking up one of Alexis’ Five-Seven-Seven pistols and admiring it. “Not only have I personally captured the notorious renegade and terrorist, Shelby Rand, but I’ve also detained the galaxy’s most wanted man.” Stone popped out the pistol’s magazine then checked the chamber before reloading it. “Once the meddlesome scientist repairs the damage to the bridges, I will be hailed as a savior and hero. Hell, I’ll be even more famous than Rand herself.”

“You’re a liar and a coward,” spat Cad, managing to raise himself to one knee. One of the Vanguard Enforcers stood over him, shock baton in hand should Cad make any sudden move.

Stone’s eyes narrowed and his oddly jovial mood vanished like steam dissipating in the air. He then adjusted his hold on the Five-Seven-Seven pistol and aimed it casually at Dakota. “You know, I think just one member of the Blackfire Squadron should suffice to stand trial,” said Stone. His tone now possessed a more acidic bite. “The second member, killed by my own hand while resisting arrest, would add a certain spice to the story, don’t you think?”

Cad gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand, but the Vanguard Enforcer swiped him across the face and sent him down to one knee again. Stone smiled then fired at Alexis, hitting her in the chest. The round pinged off her armor and vanished into the night.

“If you kill her, there is no limit to what I will do to you!” growled Cad, again managing to haul himself to his feet. This time, however, he did not try to advance, and the masked Vanguard stood his ground.

“Empty threats, Mr. Rikkard,” Stone hit back. Alexis had now climbed to her knees, arms raised to shield her face. Stone fired again and the bullet glanced off the mercenary’s elbow, chipping away a chunk of her advanced armor. The commandant fired again, this time hitting Alexis in the gut. The thud of the shot caused her to flinch and momentarily lower her guard. Stone smiled and fired again, but Alexis just managed to raise her arm and deflect the shot. “Oh, that one was close!” cried Stone, as if he was merely entertaining himself at a fairground shooting gallery.

Cad sucked in deep lungsful of air but remained still, despite every instinct in his body telling him to charge at Stone. However, he was already feeling stronger and did not want to risk another blast from the shock baton. If he could bide his time and judge the moment precisely, he might get one shot to stop Stone. It wouldn’t save himself, but it might give Alexis a window to escape.

“I’m bored of this game,” said Stone, tossing the pistol into the gravel. He then turned to the second Vanguard Enforcer and held out his hand. “Give me that,” Stone barked. Without question or delay, the Vanguard Enforcer handed Stone his rifle. Cad’s eyes widened as Stone took aim and fired with the new weapon, striking Alexis square in the chest and knocking her flat. “Now, this is more like it!” cheered Stone, beaming at Cad like a kid that had just been given some cotton candy. “I wonder how many shots that armor can withstand at this range? Three? Perhaps four? Shall we find out?”

Alexis struggled to her feet again. She could have run, but Cad knew she wouldn’t leave him. And even if she did, the Vanguard would cut her down before she even reached the gates. He’d run out of time. The perfect moment was never going to arrive. It was do or die. Stone fired again, but Cad didn’t wait to see where the bullet struck. Mustering all of his strength into one burst of power, he leapt at Dexter Stone. As expected, the Vanguard reacted instantly to head him off, but Cad’s target had never been the commandant, and the Vanguard’s response was exactly what Cad had planned for. Twisting his body at the last moment, Cad caught the Vanguard’s baton and twisted it back into the enforcer’s own body, paralyzing him. Then both Cad and the incapacitated enforcer bowled into Stone. The commandant fell, accidentally firing a burst of rounds that strafed across the armor of the second Vanguard, sending him down. With the last of his strength, Cad forced the shock baton underneath the Vanguard’s helmet, holding it against the man’s neck.

“Run!” Cad yelled out to Alexis, who was on her knees, blood trickling from puncture holes in her armor. Stone was on the ground, shaking his head, but the commandant had recovered fast. He looked at Cad, shrouded in smoke from the burning flesh of the Vanguard beneath him, then scrambled to retrieve the rifle. “Get out of here, damn it!” Cad again yelled to Alexis, but she shook her head, teeth bared like a rabid dog.

Dexter Stone reached the rifle and fired. The commandant’s aim was ragged, and the bullets danced across the gravel in front of Alexis.

“Alexis, go!” Cad growled again. The second Vanguard Enforcer was now back to his feet. Blood was flowing through holes in the armor where Stone’s accidental shots had penetrated. However, Cad knew better than anyone just how much punishment the alien-alloy could withstand. Stone fired again, hitting Alexis in the shoulder, but still she would not leave. The second Vanguard Enforcer thrust his baton at Cad, but he parried with his own weapon then stabbed the Vanguard in the shin. The man spasmed and dropped to his knees. Cad was about to strike the enforcer again, when the crack of rifle fire again split the air. Heart in his mouth, Cad looked to Alexis and saw more blood leaking from a fresh wound.

“Alexis, please go!” Cad cried out. “Leave me!” Armored gauntlets closed around Cad’s arms, and the stun weapon was torn from his grasp. “Go!” he yelled again, but then one of the armored fists came swinging down at his face, and the world went black.

21

Dakota finished the shutdown procedure for the heavy fighter and lowered the rear ramp onto the deck of the Darkspace Renegade hideout. Like all of the other hideouts, besides Dr. Rand’s secret habitable world, the base was built on a moon orbiting a rogue planet. However, as they had approached the base in their new ship, it soon became clear that the hideout had never been completed. It was about half the size of the other bases Hallam had seen, with several sections left exposed to space, as if they’d been torn away by a giant hand. Hallam remembered the reason Dr. Rand had given for why the base remained incomplete. The scientist had put this down to seismic instability on the moon, which would have put the base at risk. Ironically, however, out of all the hideouts Dr. Rand had constructed, this was now the only one left standing.

As it turned out, Hallam wouldn’t have cared if the rogue moon was shaking and rattling like an old train carriage. Their fighter had turned out to be in far worse condition than even the hideout was. During the course of their journey, a dozen systems alarms had required Hallam and Dakota to make constant, sometimes frantic running repairs to the ship. Their dialogue with the other renegade fighter that had flown to their aid on Vediovis had therefore been brief. As such, Hallam was more than happy to step off the rickety ship and onto a surface that he hoped was more stable, not only to feel safer in general, but also to get some answers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been gladder to get off a ship in my life,” said Hallam, jumping down onto the deck and checking out the new renegade base. The basic design of the hideout was similar to the others he’d visited, but it gave off the air of a grimy, abandoned industrial warehouse. Besides their own vessel and the renegade ship that had accompanied them from Vediovis, Hallam could see nine other renegade fighters in the hangar. Every single one of them looked like they’d already been through a war.

“This heavy fighter is going to need a ton of work, but we’re still lucky to have it,” replied Dakota, jumping down at Hallam’s side and patting the ship, as if it were a trusty steed. Bob the bear had been given a priority position on the cockpit in front of the pilot’s seat, and Dakota had already attributed surviving their harrowing flight to the bear’s lucky influence. “They might not have been ideal for assaulting Randenite tankers, but they’re tough little beasts. We’d have more chance of standing toe-to-toe with the Blackfire Squadron fighters in this than our regular ships.”

There was a hiss of air from their companion renegade fighter, then the rear hatch began to lower. It hadn’t even hit the deck before its pilot jumped down and ran out to meet them. She was perhaps in her early fifties, Hallam reasoned, and was wearing renegade armor that was more than a little scuffed and worn around the edges. Her face looked familiar to him, though Hallam couldn’t put a finger on why. He glanced at Dakota with the intention of asking her if she knew the woman’s identity, but Dakota was oddly fidgety and distant. Her head was bowed low, and Hallam couldn’t decide whether she was still angry about Dr. Rand’s capture or if there was something else wrong.

“Where’s Shelby?” the woman asked, getting straight to the point. She then peered inside the cargo hold of their fighter, as if hoping to find the genius scientist and renegade leader waiting for her.

“She was grabbed by the Blackfire Squadron mercenary, Alexis Black,” said Hallam. “There was no chance to reach her before Dexter Stone and the CSF Enforcers arrived.”

The woman hurled a curse into the stale-tasting air, which startled Hallam a little, then flopped down onto the ramp of the heavy fighter, kicking her legs out in front of her.

“Without Shelby, we’re screwed,” the woman said, throwing off her gloves and loosening her boots. “Do you have any idea where they’ve taken her?”

Hallam glanced at Dakota, but she just shrugged. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any ideas either. “I’m afraid not,” replied Hallam. “But they won’t kill her. They need her. That fool Dexter Stone thinks he can get her to magically fix the bridges with a snap of her fingers.”

The woman snorted and shook her head. “Dexter Stone was always a weasel,” she spat. “His steroid-fueled biceps are just compensating for his prune-sized brain.”

The double doors to the hangar then swung open and a deck crew ran inside. They were wearing a mix of renegade and civilian clothing, but moved with a coordinated fluidity that suggested they were a team of sorts.

“You know him?” asked Hallam, noting that one of the crew members had run up to the woman. “Dexter Stone, I mean?”

The woman ruffled her hair and then sighed heavily. “We trained together at the CSF academy,” she said while offering a friendly wave to the man who had arrived. However, the renegade crew member remained respectfully silent while Hallam and the woman continued to speak. “I was even his superior officer for a time,” the woman added. “Though it still never stopped him leching after me, the creep. I thought I’d seen the back of him when I transferred to planetary enforcement on Fortuna, but I guess the universe has a cruel sense of humor.”

Hallam huffed a laugh. “I know what you mean.”

Hallam’s response caused the woman’s laser blue eyes to narrow a touch, but she didn’t press Hallam to explain himself, and instead turned to the man who had been patiently waiting off to the side.

“Glad to see you back safe and sound, Commander Rivas,” the man said, stepping forward and handing the woman a bright red lollipop.

“Commander Rivas?” said Hallam, frowning. “Is that any relation to…”

“Ruby was my daughter, yes,” Commander Rivas replied, cutting Hallam off before he’d finished asking the question.

Dakota then finally raised her head, forcing herself to look at Commander Rivas. “I’m… I’m sorry about,” she began, stumbling over her words, but the older woman cut her off.

“You have got nothing to be sorry about, kid,” Commander Rivas said, throwing her arm around Dakota’s shoulder and squeezing her tightly. She then tore the wrapper off the lollipop with her teeth. “Ruby knew what she was doing when she signed up, and she always spoke highly of you. I don’t blame you for anything. It’s all down to Doyle, Stone, and those mercenary assholes. So let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

Dakota nodded and managed a weak smile. “Okay,” she said, sounding relieved. “And thank you.”

Hallam then thrust out a hand toward the commander. “I’m Hallam, by the way,” he said cheerfully. “Hallam Knight.”

Commander Rivas sucked on the lollipop for a second while scrutinizing Hallam like a drill sergeant might scrutinize a raw recruit. She then plucked the candy out of her mouth and accepted Hallam’s hand, shaking it vigorously. “So you’re the famous ‘Tanker Man,’ huh?” she said, a corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smile.

Hallam laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“She spoke highly of you too. Eventually, anyway…” Commander Rivas added warmly. “Nice to meet you, Hallam Knight.” She then released her vise-like grip on Hallam’s hand and shoved it into the pocket of her pants instead. “Glad to have you on-board. Hell knows we need people like you, now more than ever.”

The deck chief, who had been quietly standing off to the side while this exchange had taken place, then spoke up. “I’ll see to your ship, commander,” he said before turning to Hallam and Dakota. “And with your permission, I’ll get my crew to look over your vessel too?”

Dakota extended a hand toward the heavy fighter, inviting the man inside. “Be my guest, though I think you’ve got your work cut out for you with this thing. We barely got back here in one piece.”

The deck chief smiled. “That’s okay, I like a challenge.”

“That’s an understatement and a half.” Commander Rivas laughed, slapping the man on the back and sending him staggering forward a couple of paces. “Mr. Tucker here is the genius who figured out how to bolt all these old ships together into bases.” Then she slapped him again, adding, “Isn’t that right, Charlie?”

The man rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “Well, Dr. Rand was the genius. I was just the grease monkey that put her ideas into action.”

Commander Rivas grabbed Charlie Tucker by his shoulders and jostled him. “Aw, you’re too modest,” she said while continuing to shake him, lollipop stick protruding from the corner of her mouth like a hand-rolled cigarette. “Now go fix my ship,” she added, shoving him in the direction of her fighter. The man chuckled and jogged away, appearing more than grateful for an opportunity to escape.

“What’s the deal with this hideout?” asked Hallam. “The doc mentioned something about tidal friction, but it all went a little over my head.”

“Ah, this old place was the first base Shelby and I bolted together, along with Charlie over there,” Commander Rivas replied, sounding suddenly nostalgic. The deck beneath their feet then began to shudder, rattling some panels loose from the walls and sending dust showering down onto their heads from the half-finished ceiling above them. Commander Rivas shook the debris from her hair, then scrunched up her nose and peered around the disheveled hangar. “Problem is this moon is about as stable as your crazy Blackfire Squadron buddies. But it’ll hold together.” Then Commander Rivas shrugged nonchalantly. “Probably…”

“We only need it to hold together for long enough to get Dr. Rand back and fix up this fighter,” said Dakota, again patting the hull of the ship they’d rescued from the impound. “The gear we need is stowed inside, but without Dr. Rand, all of it is next to useless.”

Commander Rivas plucked the lollipop from her mouth and appeared more serious as a result, though Hallam doubted that the quirky woman could ever look truly stern.

“So what’s the plan, Wolf Squadron?” the commander asked, her eyes flicking from Hallam to Dakota and back again. “How do we get our esteemed leader back?”

“Well, we’ll need a rescue team at some point, once we’ve figured out where she is,” said Dakota. She then pointed toward the row of battered renegade fighters on the other side of the hangar. “Do they all fly?”

Commander Rivas nodded. “I have ten fighters, not including your latest addition, and about forty renegades.” She then shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s all we’ve got.” Commander Rivas stuck the lollipop back into her mouth then turned to Hallam. “What about you, hot shot? You have a reputation for getting out of impossible situations. Got any ideas on how to find Shelby?”

Hallam was about to offer a shrug of his own, since he genuinely didn’t have a clue where to start, then a bleeping noise distracted him. It was so quiet as to be almost inaudible, but the high pitch of the sound made it hard to ignore. It also seemed to be coming from somewhere close by.

“What the hell is that?” said Commander Rivas, who had apparently also heard the sound. She then moved closer to the fighter. “I think it’s coming from inside this new ship.”

Dakota jumped up onto the ramp and hurried inside, closely followed by Hallam. However, the sound diminished the further inside the heavy fighter they ventured. Then Commander Rivas jumped inside, and the noise grew in volume again.

“I actually think it’s coming from you,” said Hallam, prompting Commander Rivas to rummage around in her various pockets, finally pulling out a black disc. It was a long-range communication device, similar to the one Gene Byers had given Dr. Rand back at the outpost on Vediovis.

“Anyone expecting a call?” said Commander Rivas, holding up the disc and eying it with curiosity and more than a little suspicion.

“Maybe it’s the doc?” offered Hallam. “She could have hidden her disc from the CSF, maybe?”

Commander Rivas scrunched up her nose and shrugged again. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” She then stuck the device onto her temple and tapped it with her finger to activate the connection.

Hallam and Dakota watched and waited in silence, the anticipation building to an almost unbearable level in a matter of seconds, before Commander Rivas laughed, then met Hallam’s eyes.

“It’s Alexis Black,” Commander Rivas said, plucking the device off her temple and holding it out to Hallam. “And she wants to speak to you.”

22

Cad Rikkard lay on the bed in the cell that Dexter Stone had gleefully tossed him into. The bed felt more like a mortuary slab with only a thin, discolored mattress that barely did anything to cushion Cad’s injured and aching body. He guessed he’d only been in Stone’s dungeon for a few hours, but it seemed like an eternity. He had to muster all the mental strength he could manage simply to hold himself together. Imprisonment is worse than death, he thought to himself. At least in death, you get to rest.

Cad was wearing a standard CSF Enforcer field uniform. Typically, this uniform included the CSF logo on the chest pocket, but Cad had torn this off within seconds of donning the garment. The remains of his armor had been stripped from him and discarded, while his fighter had been confiscated by one of Stone’s Vanguard Enforcers. He didn’t know where it had been taken, just as he didn’t know for certain where he was now, although he had a fairly good idea. Cad recognized the stark layout of the rooms, and the low thrum of energy pulsating through the deck and the walls. And he’d also spent enough time on various space stations and planets to know the difference between real and artificial gravity. He was on a CSF outpost, most likely orbiting Earth or the moon. Such outposts had rarely been used in recent years, since the Consortium had – or used to have, in any case – its very own planet to use for its multifarious purposes. However, the outposts were still employed in certain circumstances, largely as prison gulags or venues for activities that the Consortium wanted kept hidden from public view. This was how Cad had come to know them, since he and Draga had spent many hours torturing Damien Doyle’s enemies in cells such as the one he was lying in now. Cad contemplated all this while idly tapping his knuckles against the stainless-steel metal wall, for lack of anything better to do.

“Could you please stop banging your fist against the wall,” said Dr. Shelby Rand from a nearby cell. She had spoken the words calmly and with surprisingly little irritation. “This place is miserable enough as it is without you adding to its wretchedness.”

Cad envied the scientist’s ability to remain composed, considering the circumstances. There were few people or things Cad envied. One had been Damien Doyle’s unique animal skin shoes – an obsession he had rid himself of after defeating the magnate. Dr. Shelby Rand, however, had always had his grudging respect. Not only was she more famous even than Doyle, but her achievements were without question. Yet, for all her accomplishments, she had not been able to fix the bridges. And now she was a prisoner of Dexter Stone, just as he was.

“You know, you’re a real disappointment,” said Cad, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up so that he could see Dr. Rand. The scientist was staring right back at him, appearing neither scared nor intimidated. In fact, she looked just as bored as Cad was.

“Oh, how so?” replied Dr. Rand, who seemed to be genuinely curious.

“You were supposed to be this genius scientist,” Cad continued, feeling the anger he’d worked hard to suppress bubble to the surface. Dr. Rand wasn’t the cause of this anger. She just had the misfortune of being the only person available for him to vent at. “Despite all of the great things you’ve achieved, you end up running around the galaxy with a band of halfwits, trying to play soldier. And look where it has got you.”

“It appears that you have not fared much better, Mr. Rikkard,” replied Dr. Rand calmly. She did not appear offended in the slightest.

“My only mistake was taking the job from Doyle in the first place,” Cad snapped back, failing to match Dr. Rand’s Zen-like composure.

“Not true,” replied Dr. Rand with a subtle raising of her eyebrows. “You also made the mistake of believing Dexter Stone would honor his barter with you.”

Cad glared back at the scientist through the steel bars that separated them. Dr. Rand pointing out this additional failing did nothing to endear him to her, nor did it help to quell his anger.

“Don’t forget that I destroyed your hideouts and outposts, and scattered your renegade rabble to the four corners of the galaxy. And I took down Doyle too. The most influential and untouchable man in the galaxy. I would say that my successes greatly outnumber your own, doctor.”

Dr. Rand stood up and moved closer to the bars of the cell. The two units were separated by an empty cell in the middle, so there was no way to reach one another. Even so, Cad was impressed that Dr. Rand had approached him so confidently. Most people gave Cad Rikkard the widest berth possible.

“Yet we fought on, despite all your efforts to stop us, and despite your own heavy losses,” said Dr. Rand, speaking as if she were giving Cad a job evaluation. “And I will continue to do what I can to save the bridge worlds from the fate that Dexter Stone, like Damien Doyle before him, is condemning them to. A fate that your own actions have all but guaranteed. So your so-called accomplishments are hardly anything to be proud of, Mr. Rikkard.”

This time, there was emotion in the scientist’s delivery. However, it wasn’t anger or bitterness, but disdain that Cad detected in her voice. He stood up and walked over to the cell bars, grabbing them with both hands and staring Dr. Rand in the eyes.

“If it’s fate for the worlds to burn or crumble or turn to ice, then who am I to challenge fate?” said Cad, already growing tired of the conversation. Rather than alleviating his boredom, it was making him angrier and more frustrated.

“I thought you were the ‘superior man’?” Dr. Rand hit back, causing Cad to bristle. It was like she was deliberately trying to provoke him into an emotional reaction. “Hasn’t everything you have done been merely to prove just how powerful you are? How skilled? How deadly? Yet I am not impressed at all, Mr. Rikkard. All I see is a fragile ego and a man that stands for absolutely nothing.” Dr. Rand shook her head then sat back down on her bed. “I was correct when I said that Hallam Knight is a better man than you will ever be,” she added. “And the tragedy of that fact is that you will never understand why.”

All through Dr. Rand’s speech, Cad could feel the blood pumping more fiercely in his veins, so that he could hear the thump, thump, thump of his pulse in his ears. Cad had not wanted to allow the scientist to rile him, but she had gotten under his skin. He’d lost Draga, and for all he knew, Alexis was dead too. Yet Hallam Knight had escaped again, while Cad was trapped, humiliated and at the mercy of the coward, Dexter Stone. To have that rubbed in his face was simply too much to bear.

“Knight is nobody!” Cad yelled, shaking the bars like an enraged toddler in a playpen. “I am stronger, I am respected, I am feared! In a comparison between us, there is no metric in which I do not come out ahead.”

“Honor,” replied Dr. Rand without hesitation. Her expression was stony and unemotional. She was like a wall of iron, compared to Cad’s erupting volcano. “Humanity. Virtue. Nobility, even. For all of these qualities, you fall deeply into Hallam Knight’s shadow. Indeed, you are in the shadow of all the renegades who have fought and sacrificed themselves to save those who have been blinkered from learning the truth for a decade.”

“Honor,” spat Cad, managing to regain some measure of composure. “Creeping around in the shadows, conducting acts of terror and murder in the name of a cause that only you and a small band of fanatics believe in. That doesn’t sound honorable to me.”

Dr. Rand was silent for a moment, though she continued to stare into Cad’s eyes, as if she were trying to hack in to his mind. “I don’t believe that is actually what you think, Mr. Rikkard,” Dr. Rand then replied, tilting her head to one side slightly. “Perhaps it was once, but whatever else you are, you are an intelligent man. You know in that shriveled prune of a heart that resides in your chest that I am correct. You’ve even seen the consequences of inaction for yourself, at the rogue world.” Then the scientist stood again, pressing her hands calmly behind her back. “Yet the difference between you and me, Mr. Rikkard, is that you choose to do nothing.” Dr. Rand lifted her chin so that she was looking down her nose slightly at Cad. “That does not sound like the actions of a superior man to me. It sounds like the actions of a coward. When it comes down to simple facts, Mr. Rikkard, you care only about yourself. Your reputation. Your ego. And that makes you one of the most contemptible men I have ever met.”

Cad gritted his teeth and grabbed the bars again, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Words were not his strength, or his chosen weapon, and in this verbal duel between himself and Dr. Rand, she had expertly disarmed him.

The door to the cell block then slid open and Dexter Stone marched inside, flanked by two Vanguard Enforcers in dark green power armor. Cad backed away from the cell bars as they entered and turned to face them, though his head was still spinning from his exchange with Dr. Rand. Then the arrival of a fourth member of the party cleared the fog from his mind. It wasn’t an enforcer, but a warbot. More than this, it was a model of warbot that he’d seen only once before, on a distant rogue world that had since been turned to dust.

23

The alien warbot thudded inside the cell block then stood to attention at the side of Dexter Stone. Its vivid blue eye, merely a single slit of light in its oblong cranial unit, was bent into a slight vee shape. It flicked between Cad and Dr. Rand, observing both with interest.

“You are deeply unwise to activate that machine,” said Dr. Rand. She was still calm, but there was more of an urgency about her now. “These are not simple machines, Mr. Stone. The Consortium’s top software engineers never truly understand their programming. And nor did I, for that matter.”

Dr. Rand’s voice had a scolding quality to it, but Cad detected an undertone of deep apprehension too. He looked at the scientist, noticing that for the first time since they’d arrived in the gulag, she appeared to be concerned.

“Have you ever considered that perhaps you’re not the only genius in the galaxy?” Dexter Stone hit back. “Doyle’s own personal protection bot never missed a beat, until he destroyed it anyway.” Stone wafted a hand toward Cad as he said this, then fixed the mercenary with a hateful glower. “Billions of dollars invested into that machine, undone by a piece of electronic trickery designed by someone barely older than a child.” Stone then stepped closer to Cad and folded his muscular arms. “However, in some respects, you did me a favor, Mr. Rikkard.”

Cad laughed. “Really, how so?”

“There wasn’t much left of the girl’s lair after you detonated that warhead,” Stone continued. “But it seems that she was very protective of her data. We managed to recover some very useful information from a number of secure storage vaults that she stopped using some years ago. No doubt this was after discovering that Doyle built in back doors to the systems so he could mine customer accounts for data. Which, incidentally, was exactly what this Falken girl was doing too.”

Dr. Rand now stepped forward and grabbed the bars of the cell. “Mr. Stone, are you saying that this warbot has been modified using code that Falken wrote?”

Stone turned his head and aimed his glower at the scientist instead. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, doctor, although with some extra modifications by our top engineers. Now these alien killing machines are my loyal lapdogs.” He shot the scientist a smug, toothy smile then turned back to Cad and aimed a finger at him. “Loyal lapdogs that are no longer vulnerable to you girlfriend’s clever little hacking device, I might add.”

The mention of Alexis Black set Cad’s pulse racing. He jolted forward, grabbing the bars in front of Stone. “Alexis, is she alive?” he said, sounding more panicked and desperate than he’d intended. However, the alien warbot responded with equal speed, shoving Cad in the chest with its claw-like hand. Cad was propelled back against the rear wall of the cell, as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. Barely managing to remain on his feet, he pressed a hand to his shirt, feeling blood wet his fingers from cuts caused by the bot’s sharp metal limb. The bot itself remained close to the bars, its blue eye peering through the gaps in the metal, twisted into a deeper, more aggressive vee.

“See what I mean? Loyal…” sneered Stone, slapping the back of his hand across the machine’s shoulder to dismiss it. The alien warbot turned its eye onto Stone, for a moment still bent into a sharp vee, then it backed away and again stood to attention. Cad could see, however, that the angle of the alien machine’s eye remained as sharp as its fist had been. Yet, as he cautiously walked back into the middle of his cell, careful to stay well clear of the bars, the machine’s eye remained focused on Stone, rather than himself.

“If you killed Alexis, I will make you my very special pet project,” said Cad. “And no warbot or even an army will stop me from giving you a slow and very painful death.”

Stone just laughed this off. “You are in no position to make threats, Mr. Rikkard,” he hit back. “I suggest you do not anger me further, and make your own situation worse.”

“Mr. Stone, you must listen to me,” Dr. Rand cut in. She was still holding on to the bars, and her eyes appeared even more urgent. “Falken was indeed a virtuoso, and in terms of computer systems, I freely admit her skills outstripped even my own…”

Stone just laughed and cut her off mid-sentence. “Finally, some humility from the great Shelby Rand!” he bellowed. No one else in the room reacted, included the Vanguard Enforcers, who had remained even more statuesque than the warbot.

“This is no joking matter,” Dr. Rand continued, clearly aggravated by Stone’s tone and the fact that he had interrupted her. “These are not mere automatons. They are inorganic living beings with an animalistic intelligence. The alien programming surpasses our understanding by centuries. Even a mind a sharp as Falken’s cannot possibly have comprehended all the variables involved.”

Stone stood in front of the scientist, his arms still folded tightly across his chest. “It is your pessimism and negativity that has brought us to this place, Dr. Rand,” Stone said, mimicking the scientist’s scolding tone. “Had you spent the last decade working with us to fix the problems with your bridge drives, instead of conducting your futile renegade operations, the bridge worlds would not now be on the brink of collapse.”

Dr. Rand sighed and shook her head. “After ten years, I still cannot believe I need to say this, but I shall attempt to reason with you one last time,” the scientist began. Cad could sense the anger bubbling underneath the surface, and it surprised him. He did not think that the famous scientist ever became unbalanced. “The alien species that invented this technology were not able to prevent the demise of their own planet and species. It will not take ten years to fully unravel the mysteries of this alien discovery. It will not even take decades. It may require lifetimes, Mr. Stone, do you understand? We are lifetimes behind where the aliens were at the time their own species was annihilated. And you think that I alone, in a Consortium laboratory, surrounded by your sycophants, can find a solution in a matter of days?” Stone’s already furrowed brow wrinkled even more deeply, but he didn’t respond. “The truth, Mr. Stone, is that I am to blame for all of this. I rushed in where angels fear to tread, so to speak. I allowed Doyle to flatter my ego and my thirst for discovery. In short, Mr. Stone, I meddled with technology that I did not understand. And I have already given you the one and only solution that will undo the damage. You must accept this, or humanity will come to an end.”

Stone drew in a long breath and let it out slowly before unfurling his mighty arms from around his chest. “We shall see how challenging the task really is when you are properly motivated, doctor,” he said, staring down at Dr. Rand like she was an exhibit in a zoo. “However, the first item of business is to parade you in front of the galaxy’s media. I want everyone to see that we have the genius scientist, Shelby Rand, and that she is working to fix all the problems. That, if we are lucky, will help to ease the mass rioting and save some lives.”

“And no doubt appease your shareholders,” Dr. Rand cut in acidly.

“No doubt,” replied Stone, grinning. Then he turned to Cad, his smug grin remaining. “While you, Mr. Rikkard, will be paraded before the media in quite a different way. I have a nice photo call already arranged on the rooftop of the Consortium’s Governors Island tower. It seems fitting to reveal Damien Doyle’s murderer in the location where he committed his crime.”

Dexter Stone’s theatrics only made Cad despise the commandant more fiercely. However, Stone’s prattle was not what had been captivating his attention for the last few minutes. Cad had never bought in to the notion that the only way to prevent the bridges from collapsing was to destroy the Centrum and end bridge travel for good. Like Stone, and Doyle before him, it seemed ridiculous to think that the genius inventor of the technology could not figure out a way to fix her invention. However, after hearing the scientist admit her mistake and her limitations, it was clear, at least to him, that she was telling the truth. There was no fix. Whatever happened next, they’d all die anyway. What Shelby Rand really desired was redemption, and to Cad, this made her a hypocrite. Her selfish desire was little different from his own yearning for vengeance. The great doctor was merely seeking to repay a debt, while Cad was still determined to collect on one. Dr. Rand was not better than he was. And in that moment, he resolved that neither she nor Dexter Stone would write his final chapter. Cad moved closer to the bars of the cell, watched closely by the Vanguard, and the alien warbot, whose blue eye had been fixed on Dexter Stone the whole time.

“You’ll get nothing from me, Stone, just like you’ll get nothing from her,” Cad said, nodding toward Dr. Rand. “It sounds like the end is coming for us all. But for you, it will come much sooner.”

Stone’s grin twisted into a wolfish snarl, then he reached through the bars and grabbed Cad’s bloodied shirt. “Let’s test that little theory, shall we?” spat Stone, drawing back his fist, ready to strike. However, before he could throw the punch, an alarm rang out inside the cell block and a red light began to pulse on the wall.

Stone released Cad and turned to the nearest Vanguard Enforcer. “What the hell is it now?” he barked.

“General alert, sir,” the Vanguard replied, his voice modulated through the mask in the helmet. “A breaching pod has compromised the hull on level ten.”

“What?” Stone barked. “Why was this pod, or the ship that launched it, not detected!”

“Unknown sir,” the Vanguard replied calmly. “The vessel that deployed the pod still does not appear on our scanners.”

Cad smiled. He knew the answer to why the vessel had not appeared on the CSF station’s scanners, though he preferred to let Stone find out for himself. There were only two vessels that he knew of that were capable of such a feat. And he knew of only one person in the galaxy who had the guts to attack a CSF military output on her own. “Having a little trouble, Commandant?” Cad said, smiling at the leader of the CSF.

“Quiet!” Stone growled. He then stormed to the exit and slammed the door release button. “Get out and find out what is happening. Report directly to me!” Stone barked at the Vanguard Enforcers.

The two Vanguard Enforcers acknowledged the command and marched out of the room. The alien warbot began to follow them, but Stone grabbed its arm and held it back. “Not you, you stupid machine,” he yelled, causing the warbot’s blue vee to narrow even further. “You stay with me.”

Stone stepped through the door with the warbot a few paces behind. However, before the door slid shut again, Cad called out to the man.

“Remember what I said, Commandant,” Cad said, clutching the metal bars so tightly that his knuckles were white. “The end is coming for all of us. But it’s coming for you first of all.”

Stone glowered at Cad then stormed out into the corridor with the alien warbot in tow.

24

The breaching pod slammed into the outer hull of the CSF space station with a thump that felt like Hallam had been kicked in the back. Dakota was at his side, also strapped into a rear-facing seat, while Alexis Black stood ready at the mouth of the breaching tunnel. Thanks to her advanced power armor, she had been able to remain standing, using the strength provided by the suit to hang on to the pod with inhuman force.

“Sixty seconds, be ready to follow me in!” Alexis called back to them. She then detached an enormous semi-automatic shotgun from the stow at her side. Two Five-Seven-Seven pistols were holstered on her hips, but there were also two additional items that Hallam didn’t recognize. One was a wide metal tube that Alexis had strapped across her back, like a quiver of arrows. Hallam had no idea what it contained and hadn’t managed to pluck up the courage to ask. However, he was fairly certain that it was bad news for the CSF enforcers on the station. The second mystery item was a small metal bar, like a broom handle, but maybe only thirty to forty centimeters long. It appeared to be magnetically attached to the front of Alexis’ armor, where a belt buckle would normally be.

The mystery surrounding the two unexplained additions to her combat gear notwithstanding, it was apparent to Hallam and Dakota that the mercenary meant business, and that the business in question was death. Her ruthless intentions had been conveyed in no uncertain terms through the way in which she had aggressively assaulted the station, and the manner in which she had spoken to Hallam and Dakota. The quirky, sometimes even flirtatious Alexis Black was nowhere to be seen. That woman was locked up somewhere inside the mercenary’s mind, waiting for the ideal opportunity to once again show herself to the world.

Hallam pressed the medical injector Alexis had given to both him and Dakota into his neck, and felt the chemicals flow into his body. Alexis had explained that the drugs would counteract the disorientating effects of the pod’s sudden acceleration and deceleration. For a second, the intense pain and discomfort he felt made him think Alexis had actually poisoned him. However, after a few moments feeling like death warmed up, Hallam now felt as strong as an ox. He unclipped his harness and stood up, pulling a rifle from a stow at his side. This was a loan from Alexis, as was the identical rifle that Dakota had also plucked from its mount. It was vastly superior to any weapon the rag-tag band of renegades had access to, and Hallam had no doubt it would aid them in their mission. However, as he turned to face the breaching tunnel, casting an anxious glance at an equally uneasy-looking Dakota, the gravity of what they were about to undertake hit him like an uppercut. They were about to assault a confidential CSF military space station, no doubt teeming with enforcers, and attempt to rescue Dr. Rand. If this wasn’t insane enough, their mission also included saving Cad Rikkard, Hallam’s sworn enemy.

Their unlikely ally in the endeavor was also the last person Hallam and Dakota expected to be fighting with side-by-side. After escaping from Dexter Stone and his CSF Vanguard Enforcers on Vediovis, Alexis Black had contacted someone she had called, the “Banker.” The Banker had then furnished Alexis with the location of the space station where Dr. Rand and Cad Rikkard were being held. She had not elaborated on who this mysterious Banker was, or how he or she came to be in possession of top-secret information. However, she was adamant that the intelligence was trustworthy.

Alexis had explained all this to Hallam via Dr. Rand’s bridge-space communications disc, which she had confiscated from the scientist while searching her for weapons on Vediovis. Alexis had spoken plainly and without emotion before coming to the reason for her unexpected call. Despite her undeniable combat prowess and technical smarts, Alexis had admitted – to Hallam’s immense surprise – that she could not rescue Cad Rikkard on her own. The forces on the station were too great. She needed a partner, one whose interests were aligned with hers, at least in terms of the overall objective. In simple terms, this was to assault the station, rescue the prisoners, and escape again alive. As such, despite warning bells sounding in Hallam’s head louder than the chimes of Big Ben, they had agreed to a temporary truce. Without Alexis and her advanced weapons and technology, Hallam knew it would be impossible to attempt the mission, even with the help of Commander Rivas’ renegades.

Remarkably, Dakota had also agreed to the partnership almost without question, though Commander Rivas had required far more persuasion. Ultimately, however, there was little option other than to trust the mercenary. If they did not join forces with her, she would keep the location to herself, and the renegades would have no hope of rescuing Dr. Rand. Commander Rivas had likened it to doing a deal with the devil, and Hallam couldn’t deny that the analogy was accurate. To save Dr. Rand, it also meant saving Cad Rikkard – the one man in the galaxy whose sole purpose was ensuring that Hallam died a painful, slow death.

“It would have been nice if she’d loaned us a couple of sets of that armor,” said Dakota as the breaching pod continued to slice through the hull of the space station. “We won’t last ten seconds in our renegade suits against Stone’s Vanguard fanatics.”

“I did ask her if she had any spare sets, but apparently, that was her last one,” replied Hallam, though he hadn’t been entirely convinced by this answer at the time.

“Last set, my ass,” replied Dakota, who clearly shared Hallam’s skepticism. “She just doesn’t want us fighting on an equal footing. I swear, if she turns on us after we find Dr. Rand and that asshole Rikkard, I’m going to give her a beat down for the history books.”

“I’d buy ringside seats to that,” replied Hallam. Then the breaching pod was rocked by a sudden explosive decompression, and Hallam saw that the inner walls of the space station had been breached. “But our mission isn’t to charge headfirst into battle. We just need to keep our heads down and find the doc, while raven skull lady goes postal on the enforcers inside.”

The breaching pod finished cutting through the hull and an oval chunk of metal fell away, creating an opening directly into the space station.

“Let’s move!” cried Alexis. She then lowered her visor and leapt through the opening.

“Last one inside the space station full of people who want to kill us buys the drinks?” asked Hallam, raising an eyebrow at Dakota.

“You know what, Hal, on this occasion, be my guest,” said Dakota, extending a hand toward the opening.

Hallam ran through the tunnel and jumped down into what appeared to be a disused hangar before taking cover behind a stack of dusty storage containers. There was only one ship inside the hangar, though it was a ship that Hallam had become quite familiar with.

“Well, at least we know that Rikkard is here,” said Hallam as Dakota drew up at his side.

Dakota looked over to the mercenary ship and tutted. “If we get back here before they do, I’m stealing that thing,” she said. Hallam laughed, though he knew that she wasn’t joking.

The double doors to the hangar slid open and the cavernous room was immediately filled with the rattle of gunfire. Hallam and Dakota kept well down and out of sight, as was the plan, but Hallam still chanced a peek through the gaps in the containers. What he saw would have struck terror into the hearts of any enemy. Four regular enforcers had entered, weapons raised, but the first two had been blasted by Alexis’ shotgun before the doors had even fully opened. The second two had fired at Alexis, but she had come at them so fast that their aim was wild and erratic. The heavy stock of the shotgun had done for the first of them, while the second had been knocked halfway across the hangar by a ferocious backfist.

“Something tells me she’s not a happy lady,” said Dakota. She then slapped Hallam on the shoulder and moved up out of cover.

“The cell blocks are on level eight,” said Alexis, who had stepped out into the corridor and raised her visor again. She pointed to a door on the wall to their left. “You can take the emergency stairwell. They should remain clear, since I’ll be making sure the enforcers are all coming after me.”

Dakota moved up to the door, cautiously pushed it open, and peeked through. “It looks clear,” she said, waving Hallam over. He slipped through the open doorway, but then noticed that Dakota had turned back to Alexis.

“You’d better uphold your end of the deal, lady,” Dakota said, stopping short of jabbing a finger at the mercenary, though the threat was still obvious.

“So long as you get Cad out of his cell too, I won’t kill you, if that’s what you mean?” Alexis hit back. The sound of voices and heavy boots started to filter along the corridor. “And remember that this deal lasts only for as long as we’re on this station. After that, the next time I see you, I won’t be so generous.”

Dakota stepped up to Alexis and the two women squared off. “The next time I see you, I’ll put you on your ass for what you did to Ruby and the other renegades.”

“Dak, come on, this isn’t the time,” said Hallam, subtly trying to encourage Dakota to stop antagonizing the deadly mercenary in power armor that hated her guts. Also, the shouts were growing louder, and the last thing they needed was for Dakota and Alexis to go toe-to-toe in the corridor.

“I look forward to it,” said Alexis, a flicker of the more playful persona surfacing for a second. She then blew a kiss to Hallam. “I’ll see you back in the hangar,” she added, winking at him. “Make sure Cad is with you, or I’ll be very cross.”

Hallam could see that Dakota wanted to hit back, but the bootsteps were growing rapidly louder, so she bit her tongue and stepped back through the door. Alexis then lowered her visor and advanced, the boom of her shotgun drowning out any other sound as the door closed.

“I really hate her,” said Dakota, taking the lead and moving up the first flight of stairs.

“No offense, but I think the feeling is mutual,” replied Hallam. He was actually glad that the deadly mercenary seemed to have taken a shine to him, though he wouldn’t admit that to Dakota, not unless he wanted to get popped in the mouth.

They reached the next level up, and again Dakota took the lead, with Hallam following close behind, covering their rear. He’d just passed the doorway onto level nine when it flung open and an enforcer barged through. The man then hurried down the stairs to the lower level without even looking around the stairwell. Hallam pressed his back to the wall and held his breath, hoping that the enforcer would be too focused on pursuing Alexis to notice them. Three more enforcers then quickly followed through the door, the first two as oblivious to Hallam and Dakota’s presence as the lead enforcer had been. Then the fourth man sped onto the landing and spotted Dakota, crouched behind the handrail on the stairs leading up. The enforcer slid to a stop, turned, and spotted Hallam against the wall, then called out to his squad to raise the alarm.

Cursing, Hallam rushed forward, driving the enforcer back into his squad mates and sending them all dominoing down the stairs. He then ran in pursuit of Dakota, who had already reached the door to level eight, where the cell blocks were located.

“Hurry, I can jam the door shut once we’re through,” said Dakota while Hallam powered up the last flight of stairs, legs burning. Dakota flung the door open and waited for Hallam to move through, but as he stepped out into the corridor, he saw another squad of four regular enforcers heading his way. All four slid to a stop, the screech of their boots against the cold metal decking sounding like cats fighting in an alley. However, Hallam didn’t wait for them to bark orders at him, nor did he give them an opportunity to shoot first. Raising his rifle, he opened fire from the hip, taking advantage of the sophisticated weapon’s smart auto-aiming rounds to gain the additional vital seconds that would prove to be the difference between life and death. Hallam released the trigger and the squad of enforcers lay dead on the deck. Then Dakota smashed the inner handle off the door with the butt of her rifle and slammed it shut.

“That should hold them,” she said before spotting the bodies on the ground. She let out a low whistle then slapped Hallam on the back. “Come on, they’re not the first to die, and they won’t be the last,” she said, again moving out ahead of Hallam.

According to Alexis, who had somehow acquired an intricate knowledge of the layout of the CSF station, Hallam knew that the cell blocks should have been directly ahead. More shouts and bootsteps reached them from adjoining corridors, but this time, the sounds were moving away. Alexis is clearly doing her part well… Hallam thought while he and Dakota moved up to the archway leading into the detention area.

“There’s only one enforcer stationed at the desk,” said Dakota, nodding toward the archway. “It’s best if we take him down quietly.”

Hallam thought for a moment then remembered something Dakota had mentioned before they assaulted the impound on Vediovis.

“How about you introduce him to your ‘famous right hook’?” Hallam said, flashing his eyes at her.

“Still a doubter, eh?” said Dakota, smiling. “But okay, if you cause a suitable distraction, I’ll give you a demonstration.”

Hallam stayed low and waited for Dakota to crawl into position, beneath the desk in the detention area. The guard was nervously watching a security feed of Alexis ripping through another squad of enforcers on a palm computer, so sneaking inside hadn’t proved difficult. Hallam then moved through the archway, walking tall, and thrust his hands in the air, announcing, “I surrender!” at a far louder volume than he’d intended. His arrival and sudden announcement startled the enforcer so much that the man dropped his palm computer, which smashed on the deck.

“Put your hands up!” the enforcer yelled, scrambling for a weapon.

Hallam was about to remind the enforcer that he already had his hands up, when Dakota sprang up from beneath the desk and swung a right hook at the man’s face. It connected sweetly, toppling the enforcer like a felled tree. The man cracked his head on the desk on his way down, generating a nauseating crunch that caused both Hallam and Dakota to wince. Then the enforcer’s face slammed into the dimpled deck plating, with another organic-sounding crack.

“Fair enough, that was a pretty good shot,” admitted Hallam. Then he noticed a face peering out at him, pressed against the bars of one of the cells.

“Mr. Knight?” said Dr. Rand, her brow twisted into a heavy frown. “Miss Wulfrun?” she added, turning her gaze to Dakota, who was still shaking the sting of the punch from her hand.

Hallam ran up to Dr. Rand and took her hands, holding them through the bars. “Hey, Doc, good to see you. Sorry it took us so long.”

“But how did you get here?” Dr. Rand replied, still clearly shaken, so much so that she was almost lost for words. This was a rarity for the scientist.

“That’s a story I’m afraid we don’t have time for right now,” said Hallam. Dakota then arrived with a set of keys, taken from the now unconscious guard. Suddenly, Hallam could practically feel another set of eyes drilling into his back. He turned to the adjacent cell, seeing a figure in shadow, lying on the bed.

“Hallam Knight…” spat Cad Rikkard, rising from the bed and stepping closer, fists clenched. “I warn you now, don’t let your pitiful sense of nobility and compassion cloud your judgment. If you open this cell, I will kill you.”

Dakota finished unlocking the door to Dr. Rand’s cell, then handed the keys to Hallam. “Here, you do the honors for that asshole,” she said, helping Dr. Rand out of the cell.

“I’m afraid it’s not noble sentiment or even compassion that compels me to let you free, Rikkard,” Hallam said, moving almost close enough for Cad to reach out and grab him. “But I made a deal with someone to let you out. The bad news for you is that deal also precludes you from killing me.”

Cad snorted a laugh. “What deal? With who?”

“Alexis Black, of course,” replied Hallam. Saying her name seemed to stun Cad, as if he’d just been slapped hard around the face.

“She’s here?” said Cad, taking a step back from the bars.

“She’s here,” Hallam answered, unlocking the cell door and moving away, rifle held ready. “And the truce was her idea. You’re not going to make her a liar, are you?”

Cad pushed open the cell door and stepped outside. “She would never agree to a truce. She knows how much I want you dead.”

“Relax, it’s just till we’re all safely away from this CSF hell-hole,” replied Hallam, noticing that Dakota and Dr. Rand were watching from the other side of the cell block, next to the desk. “So do we have a deal, or shall I just shoot you here?”

Cad snorted another laugh. “You don’t have the balls to do something like that,” he sneered. “Besides, you’re Dr. Rand’s noble little pet. You wouldn’t kill me in cold blood.”

“Don’t bet on it,” replied Hallam. “Believe me, if I have to, I will put you down, and I won’t shed a tear over it. So you can suck it up and make a promise on whatever sense of honor you have, or you can have a bullet. Make your choice, Rikkard.”

Cad smiled then glanced at Dr. Rand and Dakota before again meeting Hallam’s eyes. “Fine, noble Knight, but if this is a trick, or if Alexis is already dead, neither of us is leaving this station alive.”

“Fine by me,” said Hallam. Then he nodded toward the exit. “But if you don’t mind, you can go first.”

Cad held Hallam’s eyes for a moment longer, then walked toward the archway, tracked also by the barrel of Dakota’s rifle. The mercenary stopped beside Dr. Rand, who was regarding Cad with interest.

“There you are, Mr. Rikkard. And now you see that I am right,” the scientist said, causing both Hallam and Dakota to frown.

However, before Cad could respond, the sound of bootsteps approaching diverted their attention to the corridor outside. Mixed in with the bootsteps was another, far heavier and more industrial-sounding clack. Hallam chanced a look outside and cursed.

“We have a big problem,” said Hallam, watching an alien warbot thump along the corridor, flanked by two Vanguard Enforcers, and Dexter Stone.

25

Hallam released the magazine from his rifle and slapped in a new one, all the while keeping a keen eye on Cad Rikkard. He then glanced through the archway of the detention area toward the emergency exit stairwell that he and Dakota had arrived through. It was still clear.

“We’ll have to make a run for the emergency exit,” Hallam said. “Dak and I will hold off the enforcers and that alien bot while Dr. Rand and Rikkard make a run for it.”

Dakota nodded, but Cad was less enthused. “I don’t need your protection, Knight,” he snapped back at Hallam, clearly affronted. “And I don’t ‘make a run for it.’ People run from me.”

“Now is not the time for your crap, Rikkard,” Hallam hit back. “But if you want to go one on one with that warbot and get yourself killed, be my guest.”

“If you’d brought me a weapon, then we’d all have a better chance of making it out of here,” said Cad, stepping closer to Hallam, fists clenched.

Hallam snorted a laugh. “Like I’d trust you with a gun. The first person you’d use it on is me.”

Cad grabbed Hallam by the chest plate of his armor and pulled him closer. The move was so fast that it took him completely by surprise. However, with equal speed, Dakota had stabbed the barrel of her rifle into Cad’s ribs.

“Let him go,” Dakota snarled, but Cad maintained his hold, ignoring her warning.

“I gave you my word, Knight, and my word is worth ten times what yours is,” Cad snapped, showering Hallam’s face with spittle. “My word is worth more than the whole of your renegade rabble put together.”

Dr. Rand then stepped in, pushing the barrel of Dakota’s rifle aside. She placed her hand on top of Cad’s, which was still hooked around Hallam’s chest plate. The sudden contact caused the mercenary to scowl down at the scientist.

“None of us will make it out of here alive if we do not move out now,” Dr. Rand said with her trademark composure. “Mr. Rikkard has given his word. And a man who is so invested in his reputation can be taken at his word.” Then she met the mercenary’s eyes. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Rikkard?”

Cad glowered at the scientist, but then shoved Hallam away. “That’s right,” he growled, though he still looked ready to tear chunks from Hallam.

Dr. Rand then moved over to the unconscious guard behind the desk, collected the man’s sidearm, and offered it to Cad Rikkard.

Hallam couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Doc, I don’t think…” Hallam began, but Dr. Rand cut him off sharply.

“No more talking,” Dr. Rand said sternly. “Now is the time for action. And Mr. Rikkard, for all his faults, is a man of action.”

Cad laughed. “That’s the first halfway sensible thing I’ve heard you say,” he scoffed, pushing past Hallam and collecting the weapon from Dr. Rand. “Our best chance is if Knight and I hold off Stone and the CSF Enforcers, while your Wolf Squadron leader escorts the doctor to the hangar bay.”

“No one put you in charge, asshole,” snapped Dakota, but once again, Dr. Rand cut in.

“Mr. Rikkard’s suggestion is sound,” said Dr. Rand. “Now let’s move before we all end up in cells.”

Dakota was ready to protest again, but Hallam got in first. “Don’t worry, Dak, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Hallam said, staring back at the mercenary.

Dakota cursed then moved up to the archway. “They’ll be here soon; we have to move fast,” she said, turning back to Dr. Rand and waving her over.

“Do you want to give me that?” said Cad, pointing to Hallam’s rifle. “Since I am clearly the superior marksman.”

“If that’s true, then a pistol should suit you just fine,” Hallam hit back. “But since you’re obviously so good, you can go out first.”

Cad snorted a laugh. “Coward…” he said, pushing past Hallam and moving up to the archway.

Hallam sucked in a deep, calming breath of recycled air, then nodded to Dakota. She rushed out into the corridor and opened fire at the advancing party, while Dr. Rand made a run for the corridor opposite. Cad Rikkard moved out next, darting to the opposite corner, while Hallam crouched inside the archway, giving him cover.

“Dak, go. I’ll catch you up!” Hallam called out.

“Hurry!” Dakota cried back, ducking out of the line of fire just as the Vanguard Enforcers began shooting back.

Hallam continued to fire, noticing that Dexter Stone had pressed himself up behind the alien warbot, using its massive metal frame as a shield. Hallam fired another burst, hitting one of the Vanguard square in the chest, but the enforcer’s advanced armor repelled his assault.

“Aim for the neck or joints, you fool!” snapped Cad, whose own shots were landing with similarly ineffective results, despite his precise aim. “Or give me the damn rifle, like I told you.”

Hallam growled, but he couldn’t deny that the mercenary knew the weapon better than he did. And at the moment, he doubted he could even reach the other side of the corridor without getting perforated like a tea bag.

“Okay, smart ass, let’s see how you do,” Hallam yelled across the corridor. Bullets chipped away at the metal walls next to him as he tossed the rifle to Cad. The mercenary caught it then scowled back at Hallam, clearly surprised that he had actually handed over the weapon. “Throw me the damn pistol!” Hallam added. However, Cad simply slid the weapon down the waistband of his pants then glared across the corridor at him.

“I only agreed not to kill you, Knight,” Cad yelled, his voice barely carrying over the crack of rifle fire. “But I didn’t agree to save you, or protect you...”

Cad then ran along the adjacent corridor in the direction of the emergency stairwell, leaving Hallam pinned inside the cell-block, unguarded and unarmed.

“Damn it!” Hallam yelled, punching the wall and cursing himself for being so stupid. He’d truly believed that the mercenary might for once act like a normal human being, but again Cad Rikkard had proven himself to be a self-centered snake-in-the-grass.

Hallam looked inside the cell block for any other exits, then saw a barred metal doorway at the very far end. He checked his pockets and found the set of keys that Dakota had given him earlier to unlock Cad’s cell, and ran for the door. Bullets continued to pepper the archway, and the thump of the warbot’s feet was growing louder by the second. Hallam pressed the key fobs to the lock, frantically cycling through them until he found the one that unlocked the door. He shoved the bars and practically fell through the door before slamming it shut again and locking it behind him. Pressing his back to the wall next to the door, he then heard the heavy thump of boots rushing inside the detention area.

“He’s not here, sir!” said the electronically-modulated voice of one of the Vanguard Enforcers.

“He has to be; check all the cells!” barked the voice of Dexter Stone. “You, take a squad and go after Rikkard. He’ll be heading to the hangar on deck ten with the other criminals!”

Hallam remained pressed to the wall in the adjacent cell block, listening to the creak of door hinges and the metallic crash of cell doors being slammed shut. Then he saw armored hands grasp the bars of the door he’d just moved through and shake them.

“He’s definitely not here, sir. He must have got out with the scientist and other renegade, and we somehow missed him.”

Stone cursed, then Hallam heard a cell door being repeatedly opened and slammed again, as if the commandant was having a temper tantrum.

“Stay with me; we’ll cut them off in the hangar,” Stone yelled. “And order the fighter squadron to blockade the station. The other mercenary must be out there somewhere, jamming our scanners. Whether we take them down in here or ship-to-ship, I want them dead. Is that understood?”

The Vanguard acknowledged the order, then Hallam breathed a sigh of relief as the thump of the enforcer’s bootsteps diminished. Hallam then crept up to the archway of the second detention block and peered out into the corridor. There was another emergency stairwell door close by, and though he didn’t know where it would lead to, Hallam figured that just getting back to level ten would be an improvement over his current predicament.

“What the hell are you doing!” Hallam then heard the voice of Dexter Stone yell. His heart began thumping harder in his chest, fearing he’d been seen, but the commandant was not looking in his direction. Instead, Stone was yelling through the archway into the original detention area that Hallam had just escaped from. Then he heard a strange electronic warble and he felt his stomach tighten into a knot. It wasn’t the electronic warble of a Vanguard Enforcer’s comms system, but a sound that was far more alien. And it was a sound he’d heard before.

Spinning around, Hallam peered through the bars connecting the two cell blocks and saw the alien warbot’s blue eye peering at him, bent into a shallow vee. It warbled again then tore the door off its hinges as if it were no more substantial than drywall before stomping through the opening and advancing after Hallam. Hallam scrambled away from the machine and made a dash for the stairwell, but then felt a hard thump to his back. The blow stole the wind from his lungs and sent him skidding face first across the deck plating. Groaning and writhing in agony from the pain, Hallam turned over and saw a Vanguard Enforcer staring down at him, the barrel of the man’s rifle aimed at his head. Hallam pushed himself up and sat with his throbbing back to the wall, watching Dexter Stone march up beside the Vanguard, closely followed by the enormous alien warbot. The machine then shoved Stone and the Vanguard aside and leveled its blue eye at Hallam. It emitted another low warble then pulled back its claw-like fist, ready to drive it through Hallam’s chest. He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to come, but was given a last-second reprieve by Stone himself.

“Step back, damned infernal machine,” Stone growled, thumping the alien bot on the torso with the back of his hand. “I need him alive!”

The warbot adjusted the aim of its vee-shaped eye toward the commandant, its fist still pulled back. It remained this way for a couple of seconds longer then lowered its arms and took a single step back. If the angle of the warbot’s blue eye was any indication on the machine’s mood, Hallam supposed that it was extremely hacked off.

“Who else is with you?” Stone demanded, grabbing Hallam’s chest plate and pulling him to his feet with barely any effort. “What is your plan to get off this station?” Stone continued, slamming Hallam against the wall while asking each question. “Tell me, or I will beat the answers out of you!”

Hallam rested the back of his head against the metal. He knew he was beaten, but Stone would still get nothing from him. The longer he delayed the commandant, the greater the chance that Dakota and Dr. Rand would escape.

“Go to hell, Stone,” Hallam said, shaking off the commandant’s grasp on his armor. “I won’t tell you a thing.”

“We will see about that…” snarled Stone in what was barely more than a whisper. “Many brave fighters like you have said the same. All of them broke in the end.” The commandant then turned to the Vanguard. “Lock him in a cell. I’ll deal with him later.”

The Vanguard Enforcer grabbed Hallam and began to drag him back toward the detention area, but for some reason, the warbot stepped across and blocked their path.

“What are you doing? Come with me!” Stone barked at the machine. The commandant then pulled a palm computer out of his pocket and began clubbing it with his stubby fingers. “Damned prototype. You’re going for a memory wipe when this mess is dealt with.” Stone continued to jab at the pad with his chunky fingers while glancing up at the machine, clearly expecting his inputs to affect the machine’s actions. Yet the warbot remained where it was, peering down at Hallam and the Vanguard. “Withdraw and stand down!” Stone barked at the machine. The commandant then cursed and yanked open a service panel on its side. “I’ll shut the damn thing down myself,” he growled. Then he looked at the Vanguard again. “Well? What are you waiting for? Take him to the cells!”

The Vanguard tried to move around the warbot, but its eye tracked the enforcer. Then the machine appeared to notice what Stone was attempting to do, suddenly thrusting its arm out to the side, propelling the substantial body of Dexter Stone through the air. The commandant came crashing down on the deck ten meters further down the corridor. The machine’s alien voice warbled and squawked and its blue eye turned to the Vanguard Enforcer. Shoving Hallam aside, the Vanguard raised his rifle, but the warbot caught the barrel and tore it from the enforcer’s grasp, like a bully stealing a lollipop from a toddler. The Vanguard then stepped in and hammered a punch into the machine’s torso. However, the power of the armored enforcer’s blow only sent the warbot back by a single pace.

“Let’s see how you deal with this!” the enforcer’s modulated voice cried out while reaching over his shoulder and drawing a jet-black tomahawk.

The Vanguard was about to swing the weapon, when the warbot thrust its long arm into the enforcer’s chest. The alien metal claw smashed through the dark-green armor, piercing it like a can opener. Hallam could see that the machine’s metal fingers were now buried deep inside the Vanguard’s chest. For a moment, Hallam simply stood in the corridor in shock, while the alien machine silently observed the blood pouring out of the hole it had just made in the enforcer’s body. Then the warbot’s eye turned to Hallam, jolting him into action like a cattle-prod to the backside. He tore along the corridor at breakneck speed, then barged through the emergency fire door. Racing down the flights of stairs, Hallam tripped and fell the last few steps before crashing through the door onto the landing of level ten. Above him, he could hear the thump of the alien warbot’s feet coming after him. And like the beat of war drums, it drove Hallam on, harder and faster than ever.

26

Hallam pushed through the door onto level ten, feeling like he’d barely taken a breath in the last few minutes. The corridor he entered was unfamiliar to him, but the sound of gunfire signposted the direction he needed to go. Suddenly, the deck shook, as if the stairwell behind him had just collapsed. Hallam shot a panicked glance through the emergency exit door to see the warbot on the landing directly behind him, crouched with it claws dug into the deck. The machine had apparently jumped and dropped the two floors down to level ten. The warbot rose to its full, terrifying height, then its blue eye locked on to Hallam. He scrambled away from the machine and ran for his life. The clunk of the warbot’s feet on the deck followed a few seconds behind, but Hallam didn’t look back. Reaching a junction, he barely slowed down to take the corner, bouncing off the wall and carrying as much momentum as possible with him toward the hangar. Up ahead, he could see the corridor widen as it approached the docking area, but the large double doors that granted entry into the hangar were guarded by four Vanguard Enforcers. None of them had spotted Hallam and they were instead all firing toward another section of level ten. Then the clatter of the warbot’s feet on the deck alerted the enforcers, and the barrels of their rifles turned toward him. Hallam was trapped. Ahead he faced a swarm of bullets, while behind was a monstrous alien war machine that he knew from past experience was almost unkillable.

With only milliseconds to make a decision, Hallam dove to ground and rolled to the wall. Shots raced over his head and he heard the ping of bullets striking the alien machine, followed by the ear-splitting screech of its metal feet clawing against the deck as it slid to a stop. Hallam chanced a look up and saw the machine staring at him. Then more bullets thudded into the warbot’s alien metal shell, turning the focus of its sharp blue eye toward the Vanguard. Whatever intelligence the machine possessed, which Hallam was beginning to suspect was greater than the animalistic brainpower Dr. Rand had suggested, it clearly knew the greater threat. Ignoring Hallam, the warbot accelerated at the Vanguard Enforcers with tremendous speed, jinking from side to side with such swiftness and agility that the Vanguard’s shots flew wide of the mark. Hallam then saw the machine plough into the armored men smashing all four of the elite enforcers through the double doors as if they’d been run over by a freight train.

Hallam pushed himself up and advanced cautiously toward the hangar. The Vanguard Enforcers and the alien warbot were twisted into a grotesque sculpture, like a modern work of art that was designed to unsettle and perturb onlookers. He tore his eyes away from the mangled mess of flesh and metal then caught sight of something in his peripheral vision. He turned to see the barrel of a rifle pointing at his head.

“Damn it, Hal, I almost shot you!” Dakota cried, pulling her weapon up to the ceiling. Cad Rikkard, Dr. Rand, and Alexis Black were behind her. Then Dakota’s angry expression morphed into one of relief. She threw her arms around Hallam, pulling him into an embrace and kissing his cheeks and lips. “Rikkard said you’d been killed,” she continued, pausing for a second to speak and take a breath. “Where the hell were you?”

Hallam tried to balance the relief he felt at seeing Dakota alive and the thrill of her kiss and embrace with the rage that was building inside him, directed at Cad Rikkard. He pulled away from Dakota, and without a word slammed a right cross into the mercenary’s face. Cad went down hard, blindsided by the attack, but Hallam pressed on, launching kicks into his prone body, until Alexis Black used her augmented strength to drag him away and pin him against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Alexis yelled. “We had a deal!”

“Tell him that!” Hallam cried back, struggling against Alexis’ grip, but he may as well have been struggling against a warbot for all the use it did him. “He left me for dead, unarmed!”

Cad got to his feet and aimed his rifle at Hallam, blood trickling from a cut to his lip. “I only promised not to kill you; I didn’t promise to babysit you,” he snarled.

Dakota then pressed the barrel of her weapon to the side of Cad’s head. “Lower the rifle or I blow your brains out right here and now!”

“Do that, and I swear that all three of you will never leave this station,” Alexis hit back, turning her gaze to Dakota instead.

“None of us will leave this station unless we stop fighting amongst ourselves,” Dr. Rand cut in. Her powerful, stately voice sliced through the tension like a knife. “There will be ample time to kill each other in the future. Now honor the truce, as you have all promised.” Dr. Rand heavily stressed the word “all” and met Cad Rikkard’s eyes as she did so.

Cad growled and lowered his rifle, and Dakota followed suit. Then Alexis released her grip on Hallam and let him drop to the deck.

“I’ll get to my ship. It will be docked to the breaching pod by now,” said Alexis, who perversely was now smiling at Hallam, as if he was her best friend. Cad nodded and Alexis disappeared through the double doors leading into the hangar.

“I’ll take my own ship,” Cad grunted, following Alexis. Then he stopped and turned back to the renegades. “Alone...” he growled. “You three can find your own way off this station.” The mercenary also then ran through the doors into the hangar.

Hallam let out a long breath as the two mercenaries departed. “Honor be damned. We should shoot those assholes in the back, while we still have the chance.”

Dakota nodded in agreement, but other matters appeared to be occupying Dr. Rand’s mind.

“How exactly are we getting off this station?” Dr. Rand asked. “I assume you had a plan for that also?”

“We do,” replied Hallam. “Assuming she made it here without being seen, anyway.”

Dr. Rand’s eyebrow lifted a fraction, but she didn’t press Hallam for more information. This was despite – for once – Hallam being the party who had been deliberately vague.

“Then I suggest we leave before the BlackFire Squadron has a change of heart,” Dr. Rand continued, indicating for either Hallam or Dakota to lead the way.

Dakota moved out in front, still holding the rifle ready in case any more Vanguard appeared, but Hallam could already see the bodies of armored enforcers lying dead in the corridor behind them. Alexis and Dakota had clearly left carnage in their wake, he thought. Passing through the smashed double doors into the hangar, Hallam saw the narrow breaching tunnel that was to be their escape route. However, this wasn’t the same tunnel he and Dakota had entered through, from Alexis Black’s breaching pod. This was a new, if considerably less sophisticated passageway. And standing in front of it was Commander Rivas.

Hallam smiled at Dakota, who also looked thankful to see the sole remaining renegade commander still alive. Then he glanced across the hangar to Cad and Alexis, who were making their way past the mangled pile of enforcers. Then, like an undead monster rising from its grave, the warbot thrust out a claw from the mass of bodies, striking Alexis in the chest. The mercenary collided with Cad, the mass of her armor knocking him to the deck like he’d been hit by a sledgehammer. Then the warbot pulled itself up and fixed its vee-shaped eye on them once more.

27

Hallam saw Alexis Black climb to her knees, yet despite her powerful armor, the blow from the warbot had clearly stunned her. Cad Rikkard, on the other hand, was still lying flat out on the deck and had not moved.

“Get the doc into the ship,” said Hallam, grabbing the rifle that Dakota was holding.

“Why? What are you going to do?” said Dakota, resisting Hallam’s attempts to take the weapon.

“We’ve seen how relentless those machines can be, Dak,” said Hallam, hands still clutched around the rifle. “We have to take it down, or the damn thing will probably tear through the breaching tunnel to get after us.”

Dakota shook her head. “You can’t kill that thing, not with this, and not wearing that flimsy renegade armor. One strike from that warbot will crush you like an egg!”

Hallam glanced at the machine, which was digging itself out from the pile of Vanguard Enforcers, its blue eye now focused on Alexis Black. “I can’t take it down, but Alexis can,” said Hallam, turning back to Dakota. “But not if it pulverizes her before she’s even back on her feet.”

Dakota shook her head again. “Hal, come on, it’s too much of a risk.” The look in her eyes was pained, as if Hallam was saying goodbye for the last time.

“It’s more of a risk to leave that thing alive, Dak,” Hallam hit back. He was resolute. He knew the warbot had to be stopped or none of them would make it. “Just make sure the ship is ready to leave when I get back.”

Dakota growled then finally let go of the rifle. “Fine, but you stay well clear of the thing and let her take it out,” she said, nodding toward Alexis. “No dumb heroics, got it?” she then added, though it was said as an order, not a request.

“Got it, Dak,” said Hallam, backing away. “I’ll be back before you know it…”

Hallam then turned and ran at the warbot as the machine thudded toward Alexis Black, arm pulled back, ready to strike. Hallam fired on the run, managing to hit the warbot thanks to the rifle’s smart, auto-aiming rounds. The machine then immediately turned its blue eye to him instead. Hallam fired again, but the warbot’s squawks and warbles grew louder and angrier with each bullet that deflected off its armor. However, instead of attacking Hallam, the warbot turned again to Alexis, who was still on one knee, shaking her head as if recovering from a knock-out punch. The damn machine still knows who is the greater threat… Hallam realized, lowering the weapon and running for Alexis instead. Throwing out his arm, he then flung himself into Alexis like he was performing a football tackle. Despite the mass of the mercenary’s armor, Hallam just managed to knock her away from the warbot’s swinging claw, which dug itself into the deck instead. Hallam pushed himself up and slapped Alexis around the face, trying to wake her up. The mercenary’s eyes showed a glimmer of recognition, and Hallam tried to slap her again, but this time, Alexis caught his hand.

“Like the rough stuff, do we?” Alexis said. This response completely threw Hallam and he just stood there, open mouthed. Then Alexis saw the warbot, which was still trying to pull its claw from the deck, uprooting panels and beams in the process like it was pulling up weeds. “I’m afraid we don’t have time to play, though,” the mercenary added, hauling herself to her feet. Hallam offered Alexis the rifle, but she shook her head. “No, this beast needs a different kind of taming,” she said, removing the small metal bar from its stow on her armor. She held it out and the bar extended on both sides into a Bo staff, which had glowing electrical sparks erupting from each end.

Hallam glanced back to Cad and saw that he was now struggling to get to his knees, but the mercenary still looked heavily dazed. He turned back to Alexis, realizing that the one time he needed Cad’s brutality, the man wasn’t available.

“We take it down together, then,” said Hallam, aiming the rifle at the machine. The warbot had now successfully dislodged its claw from the deck and was staring at them, its eye bent into a sharp vee.

“If you want to live, put that down,” said Alexis, stepping in front of Hallam. “And use what’s in this tube instead.”

Hallam frowned at the tube attached to Alexis’ back, then unclipped the lid and reached inside it. His fingers touched metal, then below that was the organic feel of leather. Gripping the object, he pulled it out and saw that it was Cad Rikkard’s Black Prince sword. “I’m no sword fighter,” said Hallam, holding the weapon out in front of him.

“Just swing the sharp bit at the machine when I tell you,” said Alexis, who was already pacing toward the warbot, whirling the staff in a circle as she moved. The warbot was also advancing, though with far more caution than it had displayed moments earlier. Its eye was focused on the sparking tips of Alexis’ new weapon. It was as if the machine knew that the dynamic of the engagement had shifted, and that it needed to alter its tactics.

Alexis then sprang into attack, striking out at the machine with the electrified Bo staff. The warbot evaded and swung its claw at Alexis, but she parried the blow before managing to stab the staff into the machine’s arm. There was a bright spark and crackle of energy and the warbot jolted back, squawking and warbling angrily. Hallam stayed behind Alexis, Black Prince sword held in both hands, trying to picture how he’d seen Cad wield the weapon, and waiting for an opportunity to strike. The warbot advanced next and Dakota parried and dodged, then jabbed the staff into the machine’s thigh, again causing the warbot to jolt back as if stung by a robotic hornet. The next attack came barely a second later, but this time, the machine had learned from its earlier mistakes and caught the Bo staff in its claw. The warbot swung at Alexis with its free arm, but she managed to catch the machine’s claw. Gears and motors whirred under the strain of two super-powered combatants struggling in a contest of strength. However, despite Alexis’ remarkable armor, the warbot was stronger and the mercenary had already buckled to one knee. Then the machine tore the staff from Alexis’ hand and raised it above its cranial unit, ready to employ the weapon for its own deadly purposes.

“Now!” Alexis cried out, her face red from the effort of resisting the powerful machine.

Hallam charged forward and swung the sword with all his strength, bringing the blade down across the arm that was pressing Alexis to the deck. To his amazement, the sword sliced through the alien metal, severing the limb, then digging itself into the deck plating with similar ease. The warbot brought the staff down on Alexis, but free from the machine’s grip, she evaded then caught the weapon and twisted it back into the machine’s torso. Energy crackled and flashed like a box of sparklers that had been set on fire. Hallam shielded his eyes from the hot shards of energy and backed away before tripping and falling to the deck. Moments later, Alexis pulled the staff away and spun a kick into the warbot’s body, sending it crashing into the graveyard of enforcers that it had risen from earlier.

Hallam backed away from the burning remains of the alien machine then glanced over at Alexis. She was on one knee, her armor smoking as if it had been freshly forged and doused in a bucket of water. Beside her was Cad Rikkard, and he was looking right at him. The mercenary pulled the Black Prince sword out of the deck then began taking awkward, uncomfortable steps toward Hallam. However, while Cad Rikkard’s body was clearly sapped of its vitality, the mercenary’s thirst for vengeance was undiminished. Yet Hallam was not afraid. Instead of trying to run, he turned to the mercenary and faced him head on.

“So what’s it going to be, Rikkard?” said Hallam as the mercenary raised the blade and aimed the tip at his throat. “Break your word, or prove to me that you’re the superior man and walk away.”

Alexis Black appeared at Cad’s side, the powerful staff that she’d used to destroy the warbot still in her grasp, though shrunk to its more compact size. She said nothing and simply peered at Hallam, her eyes once again cold and clinical. The warrior was in full control again, and Hallam knew he’d get no more compassion from her than he would from the warbot she had just destroyed.

“You saved Alexis, and for that, you get a temporary reprieve,” said Cad, lowering the blade to his side. “But this changes nothing between us, Knight,” the mercenary added. “I will still kill you. And before you die, I promise that you will admit I am the superior man.”

Cad Rikkard then turned his back on Hallam and began walking toward his fighter, parked on the far side of the hangar. Hallam noticed that Alexis’ eyes were regarding him with more of their usual playful sparkle.

“See you around, Hallam Knight,” said Alexis, winking at him and strutting toward the breaching pod, where her own ship was now waiting.

Hallam blew out a relieved sigh and set off back in the direction of his own escape tunnel. He’d survived encounters with Vanguard Enforcers, alien warbots, and even Cad Rikkard, but this was not the end of their problems. Dexter Stone had an entire squadron of CSF fighters patrolling outside the station, and before they were in the clear, they’d have to fight their way through them too.

28

Commander Rivas detached her renegade fighter from the hull of the CSF space station and maneuvered slowly out from beneath its belly. The commander had managed to sneak up on the station unseen thanks to patience and exceptional manual piloting skills. She had approached with engines and reactors powered down, using only maneuvering thrusters, and without any instrumentation or sensors other than her eyes. Despite this, nothing in space was ever truly invisible, and it would have taken only a single enforcer looking at the right scanner at the right time to have unraveled the whole plan. However, the commotion that Hallam, Dakota, and Alexis Black had caused inside the station had successfully kept its crew busy and distracted. Now, however, Hallam knew they faced a problem of a different kind. A full squadron of eighteen CSF Enforcer fighters had surrounded the space station, and Commander Rivas’ renegade ship was firmly on their scanners.

“How long until we can bridge?” asked Dakota, who was strapped into the second seat. Hallam and Dr. Rand were in auxiliary seats to the rear.

“A few minutes, maybe less,” replied Commander Rivas, the stick of a lollipop hanging out of the corner of her mouth. “I was completely powered down, so everything has to go online and get hot.”

“We’re going to be pretty hot in a lot less than a minute,” Hallam cut in, noticing that several of the CSF fighters had already obtained weapons locks.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to rely on my expert piloting skills, then,” replied the commander, displaying some of the sass her daughter had been renowned for. “Anyway, they won’t fire while we’re so close to the station. If we blow up, then we blow a hole in their installation too.”

The scanner readout on the auxiliary console to Hallam’s side bleeped, and he saw two contacts moving away. Neither of them was being pursued by the CSF fighters.

“There goes the Blackfire Squadron…” said Dakota, who was also watching the scanner. “Stone obviously doesn’t care as much about those assholes as he does about us.”

“Aren’t we lucky…” said Hallam, laying on the sarcasm thickly. Then an alarm shrieked in the cockpit.

“Crap, missile launch!” cried Commander Rivas, pushing the thruster pedal and maneuvering the fighter away from the missile. However, instead of heading into deep space, she was hugging the surface of the space station as closely as possible, trying to use it as a shield.

“What were you saying?” said Hallam, though the commander merely shot him a dirty look in reply.

Then there was a flash of light behind them and Hallam peered out through the cockpit glass to see an eruption of flame from the space station. However, to his surprise, the damage was minimal.

“That was a low-yield warhead,” commented Dr. Rand. “I’d say they are only trying to disable us, not destroy us.”

Commander Rivas made another sudden evasive maneuver, causing Hallam to crack his head against the cockpit glass of the compact cabin. “That’s mildly comforting, I guess,” he said, rubbing his head. “Though if they keep shooting and missing like that, there won’t be much left of the space station,” he added.

“Hopefully, they’ll destroy that place with the muscle-bound idiot commandant still on-board,” commented Dakota.

Then another launch warning sounded and Commander Rivas altered course, narrowly avoiding the blast of a second missile that slammed into the station.

“We won’t last thirty seconds at this rate,” said Hallam, watching five of the fighters break off then reposition in an attempt to set up a crossfire.

“Relax, everything’s in hand, Tanker Man,” said Commander Rivas. The use of Hallam’s old nickname, coined by the commander’s daughter, Ruby Rivas, caused Dakota to smile.

“I’m ready to be impressed, Commander…” replied Hallam, a little curtly. The scanner then bleeped again and eight new contacts appeared. “Damn it, Stone’s sent even more reinforcements!” Hallam cried, but Commander Rivas didn’t appear to be perturbed by the new arrivals.

“Look again…” the commander said.

Hallam scowled down at the scanner. The IDs of the new contacts then flashed up and Hallam laughed, as much out of relief as surprise. The new ships were not CSF, but renegade fighters.

“I’m detecting multiple missile launches,” said Dakota from the second seat. “Except these ones are ours!”

Half of the CSF ships broke off to engage the new targets, but not before six had already blinked off the scanner. Flashes and flames filled the space around them, then the thrum of the bridge drive began to build. Commander Rivas peeled away from the surface of the station and accelerated toward the closest CSF fighter.

“Prepare to bridge,” said Commander Rivas, squeezing the trigger and releasing a burst of cannon fire, which struck the enemy fighter cleanly, turning it into a ball of orange flame. Commander Rivas then opened a frequency to the renegade ships. “Three-oh-three squadron, disengage and return to base,” she announced. She then activated the bridge countdown computer on her console. “Impressed yet?” said the commander, glancing over her shoulder at Hallam. The sassy remark even managed to produce a smile from Dr. Rand.

“Not bad,” said Hallam, though he was also smiling. “You should have seen me in the hangar, though. I chopped the arm off an alien warbot with a sword.”

This time, it was Commander Rivas that shrugged. “Not bad,” she replied, mirroring Hallam’s casual nonchalance. “For a tanker gunner anyway.”

Dakota laughed and Hallam shook his head, admitting defeat on this occasion. However, remarkably, it had been the only defeat they’d suffered during the mission. Hallam, Dakota, and Dr. Rand had made it off the station in one piece, and all eight other renegade fighters from the newly designated 303-Squadron were forming up, ready to bridge too. It had been a much-needed victory, and one that set them back on course to their final confrontation with the CSF on the Centrum. However, Hallam knew that there was still a long way to go yet. And he was also acutely aware that the Blackfire Squadron was still out there too.

29

Hallam and Dakota rested back on the sofa in the crew lounge of the Darkspace Renegade’s new – and now only – hideout. The section of the base where the lounge was located used to be part of a commercial super liner. This had been a high-end cruise ship of sorts, which used to sail the stars, before the destruction of the Randenite refineries rendered them obsolete. It was a welcome slice of luxury, and Hallam was determined to enjoy it while he could. What made it all the better was that Dakota was at his side.

“Have you thought about what we’ll do once this is all over?” Dakota said. She was lying with her feet up on the sofa and her head resting on Hallam’s lap.

“You know what, I haven’t,” replied Hallam, realizing only then that the question had not even crossed his mind. “I guess I’ve not been able to see much beyond the next mission or the next desperate escape.”

“It won’t be the same, not without bridge travel, I mean,” Dakota went on, sounding wistful. “I can’t imagine ever being trapped on a single planet for my entire life.”

Hallam thought about this too. In the same way as Dakota, he’d spent most of his life in space or split across the dozen different planets that had made up the original set of bridge worlds. Now four of those planets were already uninhabitable, with Feronia and Pomona being recently added to the list, along with Vesta and Minerva. He didn’t know how many would be left by the time they destroyed the Centrum. This was assuming Dr. Rand’s new technology even worked to seal the bridges and undo the damage that decades of bridge travel had caused.

“Which planet would you choose to live on, if you had to?” asked Hallam. “Excluding the ones that are already dust, that is.”

Dakota tilted her head and looked at Hallam, smiling. “How about Dakota Three?” she said.

Hallam frowned. “Dakota Three, huh? I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

“Well, Dr. Rand found her own planet, so why can’t we?” Dakota replied with a little shrug of her shoulders.

“In that case, I’d suggest heading to Knight Four,” Hallam said, playing along with Dakota’s game. “The climate is much better, and there are no reptilian monsters. Those things plague the Dakota worlds, from what I’ve heard…”

Dakota whacked Hallam’s chest with the back of her hand. “Stop reminding me of those damn monsters already,” she snapped, though her tone was good-humored. “Besides, we still have two much worse monsters to deal with before we take off and discover our own little world.”

Hallam smiled. “I bet I find a habitable planet first,” he said, baiting Dakota with the challenge.

“Like hell you will,” Dakota answered.

“Wanna bet?” said Hallam.

Dakota laughed then pulled herself up and planted a kiss on Hallam’s lips. “You’re on…”

There was a loud and obvious cough from behind the couch, and Hallam and Dakota both jolted upright to see Dr. Rand standing there.

“Oh, hey, Doc,” said Hallam, feeling his cheeks start to burn. “We were just…” he continued, but then faltered, not having a clue what to say. Instead, he looked imploringly at Dakota to step in.

“Umm, we were just…” said Dakota, but she was similarly at a loss for words.

“You were just kissing,” Dr. Rand then cut in, completing the answer for them with the only response that actually made sense. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Dr. Rand continued. She then dropped down into an armchair opposite them.

The fact that Dr. Rand did not seem at all bothered by what she’d seen made Hallam feel immediately more at ease. It was almost like the genius scientist had given Hallam and Dakota her seal of approval.

“How’s work on the heavy fighter going, Doc?” asked Hallam, sitting up and leaning toward the scientist. He was eager to change the subject, but equally eager for an update on their unique ship.

“It is progressing, though there is still much to do,” replied Dr. Rand, who appeared more pensive than usual. “We must be ready as soon as possible, however. Reports suggest that Carmentis is decaying rapidly, and that the death toll has already reached six hundred million.”

“Six hundred million?” repeated Dakota, who was also now sitting forward, hands clasped together, anxiously rubbing her knuckles. “I thought the Consortium was running evacuations?”

“It is, but there are not enough ships, and increasingly, not enough time,” Dr. Rand replied, staring at the floor and becoming distant.

“We’ll crack this thing, Doc,” said Hallam, unexpectedly becoming the voice of optimism in the group. “You once told me that this was a numbers game, and nothing has changed. So long as the number stays positive, humanity survives. That’s a hell of a lot better than the aliens who invented this tech managed.”

Dr. Rand met Hallam’s eyes and smiled. “Indeed, Mr. Knight, you are correct,” she replied, her tone a touch brighter, but it was clear to Hallam that the scientist was dispirited. “However, in order for that to happen, I must build our new fighter, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Dr. Rand got up, and Hallam and Dakota found themselves also standing, as if they were in the presence of royalty.

“No, please don’t get up,” Dr. Rand said, pressing her palms out toward them, as if virtually pushing Hallam and Dakota back into their seats. “You can get back to, well…” Dr. Rand was now the one stumbling over her words. “Well, you can get back to what you were doing.” This time, it was Dakota that blushed, though Hallam couldn’t help but snigger.

Dr. Rand rolled her eyes and strolled away. “I’ll see you in the morning, oh eight hundred sharp,” the scientist said. She then stopped at the threshold of the door and turned back. “And thank you, both of you, for coming after me. It is something I will not forget.”

Hallam was about to reply, but Dr. Rand had already gone. Instead, he blew out a sigh and flopped down into the comfortable embrace of the sofa.

“Six hundred million,” said Dakota, reclining back on Hallam again. “It’s too many to contemplate.”

“We’ll do this, Dak. It’s going to be okay,” said Hallam. He wasn’t just trying to make Dakota feel better. He actually believed it.

“How can you be so sure?” asked Dakota.

Hallam huffed a laugh. “Because if Cad Rikkard can hold a sword to my throat and not kill me, I have to believe that anything is possible.”

“That asshole is not done with us yet. You know that, don’t you?” said Dakota. Hallam could feel her body tense up at even the mention of the mercenary’s name.

“I know,” said Hallam, though in the same way that he hadn’t been afraid of Cad in the CSF space station, he wasn’t afraid of him now either. He knew they couldn’t avoid each other forever. Just as the showdown at the Centrum was inevitable, so was a final confrontation between Cad Rikkard and Hallam Knight. “But we’ve faced him down before, and we’ll do it again,” Hallam added, sounding resolute.

“I hope you’re right,” said Dakota, again tilting her head to look Hallam in the eyes.

“I have to be, Dak,” Hallam replied. “Because if I’m wrong then six hundred million becomes billions, and eventually, it becomes everyone. We can’t let that happen, and there’s not a chance in hell that Cad Rikkard or Alexis Black are going to stand in our way.”

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Thank you for reading Renegade Resurgence, book five in Darkspace Renegade.

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ALSO IN THE SERIES

Darkspace Renegade

Wolf Squadron

Rogue World

Rikkard’s Revenge

Renegade Resurgence

Centrum Incursion

Also by GJ Ogden

If you enjoyed this book, please consider reading The Star Scavenger Series or The Contingency War Series Both are free to read for Kindle Unlimited subscribers and available as Audible boxed sets.

THE STAR SCAVENGER SERIES

THE CONTINGENCY WAR SERIES

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The Contingency War Series

About the Author

At school, I was asked to write down the jobs I wanted to do as a "grown up". Number one was astronaut and number two was a PC games journalist. I only managed to achieve one of those goals (I’ll let you guess which), but these two very different career options still neatly sum up my lifelong interests in science, space, and the unknown.

School also steered me in the direction of a science-focused education over literature and writing, which influenced my decision to study physics at Manchester University. What this degree taught me is that I didn’t like studying physics and instead enjoyed writing, which is why you’re reading this book! The lesson? School can’t tell you who you are.

When not writing, I enjoy spending time with my family, walking in the British countryside, and indulging in as much Sci-Fi as possible.

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