WOLF SQUADRON

©2020 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

FROM THE PUBLISHER

ALSO IN THE SERIES

Also by GJ Ogden

Readers' Favorite, 5-stars

About the Author

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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

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

Alarms wailed inside the cockpit of Hallam Knight’s Darkspace Renegade fighter as another barrage of flak detonated just off to his port side. Shrapnel pinged against the hull and Hallam took evasive action, but the tanker had anticipated his move, and he was soon heading directly toward another thick cloud of exploding shells. He cursed and retreated, pulling the craft away from the armored Randenite tanker. Within seconds, he was too far out of range for Dr. Rand’s prototype new weapon to work. The lights on the device turned red, and then it reset, ready for the next run. Hallam slammed his palm on the console and let out a growl of frustration. Thirty seconds within range of the tanker was all he needed, but this may as well have been a lifetime.

“Damn it, the gunner on this tanker is good,” said Hallam over the comm channel. “It’s probably Dane, or maybe Indi. Trust us to test this new can opener on a tanker with a decent crew!”

The “can opener” was the slang name that they’d given to Dr. Rand’s latest invention, which had been based on the authenticator that Hallam stole from the Consortium HQ on Vesta. Dr. Rand’s official term for the piece of tech was a “brute force code decryption device,” but since that hardly rolled off the tongue, Hallam had coined a simpler and more descriptive name for it instead.

Another curse flew over the comm channel, this time from Wolf Two, otherwise known as the firebrand renegade, Ruby Rivas.

“This is crazy,” Ruby yelled over the channel. “We’re all going to get blown to hell if we stay out here much longer!”

Ruby Rivas and Wolf Squadron’s leader, Dakota Wulfrun, were engaged in combat with the tanker’s two Consortium Security Force fighter escorts. Hallam’s task was to approach the tanker and get within operating range of the can opener. If he could hold position for long enough, the can opener would decrypt the security codes on the tanker’s cargo of Randenite fuel barrels and trigger the containment seals. The tanker would then have no choice but to jettison its entire payload of precious fuel or blow up with a thermonuclear-level force.

“Stay on mission, Wolf Two,” said Dakota. “We need to give Wolf Three a fighting chance to prove this thing works.”

Dakota then cursed, and Hallam saw her fighter thrust hard away from a pursuing CSF ship, while at the same time launching a raft of countermeasures. A missile snaked past, thankfully pursuing the decoy, rather than Dakota’s fighter, before it swiftly vanished into the Darkspace.

“Though if you could hurry it up a bit, Wolf Three, that would be great…” Dakota added humorlessly.

Hallam took a deep breath and realigned his craft with the armored tanker, which looked like a giant flying armadillo thanks to its thick protective shell. In a couple more minutes, the tanker pilot would have reset their Shelby Drive system and jumped back onto the bridge to the garden planet of Tellus. If Hallam didn’t get confirmation that Dr. Rand’s new device worked before then, he wouldn’t put it past Ruby Rivas to blow the ship away instead.

Hallam accelerated and maneuvered his fighter below the belly of the enormous tanker, ready to start his third run. He knew the defensive capabilities of the Consortium’s armored brutes as well as anyone, having spent years as a tanker gunner himself. If he could approach at the right angle and pick off one or two of the gun emplacements, Hallam figured he’d get just enough of a window for the can opener to do its work.

“Sixty seconds, Wolf Three, or I’m switching to plan B,” said Ruby Rivas. “As in ‘b’ for blowin’ stuff up.”

Hallam had tried to ignore the constant prattle from the headstrong second member of Wolf Squadron, but she continued to grate on him. According to Dakota, Ruby Rivas had learned how to fly in the CSF academy, same as Hallam, but their reasons for signing up had been very different. Ruby had joined in order to infiltrate the organization, steal secrets, and ultimately execute a PR stunt to embarrass the Consortium’s multi-trillionaire owner, Damien Doyle. Hallam had done so in order to carve out a better life for himself than was possible on the polluted hell-hole that was Earth. It hadn’t worked out particularly well for either of them, though again for very different reasons.

Ruby had been a member of a radical action group that was trying to expose the Consortium’s monopolistic behaviors and political meddling. However, while she’d been a good choice for the job because of her natural aptitude for flying, she’d made a terrible spy, and was discovered and jailed nine months into flight training. Upon her release three years later, she’d proved to be an easy recruit for Dr. Rand, but Hallam considered her motivations to be suspect. She was more about revenge and “stickin’ it to the man” than safeguarding humanity by stopping bridge travel. As someone who had also fallen into the role of a Darkspace Renegade for initially selfish reasons, Hallam knew the risk of being blinded by personal feelings. And ninety percent of the time, Ruby Rivas was an exposed nerve of raw emotion.

“Stand by, I’m making my run now,” said Hallam, gently squeezing the trigger to release a burst of cannon rounds at the tanker’s gun emplacements. Several bursts landed wide, burying themselves harmlessly into the tanker’s thick, multilayered armor, but then he saw the gun emplacements explode, and he let out a celebratory whoop.

“I’ve made a blind spot and I’m going in,” said Hallam, teasing the ship closer to the tanker’s belly. “Just keep those fighters off my ass for thirty seconds…”

“Roger that, Wolf Three…” came the reply from Dakota. She was sounding frazzled and breathless; the dogfight was clearly taking its toll, and Hallam realized this would be the last chance he got.

Flak burst all around Hallam’s fighter, peppering the ship’s armor with shrapnel, but with the two most direct gun emplacements destroyed, the explosions were too distant to pose a serious threat. The tanker then veered away, trying to bring more of its guns to bear on Hallam’s fighter, but the leviathan lacked the maneuverability of Hallam’s nimble craft, and he managed to stay tight in its wake.

Come on, damn it, work! Hallam urged as the can opener flashed rapidly in the auxiliary module slot in the cockpit.

“Ten seconds, tanker man, or I’m blowing this thing to hell,” said Ruby Rivas over the comm.

“Clear the channel, Wolf Two,” Dakota hit back, her anger coming through clearly despite the crackly interference from the tanker’s many electronic countermeasures. “And use approved callsigns only; do you copy?”

There was a pregnant pause until Ruby eventually replied, more than a little sheepishly, “I copy, Wolf One.”

Suddenly, Dr. Rand’s decrypter device flashed green, and Hallam peered down at his console expectantly. The status readout read, “Decryption sequence successful. Randenite container release sequence: activated.”

“We got it!” cried Hallam over the comm channel. “The damn thing actually worked!”

“Wolf Three, take evasive action, now!”

Hallam’s eyes shot up from the console; in the excitement over the device working, he’d taken his attention off the armored tanker. Only a precious few seconds had elapsed, but it was enough to allow the tanker to bring more of its guns to bear on Hallam’s fighter.

Cursing for the second time that day, Hallam spun his ship around and thrust hard in the opposite direction. Flak detonated all around him, and Hallam began to kick out the fighter’s rear in multiple directions, applying short bursts of thrust with each new adjustment. His hope was that his erratic flying would be too unpredictable for even the Consortium’s best gunner to stand a chance of hitting him. He was wrong.

Alarms shrieked again and Hallam felt the rattle of shrapnel hitting the ship, sending vibrations through its bones and into the cockpit. He looked right and saw a chunk of metal dug into his wing. Another had chipped the rear of his canopy. The flak bursts intensified, and Hallam felt like he was in a car, driving through a hailstorm, except instead of ice, the projectiles were shards of metal. However, as suddenly as the clatter of impacts had begun, they disappeared again as the fighter finally moved beyond the tanker’s firing perimeter.

“I’m clear!” Hallam called out. “I might need a new paint job and I definitely need a fresh pair of pants, but I’m clear,”

“Way too much information, Wolf Three,” said Dakota, though Hallam knew that her response was simply a show of professionalism for Ruby’s benefit. He’d put a hundred on there being a broad smirk on Dakota’s face at that moment.

“Radiological alert,” cried Ruby Rivas, sounding unusually flustered. “They’re dumping the barrels!”

Hallam spun his fighter around to face the tanker and watched as hundreds of barrels of Randenite spilled out of the cargo hold.

“Everyone, break off and put some distance between us and those barrels,” ordered Dakota. “We don’t want to be anywhere nearby when those things go up.”

“What about the CSF fighters?” said Ruby Rivas. “We can’t just let them go.”

Hallam was now far removed from the combat area, and so had the time to check his instruments. “The CSF are bugging out too,” he said over the comm, noting that the two Consortium escorts had rejoined the tanker, and that all three were now burning hard in a straight line to get clear of the barrels.

“Confirmed, the escort fighters and the tanker are leaving,” said Dakota. “Disengage and return to rendezvous Charlie. Our job is done.”

Hallam acknowledged the order and adjusted course accordingly before flipping the switch to spool up the fighter’s unique Shelby Drive. Unlike the CSF fighters and the armored tanker, which were limited to travelling along the established bridge routes, the Darkspace Renegade fighters had the ability to create their own temporary narrow bridges from point-to-point. This was a useful side-benefit of having the genius inventor of bridging technology – celebrity scientist, Doctor Shelby Rand – as the renegade organization’s leader.

Hallam sat back and listened to the whine of the Shelby Drive build, but then another alert blared out in the cockpit, contrasting sharply with the drive’s soothing pulse. He quickly glanced down at his console and felt his heart race.

“Missile launch!” Hallam cried out over the comm channel as he saw the new contact streak out across his scanner. Then he noticed something strange about the missile’s trajectory; it was heading toward the CSF escorts, rather than coming from them. The scanner resolved the contact fully, and Hallam couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“It’s one of ours!” Hallam said, now peering out into space toward the rapidly diminishing shapes of the CSF fighters and tanker.

“Copy that, Wolf Three,” replied Dakota. “It’s not one of mine. Wolf Two, have you fired?”

There was an explosion in the distance and Hallam saw one of the two CSF fighters flash and blink out of existence on his scanner.

“Splash one CSF scumbag!” said Ruby Rivas, barely containing her elation.

“Damn it, Wolf Two. I said disengage!” snarled Dakota.

“What’s the problem? That’s one less fighter to shoot at us on the next mission,” Ruby hit back.

“That’s enough, Wolf Two,” Dakota replied, clearly now furious. “Return to base. This mission is over.”

A deathly silence fell over the comm channel as the pulse of Hallam’s Shelby Drive built to a crescendo. Then there was a vivid flash of light, but it wasn’t caused by his fighter entering bridge space; it was the detonation of hundreds of barrels of volatile Randenite.

The shipment had been intended to resupply the garden planet’s goods freighters. It was fuel that would have meant food got delivered to Earth, in addition to several other bridge worlds. It was fuel that would be replaced in time – Hallam knew that. And he also knew that the food and supplies would still get through, and the hardship would be short-lived. However, if the Darkspace Renegades succeeded in destroying the Centrum – the sole remaining Randenite refinery – then all the freighters would eventually run empty. Then the suffering really would begin.

Hallam still struggled with the ethical implications of what they were doing. It wasn’t quite as bad as killing the patient to cure the disease, but it certainly amounted to amputating a few limbs. However, it had to be done in order to safeguard Earth and all the inhabited planets. If the bridges collapsed, tearing open the fabric of normal space, star systems would be thrown into chaos. Gravitational fluxes would cause some worlds to freeze, while others would burn up as their orbits shifted closer to their stars. Some would be destroyed entirely, crushed by stresses that defied physics and the imagination.

Hardship was better than annihilation, Hallam had reasoned. It was why stopping the Randenite shipments was necessary. It was why destroying the Centrum had to be done. However, killing a pilot who was flying away from the combat zone didn’t have to be done. He’d stolen the authenticator for Dr. Rand precisely so they could develop a weapon to cripple the fuel supply without unnecessary loss of life. Ruby Rivas had overstepped the line, and when Hallam saw her again, there would be hell to pay.

2

Hallam threw back the canopy of his fighter and practically leapt from the cockpit and onto the deck of Dr. Rand’s personal renegade hideout. Uniquely, the genius scientist’s base was not on a moon orbiting a rogue planet, deep in the Darkspace, but was a habitable world in its own right. Dakota had explained that, using her technical smarts, the genius scientist had managed to keep the distant world a secret, even from the Consortium. However, right now, the Earth-like moon was the last thing on Hallam’s mind. He peered around the hangar and spotted the focus of his ire. Ruby Rivas had already touched down and was casually strolling toward the debriefing area while technicians attended to her craft. She was blowing a bubble of yellow gum, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

“Hey!” Hallam called out as he paced toward her at barely less than a run. Ruby glanced back but then rolled her eyes as another bubble burst and was sucked back into her mouth. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Hallam called again.

“What is it, tanker man?” said Ruby, turning on her heels and staring him down. “If you’re about to give me a hard time over destroying that fighter, save your breath. This is a war, unless you’ve not yet cottoned on?”

“Don’t patronize me,” snapped Hallam, “I’ve no problem pulling the trigger, when a trigger needs to be pulled. But I risked my neck at the Consortium HQ on Vesta so that we could stop these tankers without killing people needlessly. You didn’t have to take that shot, and you know it!”

Ruby had blown out another bubble while Hallam was giving his speech, and it then burst with a loud pop. “If one of those CSF jerks had got a target lock, they’d have killed us in a heartbeat, Hal,” Ruby hit back, speaking Hal’s name as if it were an insult. “Lofty sentiments don’t win wars. Soldiers do.”

Hallam laughed in her face. “You’re not a soldier, gumface,” he hit back. “You’re just an angry kid who wants to hurt people.”

Ruby shoved Hallam hard in the chest, causing him to stagger back a couple of paces. “Call me ‘gumface’ again, and we’ll see who the soldier is,” she snarled at him.

“Take your best shot, gumface,” Hallam replied, angling his chin toward Ruby and inviting her to take a swing.

As their tussle had developed, neither Hallam nor Ruby had noticed Dakota Wulfrun storming toward them. In fact, the first indication Hallam got that Dakota had arrived was when she barged past him and landed a solid right cross to Ruby’s chin, sending her staggering back and down to one knee.

“What the hell was that for?” snarled Ruby, massaging the side of her face.

“You disobeyed my order,” Dakota yelled, causing anxious eyes all around the deck to fall on their developing affray. “I said disengage, damn it!”

Ruby spat out a globule of blood onto the deck – Hallam could see that her chewed up ball of gum was mixed into it – and pushed herself upright. Her hands were balled into fists, but somehow she’d just managed to hold back from retaliating.

“What’s gotten into you, Dak?” Ruby snarled. “We used to be all on a level – you, me and Kien.” Then Ruby cocked her head toward Hallam, eyes as sharp as needles. “Then this asshole comes along, and now we’re hacking Randenite barrels?” She threw her hands out wide, shaking her head. “We won’t win this battle with technical tricks, Dak. If we don’t fight hard, we lose.”

“We also don’t shoot people in the back, Ruby,” Dakota hit back. “That’s not who we are, and it never was. Take out a dozen CSF pilots and a dozen more are waiting in the wings.”

“Then we take them down too,” said Ruby, “just the same as they would to us, given half a chance.”

Dakota took a breath and tried to compose herself. Hallam now understood that getting angry at Ruby just seem to fuel her, like stoking a fire. “Look, Ruby, we don’t win this with missiles; we win this by being smart. Now the next CSF escort patrol we meet will be out for revenge. They have hundreds more ships than we do. We can’t afford to take losses; we need everyone we can get. The stakes are too high.”

Ruby shook her head and backed away, pushing out the palms of her hands toward both Hallam and Dakota. “I’m done with this,” she snarled, pulling the Wolf Squadron patch off the arm of her flight suit and tossing it on the deck. “If you’re not going to fight, then I’ll transfer to a squadron that will. You and tanker man can carry on pressing buttons on dumb gadgets, while the rest of us do what needs to be done.”

Dakota again tried to reason with her, but Ruby had already turned her back on them and stormed off toward the pilot’s quarters, brushing past Dr. Rand, who was coming the other way. The renegade leader cast a glance back at Ruby and opened her mouth as if to call her name, but the pilot had already shoved open the doors and burst through them.

Dr. Rand scowled and then approached Hallam and Dakota. She stopped just short of standing on the Wolf Squadron patch, and bent down to pick it up.

“I take it the mission didn’t go well?” asked Dr. Rand, holding up the discarded squadron patch.

“Actually, it went great,” said Dakota, who was now resting her hands on her hips. She looked weary, both physically and mentally. “That was just Ruby being Ruby.”

Dr. Rand then spotted the bloody mix of spittle and gum on the deck and raised an eyebrow. “Anything I should worry about?”

“She’ll come around,” said Dakota before swiftly changing the subject. “The good news is that your can opener gizmo works. The tanker had to dump its entire Randenite consignment.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call it that,” replied Dr. Rand huffily, “but that is good news. I’ve also managed to increase the decryption speed since that prototype. I’ll get the updated plans relayed to the other bases so all the squadrons can start to adopt this technique.”

Hallam snorted. “You might want to tell Ruby that; she isn’t really a fan of any approach that doesn’t involve blowing things up.”

Dr. Rand returned a knowing nod. “She is somewhat tenacious, I agree,” she replied, pushing the Wolf Squadron patch into the pocket of her military-style jacket. “But, as Dakota pointed out, she’ll come around. She always does.” Then Dr. Rand cast a disproving glance to Dakota and added, “though her chin is likely more bruised than her pride.”

“I didn’t hit her that hard…” Dakota answered, going ever so slightly red in the cheek.

“Well, congratulations, in any event, especially to you, Mr. Knight,” Dr. Rand went on, mercifully sparing Dakota any more blushes. “It seems that you’ve picked a side after all.”

Hallam smiled. “I think the side more picked me, but thanks; glad to be of help.”

Then, for some reason, Cad Rikkard flashed back into Hallam’s mind. The mission had distracted him from thoughts of their meeting on the Paradise – the orbital casino hotel above Feronia. Hallam still had flashbacks to the aftermath of the mercenary’s callous and bloody deeds on the renegade hideout. In truth, Cad Rikkard had rarely been far from his thoughts.

“Any news about the Blackfire Squadron?” Hallam asked. The question also perked the interest of Dakota Wulfrun.

“Nothing yet,” Dr. Rand replied, though her answer conveyed no sense of relief. The use of “yet” also suggested that, like Hallam, Dr. Rand believed it was only a matter of time before Cad Rikkard struck again. However, for Hallam, the anticipation of the attack was almost harder to bear. It was like watching an angry scorpion scuttle across your naked body, knowing that it would eventually sting you, but having no idea when or where.

“Maybe Commander Lane didn’t give up as much information as Draga Vex claimed he did,” offered Dakota, ever the optimist of the group. “Maybe he doesn’t have the location of any more bases, and his little stunt on the Paradise was all bluster.”

Hallam massaged his weary face and shrugged. “We all know that Cad Rikkard is full of crap,” he said, stopping short of using the more colorful word for what he actually thought Cad was full of. “But Draga doesn’t strike me as the boastful type.”

Dr. Rand nodded and then smiled. “Well, for now, all we can do is wait and continue our preparations,” she said, displaying the typical pragmatism of a leader. “We are actually making good progress on discovering the location of the alien probe, and so I may need your services again soon, Mr. Knight.”

Hallam threw up a lazy salute. “Call me when you need me.” He was suddenly overcome with fatigue and yawned loudly. “Though if you could let me have a few hours of sleep first, that would be great.”

“I’m afraid that you may not get as much sleep as you’d hope for,” Dr. Rand replied ominously. “I recently received reports of gravitational anomalies from our sources on Pales.”

Hallam and Dakota shot nervous glances toward each other. Both understood the cataclysmic implications of what Dr. Rand had just said.

“How bad is it?” asked Dakota.

“Not yet bad enough to alter the orbits of planets or moons,” Dr. Rand replied, again qualifying her statement with another “yet.” “I’ll need to get out there to run some tests, but it’s only a matter of time before the effects become noticeable.”

“Get out there?” said Dakota with a sort of suspicious curiosity. “You can’t be serious? We can’t risk letting you outside the protection of the hideout.”

Dr. Rand folded her arms and looked at Dakota as if she were an overprotective parent, trying to shield her from the wicked world outside.

“Miss Wulfrun, I had pioneered expeditions beyond the known frontiers of the galaxy before you were even potty-trained,” said Dr. Rand, fixing Dakota with an unimpressed stare. Hallam winced; as burns went, that had been a pretty savage one. “I think I can handle myself.” Dakota was about to step in again, but Dr. Rand headed her off. “Besides, I’ll have you two there to protect me, so I’ll be in good hands.”

Dakota’s mouth remained open; it was like Dr. Rand had somehow stolen the words she’d intended to speak. Dakota attempted to start a sentence again twice before giving up and finally saying, “Fine. You’re the boss, boss.”

“Yes, I am,” said Dr. Rand with a victorious smile. “Now you two go and get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

Dr. Rand departed, leaving Hallam and Dakota alone in the hangar. Dakota blew out a rasping sigh and then turned to Hallam.

“Can you believe she wants to go out to Pales?” said Dakota, hooking a thumb in the direction of Dr. Rand as she headed away.

“She’s certainly audacious, but she’s a tough old bird too,” Hallam answered, smiling roguishly at Dakota. “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Less of the old…” said Dakota, slapping Hallam hard on the chest with the back of her hand. “Come on, let’s hit the showers and then get some rack time; I’m beat.”

Hallam followed her onto the corridor leading to the pilot’s quarters and facilities. “So long as you stay in your part of the shower block, this time…” he said, remembering Dakota’s prank on him back when they were on the Centrum. It seemed like an age ago now, though the memory was still crystal clear. Hallam figured that Dakota being naked at the time probably had something to do with that.

“Aw, but I was hoping you’d scrub my back for me,” said Dakota, suddenly transforming into her more naturally playful personality. The leader of “Wolf Squadron” had gone back in her box, for a time at least.

“I’ll scrub your back if you kiss my soapy wet ass,” replied Hallam, putting on a good show of sounding affronted.

Dakota laughed and then jabbed Hallam in the gut, taking him totally by surprise. “Come on, last one in the showers buys the drinks,” she said before sprinting off along the hallway.

Hallam pressed a fist to his gut and tried to call after her, but Dakota’s punch had winded him. Eventually, he managed to call out, “The drinks are free, you weirdo...” before chasing off after her, determined to win her stupid, but impossible-to-refuse challenge.

3

Cad Rikkard maintained a light touch on the controls of his heavily upgraded fighter craft as he weaved through space in pursuit of the renegade ship. His opponent was skilled and had managed to evade Cad’s guns for the last sixty seconds. This had not frustrated him; Cad welcomed the challenge. However, unlike his chaotic pursuit course, Cad’s confidence in his own abilities and those of his superior fighter craft was unswerving.

“Got him!” Alexis Black called out over the comm channel, and Cad saw a bright flash of flames to his right side. “That just leaves your one...” she added teasingly.

Cad didn’t respond and instead maintained his laser-like focus, matching the renegade move for move, while also trying to anticipate its actions. Sooner or later, his opponent would make a mistake – it was inevitable – yet Cad would not. That was the difference between himself and the renegades, Cad mused as the enemy vessel continued trying to shake him. That was what separated being the best from merely being “good.”

Cad tried to put himself inside the mind of the enemy pilot. Whoever it was had just seen their remaining wingman go up in flames, leaving them alone against three of the best fighter pilots in the galaxy. He knew the renegade would be sweating. He knew they’d be scared, and maybe even panicking. Cad cast his eyes across to the renegade hideout and sensed that his quarry was about to run for home. He continued to match his opponent’s moves, waiting for the perfect opportunity, and then it came. The renegade turned for the base and burned hard, looking to escape to safety. However, all it succeeded in doing was running into a precisely-aimed volley of cannon fire from Cad Rikkard’s fighter.

Cad eased back and slowed his vessel to a stop as the burning remains of the Darkspace Renegade ship fizzled to nothing. It had been a clean kill; one of his best. He could have used missiles or taken out the ship sooner by pressing his attack and taking snapshots, but that wouldn’t have given him any real satisfaction. Cad Rikkard was no mere thug; he was an artist and a master of his craft. He used every opportunity to both demonstrate his superiority and fine-tune his skills.

“Form up on me,” said Cad over the comm channel. “And guide the breaching pod over here with you.”

Alexis Black and Draga Vex both acknowledged the order, and Cad relaxed back in his seat, staring out at the newly-discovered renegade hideout. Like the first one they had assaulted, it was a veritable fortress, constructed from dozens of mothballed super-class freighters and liners. To protect it from attack, it was buried inside a crater on an Earth-sized moon of a rogue planet, orbiting the galactic center, deep in the Darkspace between Liber and Vediovis.

However, there was a crucial difference between the new hideout and the one they’d already destroyed. During the first assault, the renegades had not known they were coming; this time, they did. This time, the Darkspace Renegades were prepared – but so was Cad Rikkard.

Alexis formed up on Cad’s wing and he shot her a friendly two-finger salute. Draga appeared a few seconds later on his opposite side, followed by the breaching pod, which she’d guided remotely from her cockpit. The breaching pod was the latest weapon to be supplied courtesy of Damien Doyle’s secret warehouse wonderland of experimental military tech.

The breaching pod was fundamentally a heavily armored battering ram, designed to allow military units to board hostile space installations or ships. Its thick armored shell could withstand all but the most intense barrages, allowing it to approach an installation while absorbing incoming fire. Once it reached the hull or a hangar door, it would latch on and bore through, forming a pressure-tight seal, through which the landing party could enter the target ship or station. Doyle had originally designed them as a safeguard, in case criminal elements or hostile governments tried to capture any of his assets. However, after Dr. Rand’s cyber-attack and the crippling of the Randenite refineries, they had become largely redundant. Now the only organization with the resources to lay siege to a space station was the Consortium itself, and Damien Doyle was hardly likely to take his own installations hostage.

“I really hope this thing works,” said Alexis as the breaching pod maneuvered into position in front of the squadron’s three fighters. “I don’t like the idea of dying in that oversized tin can. If I’m to die, then I want to go out fighting.”

Cad double-checked that his advanced power armor was configured for space walking, then depressurized the cockpit.

“We don’t have a choice,” Cad said as the canopy of his fighter slid back. “Even with their armor shields enabled, these ships can’t withstand a full barrage from that base’s cannons. And we have to grab another high-level member of Dr. Rand’s little renegade troop; otherwise, we’re screwed.”

The intelligence that Draga had so gleefully extracted from the commander of the first renegade base had turned out to be worthless. Draga had been – and still remained – incensed by this. She took pride in her sadistic methods of retrieving information, and this failure had been a rare humiliation. It also couldn’t have come at a worse time. Damien Doyle had been on Cad’s ass to accelerate his attacks on the bases in order to flush Dr. Rand out into the open. Cad had boasted to Doyle that they had the remaining renegade positions, and that it was only a short matter of time. The truth was that Cad only had the three initial hideout locations they’d retrieved from Scarlett Brock, the renegade operative who they’d interrogated and killed on Janus.

“I will find the commander,” said Draga, though it sounded like she was forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “And this time, I will get the truth, slowly and painfully. They will beg me for death once I’m through with them.”

Cad had a healthy respect for Draga’s macabre talents, and despite her recent failure, his confidence in her had not diminished. He too had underestimated the resolve of the renegade commander; Dr. Rand’s followers had turned out to have far more grit than he’d expected. However, Draga and anger were two forces that did not marry well together; he needed to be sure she stayed on mission.

“You know I appreciate your work, Draga, but I need you focused,” replied Cad, concerned that his third squadron member might get carried away and leave no one alive to interrogate. “We don’t want to have to attempt a raid like this again.”

Cad saw Alexis push herself out of her cockpit and thrust gently toward the breaching pod, using the maneuvering jets in her suit. He unclipped his harness and climbed out of his own cockpit, kicking off on the hull to give himself some initial momentum. The rear door to the pod swung open as he drew closer, making regular, small course corrections with his thrusters to ensure he didn’t sail straight past it.

Their three fighters would remain in position, out of range of the hideout’s guns, and only fly in to retrieve them once Cad gave the all clear. However, they still had a mountain to climb before that could happen. Even Cad had admitted to himself that the assault was high-risk, but if they pulled it off, he also knew it would further enrich his mystique and reputation. A mercenary was only as good as their last mission, and Cad’s last mission had been tainted with failure. It had left a bitter and unfamiliar taste in his mouth; one he intended to wash away with blood.

Cad reached the breaching pod, and Alexis grabbed his arm and helped to pull him inside. Draga touched down a few seconds later with the agility of an eagle landing on its perch. Then the enormous metal door of the pod slowly drew down, sealing them all inside like the dead inside a tomb.

“Okay, let’s do this,” said Cad, pulling himself into the forward seat. Their weapons had already been stowed inside the pod before their ships had generated the temporary bridges to the hideout’s location. Draga’s shotgun was fixed in position next to her seat, while Alexis had already retrieved and holstered her Five-Seven-Seven pistols. Cad had forgone his usual sidearm for a powerful sub-machine gun with precision-guided rounds. Normally, he considered such a weapon to be beneath him, but on this occasion, he wanted nothing left to chance. And, as usual, his Black Prince sword was carefully stowed by the side of his seat for the inevitable, but enjoyable, close-quarters action he anticipated getting into.

Draga and Alexis both chorused the word “Secure…” before Cad prepared to initiate the breaching program. The plan was to fly straight and fast at the hangar of the renegade base, weathering the storm of flak and cannon fire that would be rained down upon them. Then, when it was within range, the pod would fire its braking thrusters, slowing it to a stop mere meters in front of the bay doors, safe from the base’s cannons. It would involve enduring a near twelve g-force deceleration burn. Cad was used to high g-forces, but even with the protections provided by their sophisticated combat armor, he knew the experience was going to be deeply unpleasant.

Cad initiated the breaching program and called out the countdown. “Okay, initiating approach burn in, five… four… three…two…one…”

The kick from the breaching pod’s engines was savage, and despite knowing it was coming, it still took Cad by surprise. The virtualized image of the renegade base came at him with incredible speed, and soon the pod was being hammered with cannon fire and shrapnel from exploding shell rounds. Cad held on and kept his cool. He’d endured more hair-raising atmospheric re-entries than he could count; this was a fairground rollercoaster ride in comparison.

Alarms sounded all around him and Cad saw in his visor HUD that the pod’s armor integrity was failing. However, they were almost through. Two minutes… Cad told himself. Two minutes, and I need to be ready to fight…

Suddenly, Cad’s chair swung around by a hundred and eighty degrees, and the braking thrusters fired. Cad steeled himself as best he could, but even he was finding it tough to stay conscious. He glanced across to Alexis and Draga, but all he could see was the backs of their helmets. He had no way of knowing if either was still conscious. You two had better be ready when this bucket breaches the doors… Cad thought. Because I’m sure as hell not doing this on my own.

The thump of cannon shells vanished, as did the immense pressures on his body. Then the forward armor detached and the pod latched on to the base’s docking bay doors. Powerful cutting lasers immediately set to work, breaching the outer layer in a matter of seconds.

“Gear up, one minute!” Cad shouted as he jumped out of his seat, almost immediately falling flat on his face. He’d saved himself any embarrassment by instinctively grabbing the back of his chair, but the erratic response of his body to attempting such a basic move was concerning.

“Hell, I don’t even think I’ll be able to see straight in sixty seconds, not to mention fight,” said Alexis, bouncing off the wall of the pod. Her ability to remain unfazed by any situation continued to amaze Cad; it was one of the things he loved about her. Draga also looked unsteady, but she said nothing and instead merely wrestled to release her semi-automatic shotgun from its stow. Whether she was ready to fight or not, nothing would stop Draga from heading out, all guns blazing.

“Hit yourself with drug package seven alpha,” said Cad, his foggy mind suddenly remembering the wild concoction of meds that had been formulated to counteract the effects of the pod. “Then get ready to move. This crazy little stunt should catch them by surprise, but we should still expect heavy resistance in the hangar.”

Cad executed the drug package command and felt tiny pin-pricks pierce his body, all the way from his neck to his calves. Whatever the blend of drugs was, it worked fast and the effects hit him like a train. For a moment, he felt ten times worse – then he felt invincible.

“Ten seconds to breach,” Cad called out while pushing his Black Prince sword into the scabbard he was wearing over his armor and grabbing his SMG. Draga and Alexis appeared beside him, weapons held ready as Cad counted down the final seconds in his mind. Three… two… one… breach!

The entire front section of the breaching pod exploded outwards, revealing a tunnel that had been extended directly inside the renegade base. Cad ran through, feeling rounds pinging off his armor even before he’d reached the end of the passageway and leapt into the hangar. His visor acquired several targets and Cad opened fire with his SMG as the thrusters in his suit fired automatically to control his descent to the deck. The precision-guided rounds steered themselves on target, and a second later, two renegades were dead.

Cad landed and ran for cover as the blast of Draga’s shotgun and rapid crack of Alexis’ Five-Seven-Sevens added to the commotion. Cad peeked out from cover, acquiring additional targets in his visor before firing a snapshot of precision-guided bullets. Two more renegades soon lay dead in what would have been impossible shots to make, were it not for his high-tech weapon.

“That’s cheating,” said Alexis Black, slamming her back up against the storage crates beside Cad.

“Only if we’re keeping score,” replied Cad, smiling back at her. Then he added cockily, “That’s four already for me, by the way…”

Alexis let out a laugh that was bordering on maniacal, then said, “Just leave some renegades for me, okay? Otherwise, I’ll be cross…”

Draga had already advanced beyond Cad’s position, and Cad peeked out again to see that the remaining renegades had retreated from the hangar.

“Let’s move out!” Cad ordered through the suit’s comm channel before running further into the hangar and taking cover behind a repair station.

“This is going to be easier than we thought,” said Alexis, dropping to a crouch next to him. “They’re already on the run.”

Suddenly, the feedback sensors in the soles of Cad’s armored boots detected heavy thuds vibrating through the deck. Alexis was about to advance again, but Cad held out an arm to stop her.

“Everyone hold up. Something’s not right,” Cad commanded, feeling the weight and number of thuds intensify. He then stood up to get a better look toward the connecting doors from the hangar into the main foyer of the base, and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” asked Alexis, also rising up to take a quick peek. Then she saw what had caused Cad to let out his curious snort-laugh. Advancing into the hangar were three military-grade combat bots, and they were each armed with rifles.

“You have got to be kidding,” said Alexis as the machines spread into a vee formation. “They must be mad to let those things roam free, and even more insane to actually arm them.”

Cad ducked back down behind cover and smiled at Alexis, but her face remained twisted into a frown.

“I still don’t see what you’re so happy about,” said Alexis.

The sight of the combat bots had only bolstered Cad’s already drug-enhanced confidence. The volatile combat machines were prone to glitches and logic errors, and were normally deployed only as a last resort. Cad had only ever seen them used proactively by Damien Doyle, who always had a personal protection bot close by. However, as with everything Damien Doyle owned, his personal unit had undergone bespoke upgrades worth millions. The aging former military units that were advancing toward them now with unrelenting haste were likely just as screwy as the day they were activated.

“The renegades aren’t mad,” Cad answered, continuing to meet Alexis’ confused expression with one of amusement. “They’re terrified of us…”

Alexis’ frown quickly morphed into a smile, and she raised her pistols, ready to attack. “Then let’s show this renegade rabble why they’re right to be scared of the Blackfire Squadron.”

4

Debris rained down on Cad and Alexis as the trio of combat bots concentrated their fire on the repair station they were using for cover. Soon, the metal frame of the station had become so badly perforated that rounds penetrated through and impacted against Cad’s armor.

“Draga, draw their fire,” Cad called out over the comm channel as he plucked a grenade from its magnetic stow on the rear hip of his armor. “I need you to distract them for a few seconds.”

Draga acknowledged the order and then sprang out from cover, blasting the bot closest to her with the powerful semi-automatic shotgun. The combat bot staggered off balance as the slugs hammered into its armored shell before its left arm was blasted clean off at the shoulder.

Cad watched and waited as the other two bots refocused their attack on Draga, who dove for cover as rounds filled the air around her. With the bots distracted, Cad shot up and threw the grenade toward the trio of mechanized combatants. It connected with the central bot, attaching to its metal body with a satisfying thunk, then detonated. Cad felt the fractured remains of the bots clatter against his armor and advanced, his visor filtering out the smoke to give a clear view of the leftovers. One bot was still partly functional and tried in vain to raise its rifle at Cad, but he pressed a boot down on its metal arm and fired two shots into its cranial unit.

“I hope that’s the last we see of these mechanical monsters today,” said Alexis, moving up to Cad’s side. Alexis’ personality always switched to that of a serious, hardnosed killer whenever the Blackfire Squadron’s circumstances became more perilous. And although her metamorphosis had yet to be complete, Cad knew that the fewer jokes and smart-ass comments she made, the more dangerous their position had become. “Those grenades will be as much of a risk to us as to anything else once we reach the narrower confines of the inner base,” Alexis added, peering toward the door leading off the hangar with narrowed eyes.

Cad sifted through the fractured carcasses of the combat bots with the toe of his boot, before finding the back panel of one of the units. He reached down and picked it up, while Alexis and Draga covered the door.

“These things were antiques,” said Cad, looking at the serial number and manufacturer code on the bot’s back panel. “If we’d have just left them alone, they’d probably have shot each other to pieces before becoming a serious threat to us.”

Draga advanced toward the main section of the base, now holding her shotgun in one hand, while grasping a pistol in the other. Cad could see that the back section of her armor had taken a number of hits during the combat bot’s assault, penetrating through in one section. Blood was slowly leaking out of the hole.

“You’re hit,” said Cad, throwing the metal panel down and moving up alongside Draga.

“It’s nothing,” Draga replied. “A bit of pain helps me to focus.”

Cad shot a knowing glance to Alexis before answering, “Just a bit of pain, though, okay? I want us all walking out of this base with our armor mostly intact this time, rather than hanging off us by threads.”

Cad cautiously approached the arched double-door leading from the hangar into the main base, and peeked around the corner. Immediately, he was pressed back by a savage barrage of gunfire flying through the opening. However, this time, it was not mere small arms fire; this was something far more threatening.

“They’ve set up a damned gun emplacement, guarding the corridor to the operations command center,” said Cad. He then realized that one of the high-velocity rounds had snuck through the wall and nicked his shoulder, biting a chunk out of the advanced armor plating. He turned to the others, tapping his finger to the damage. “And there’s no way we can just storm the castle gates this time,” he added. “We’ll be shot to pieces before we even make it through the door.”

“They must have expected us to enter via the storage elevator again,” suggested Alexis. “The cowards set up an ambush for us.”

Draga nodded. “It would explain why they played the combat bot card so early; they obviously didn’t anticipate that we’d breach the hangar.”

Cad chanced another look through the opening and saw maybe a dozen renegades in position behind a makeshift barricade. However, his visor was unable to get a lock on any targets before he was again forced back into cover by the vicious, rapid crack of the machine gun.

“They’ve also fortified their position,” said Cad, stepping further away from the door. The powerful machine gun the renegades were using had already chewed through a section of the archway. “And I can’t get a lock on them, so there’s no chance of me picking them off with smart rounds.”

Alexis smiled. “Good, that means you can’t cheat anymore.”

Cad scowled at Alexis. “You should be wanting me to cheat right now. Or would you rather head out there and get torn to shreds by that gun?”

Draga then holstered her pistol and removed a grenade from her belt, but Cad quickly waved her off. “Stand down, Draga. If we start throwing high-explosives at them, we could cave in the passageway to the main operations center. Besides, you’ll get cut in half long before that thing leaves your hand, blowing us up along with you.”

“Got any better ideas?” Draga replied grumpily, still holding the grenade ready.

Cad peered attentively around the hangar and discovered that they had another option. He smiled back at Draga. “I always have a better idea,” he said with his usual swagger, turning to Alexis. “This base is just a cobbled together mix of old freighters,” he added, pointing up toward the ceiling of the hangar. “If you can get inside the structural crawlspaces, you should be able to work through from this space into the next room, right through where they sliced the two ships open.”

Alexis nodded and holstered her Five-Seven-Sevens. “I’m on it…”

Alexis fired the thrusters built into her armor, propelling her rapidly toward the ceiling. As with everything Alexis did, the ascent was graceful and natural, as if flying was second nature to her. She then carefully maneuvered herself into position, grabbing on to the various metal supports and struts like a rock climber.

Cad moved back in front of the archway and began firing blindly through it. Draga looked at him as if he’d gone slightly mad. “I’m just letting them know we’re still here,” said Cad, noticing Draga’s curious look.

“Still here, waiting like lemons,” Draga answered, stowing the grenade. Her expression was still as gloomy as a storm cloud. “You should just let me blow them up.”

“You’ll get your chance,” said Cad, noticing that Alexis had now pulled herself inside the crawlspace. “Just be ready to move when Alexis takes out that gun.”

“I’m always ready,” replied Draga without even the slightest hint of irony or boastfulness.

Cad fired a couple more bursts through the opening, receiving a number of volleys back in return. Then he heard Alexis over their private comm channel.

“I’m in position,” said Alexis. “I’m going to drop down and take out the gunner. Then it would be great if you two could race in to my rescue. So that I, you know… don’t get killed.”

Cad smiled. “Sounds like a solid plan, Alexis. We’ll wait for your signal.”

Cad reloaded and nodded to Draga, who moved into position ahead of him. The renegade base then suddenly fell silent, as if it had been hastily abandoned. Then panicked cries and frantic shouts filtered through into the hangar as Alexis dropped down amongst the renegades like a bomb and exploded into action. The crack of her Five-Seven-Sevens filled the air, and Cad prepared to give the go-ahead to storm through the door, but Draga was already moving, shotgun aimed and ready.

5

Cad heard Alexis cry, “Go!” over their private comm channel, but the message was superfluous, since Draga was already charging toward the enemy like a berserker. Cad cursed – though, in truth, he expected nothing less from his bloodthirsty partner – and ran after her. Rounds immediately pinged off his armor as the renegades positioned at the barricade unloaded on him. His visor acquired several targets and he fired from the hip, taking out three renegades with the first burst. Then his neck snapped back and he was knocked off his feet, as if he’d just run headfirst into an invisible crossbeam.

For a second, Cad thought he must have blacked out. Then muffled cries and frantic shouts assaulted his ears and he rolled to one side, finding a support column for cover. His visor was smashed and the display was flickering chaotically, making his eyes hurt. Cad grabbed the helmet and tore it off before turning it to face him. Three bullets were lodged into it – one in the visor section itself, and another two in the upper shell. Cad cursed and tossed the broken unit away, then glanced around the pillar.

Draga was still heavily engaged with the renegade fighters, blasting some at point-blank range, while using the stock of the shotgun to batter others. Cad scrambled to his feet, still feeling slightly shaky, partly because of the hard hits he’d taken and partly because he couldn’t see Alexis. Then he spotted her, back pressed up behind part of the makeshift barricade. Her helmet was also smashed, and it looked like her right leg was damaged too. Four renegades had her pinned down and were closing in fast.

Cad was assaulted by a heady mixture of dread and anger. He was used to seeing Alexis in danger, and used to watching her get hurt, but it never got easier. Nevertheless, with years of training and discipline, he had learned to filter out this barrage of sensations during combat. He’d learned to use his emotions, and to control them, instead of letting them control him. Fear and adrenaline were Cad Rikkard’s Randenite, fueling him to even greater levels of brutality.

Cad tossed the sub-machine gun aside and drew his Black Prince sword. Alexis had said they should show the renegades why they were right to fear the Blackfire Squadron – now Cad Rikkard would give them a personal demonstration. He ran out from behind cover and advanced, keeping a watchful eye on the renegades in case any switched their focus to him. Only five now remained, one of which Draga had pinned to the deck with her hands pressed around the renegade’s throat. Draga’s face was contorted into a frenzied rage; she’d given over to bloodlust.

The remaining four renegades were still stalking Alexis and were close to making a kill. Cad pressed on and was halfway toward the renegade mob before any of them had seen him coming. Suddenly, one fighter turned his weapon toward Cad, the renegade’s eyes filled with fear. Cad shielded his head with his left arm, feeling rounds strike his body, and quickened his advance. The renegade’s weapon clicked empty and Cad vaulted the barricade, drop-kicking the man square in the chest. The renegade rebounded off the wall, straight into Cad Rikkard’s waiting blade. Cad forced the sword deeper through his opponent’s flesh, locking on to the startled man’s dying eyes before steering his limp body toward his comrades.

The other renegades abandoned their hunt of Alexis and opened fire, but their feverish assault simply peppered their own now dead companion, leaving Cad with only a few additional scratches to his jet-black armor. Again, weapons clicked empty and Cad pulled the blade from the dead renegade’s chest, using all the power in his armored leg to kick the body away. The corpse flew into the remaining three attackers, knocking two to the deck. The one left standing let out a primal, terrified roar and charged at Cad, aiming the stock of his rifle at Cad’s head. Cad dodged the clumsy attack with ease and brought down the sword, removing both of the renegade’s hands with a single clean strike. Again, he was met with a look of pure astonishment as the man held up his bleeding stumps, but the renegade’s bewilderment lasted only for a matter of seconds before Cad spun around and removed the man’s head from his shoulders with another clean, brutal strike of his sword.

The remaining two renegade fighters had recovered and clambered to their knees in time to witness the dismemberment of their comrade. Both were now hysterically begging for their lives, unaware that Cad Rikkard had no intention of sparing them. He raised his sword and advanced, but before he could swing the blade again, Alexis clawed herself up onto the barricade and shot both of them in the head with a single round from each of her twin Five-Seven-Sevens.

Cad lowered his Black Prince sword and stared at Alexis in dismay. “They were mine…” he said, almost angry at Alexis for stealing his kills.

Alexis flopped onto her back and tossed her smashed helmet aside. Her breathing was heavy, and there was blood trickling from beneath her dirty blonde hair down the side of her face, yet she was also smiling.

“Losers weepers…” said Alexis in between labored breaths. “That’s six for me now, by the way; what’s your tally?”

Cad scowled back at her before muttering, “The renegades I just skewered makes four, plus the three combat bots.”

Alexis rolled off the barricade and onto the deck. The armor on her left leg was badly damaged, and she was struggling to walk, but she still managed to stroll over to Cad with an insouciant swagger.

“The bots don’t count,” Alexis said, patting Cad on his armored backside as she moved to where Draga now sat down, resting on a metal container.

Cad snorted, realizing that their situation could not have been too dire if Alexis had resumed her more playful personality. However, although he and Alexis were more than a little shot up, Draga looked in far worse condition. She too had discarded her helmet, and Cad could see that her bright white hair was matted with a mixture of sweat and blood. She’d torn away parts of her armor and had a fist clenched to her side.

“What’s the damage, Draga?” said Cad, ensuring that his voice did not betray any hint of concern. Draga never wanted sympathy, and to show her any would merely encourage her to fight on, even when her body was clearly not capable of taking more punishment. Cad could see that Draga had already reached that point and perhaps even exceeded it. A display of compassion, such as showing his concern for her safety, would just spur Draga on and result in literally killing her with kindness.

“I will likely need surgery,” said Draga matter-of-factly. “But I am not dead yet.” She tried to stand, but more blood oozed from the wound to her side, and she dropped back down, grimacing.

Cad thought on his feet and then nodded over to the machine gun emplacement. “Man that gun, in case these renegade cowards release any more of the combat bots,” he said, trying to find a way for Draga to stay put without her thinking she’d been benched. “Alexis and I will assault and take the command center.”

Draga tried to stand again, and this time fought through the pain to remain on two feet. “You’ll need me…” she said, battling to get the words out since the pain had forced her muscles to tense up.

“The renegades already made their stand, and they failed, thanks to you; now I need you here, to protect my ass,” Cad hit back. “There’s no one I trust more.” Draga’s sharp eyes narrowed, but Cad held her gaze, giving her his best poker face.

The brutal mercenary meditated on Cad’s words for a second or two longer before replying, “Okay, but if you need me then…”

“If I need you, I know you’ll be there,” Cad interrupted, keen to not give Draga an opportunity to talk herself out of remaining behind.

Cad then knocked Alexis on the shoulder and cocked his head toward the corridor. They departed quickly so that Draga didn’t have a chance to change her mind, and cautiously moved through the passageway toward the operations center.

“Here, take this,” said Alexis, handing Cad one of her Five-Seven-Seven pistols. “Just in case you don’t manage to get close enough to use that,” she added, looking down at the Black Prince sword in Cad’s grasp. Blood was still dripping from the tip of its blade, like ink from the point of a quill.

“Thanks,” said Cad, taking the pistol in his left hand. Then he chewed the inside of his mouth for a second, before adding, “You know there’s no one I trust more than you, right?” he said, suddenly oddly concerned that Alexis might have been offended by what he’d said to Draga.

“I know,” replied Alexis chirpily, then she smiled back at him. “And I know you were just looking out for her.” She raised an eyebrow, and Cad knew she was either about to tease him or embarrass him, or maybe both at the same time. “You know, for a bad guy, you’re actually pretty okay.”

Cad snorted. “No I’m not,” he hit back, returning an eyebrow raise of his own, “but that’s why you love me.”

Alexis laughed; it was a strange mixture of girlish giggle and sadistic cackle that characterized Alexis’ twin personalities and zany eccentricity to a tee.

The pair approached the end of the passageway, and Cad focused ahead, watching for any signs of movement. From the body count they’d left behind, he doubted there were many more renegades in the hideout, assuming it had a similar crew complement to the first base. However, given the state of his armor, one lucky shot could be all it took to take him down, so he wasn’t taking any chances. As it turned out, his caution was unwarranted.

Cad emerged into the operations command center and was confronted by four renegades. A woman, who wearing the same command insignia on her uniform as the base commander of the first hideout, appeared to be the leader, while the three others stood behind her. None appeared to be armed, and none of them offered any resistance.

Cad shot a concerned glance at Alexis, pointing his sword at the commander. “Just give up, lady, the rest of your crew are already dead or dying.”

“Your reputation is well-earned, Cad Rikkard,” the female commander replied, maintaining a dignified poise that Cad respected, considering her dire circumstances. “But you will get nothing from me or from the computer systems on this base. You have had a wasted journey.”

“We’ll see about that,” Cad answered. He admired the woman’s ballsy response, but was also hacked off at her audacity. An enemy should know when it is beaten, he reflected with annoyance.

“Yes, we will indeed see about that…” the commander said before a hefty steel door at the rear of the room thumped open, and Cad heard heavy footsteps thudding their way.

Cad cast his eyes over to the doorway, recalling his encounter with a warbot on the previous base they had assaulted. Evidently, the commander of this base had also summoned her mechanical champion in a last-ditch effort to turn the tide of the battle. However, Cad wasn’t afraid; if the commander wanted to test him, then he would willingly show her why Cad Rikkard was the best. He turned to face the door as a warbot emerged from the shadows and marched into the operations center, its faceless cranial unit focused on Cad.

“Is that an Achilles Seven UGV?” said Alexis as the seven-foot-tall bipedal combat bot thudded further into the room.

Cad grunted, realizing that Alexis had correctly identified the lethal machine. “Yes, it is,” he said, flexing his sword arm in readiness to use it again. “It seems that you were right earlier when you said these renegades were mad.”

The Achilles Seven had the dubious honor of being both the most lethal combat bot ever designed for military use and the screwiest. If it were possible for an electronic brain to have schizophrenia, then the Achilles Seven would have met the diagnosis.

“Perhaps you should reconsider your position, Mr. Rikkard?” the female commander said as the massive combat bot reached her side before turning to face Cad and Alexis. “I suggest you surrender now, before I order this machine to kill you and your companions.”

The Achilles Seven suddenly jerked upright then swiveled its faceless, oval-shaped cranial unit toward the commander. “Order understood; kill them all,” it said in a monotone, electronic drawl.

Cad reacted instinctively, dropping his pistol and sword and throwing himself at Alexis. The pair had barely hit the deck before the Achilles Seven started firing. Debris rained down on him as he pulled himself into a ball, trying to huddle tightly behind cover, but the frenzy of bullets was unrelenting.

“What the hell is it doing!” cried Alexis, holding a hand above her face to stop splinters of metal and plastic falling into her eyes.

“It’s doing what it was ordered to do,” Cad yelled back. “The damned machine is going to wipe everyone out.”

The firing continued, but now it was combined with the heavy thud of the machine’s feet as it drove on toward where Cad and Alexis were hiding. Cad stretched out a hand and just managed to touch the pommel of his sword and draw it toward him. He didn’t know what use the weapon would be against an Achilles-class combat bot, but if he could penetrate the power core or sever the bus cable to the cranial unit, then maybe he could disable it.

“Cad, don’t do it; you can’t kill that thing with a sword!” Alexis cried as Cad transferred the medieval weapon to his right hand.

“What choice do we have?” Cad hit back. “We’re dead either way; at least we go out fighting, right?”

Alexis’ eyes narrowed, and in a flash, her expression had hardened like granite. She nodded and raised her pistol. “Then we go out fighting. On three…”

Cad counted down the seconds in his mind, then together, he and Alexis sprang up out of cover. The giant metal machine acquired its new targets and began to swing its weapons toward Cad and Alexis, but then Cad was deafened by a rapid succession of savage booms from behind him. The Achilles Seven staggered back, chunks of metal flying off its body, arms, and legs, before finally its cranial unit caved in at the center. The mad killing machine fell, causing the entire deck to shudder as if a bomb had just gone off.

Cad rested on his sword, for once lost for words, before turning around to see Draga Vex, leaning on her semi-automatic shotgun, which was pressed into the deck as a crutch. Smoke was still oozing from its barrel.

Draga pressed a fist to her side, which was still leaking blood, and said, “I assumed you needed me?”

Cad and Alexis laughed in unison before Cad replied, “I did. I knew I could count on you.”

Draga sighed then nodded toward the heart of the operations center. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we can count on getting anything useful from this place.”

Cad turned to see that the four remaining renegades, including the base commander, had all been accidentally slaughtered by the insane warbot. And more than that, its relentless barrage of gunfire had shattered every single computer terminal in the room too.

Cad cursed again then yelled, “To hell with this game!” before sheathing his sword. “If these renegades want to up the stakes, then it’s time we brought in some heavy artillery of our own.”

6

Hallam ducked under the fast jab that Dakota snapped toward his face then used his superior reach to land a sharp counter to her body with his left. Dakota withdrew, clenching a glove to her stomach, but then raised her guard again, smiling.

“Not bad…” Dakota said. “I’ll give you that one.”

“That was for flicking my ass with a wet towel,” replied Hallam, pausing for effect and adding, “again…”

Dakota danced around the makeshift ring in the hodgepodge gym inside Dr. Rand’s renegade hideout, and punched her two gloves together.

“But it makes such a tempting target,” Dakota said, stepping in and firing out another jab, which Hallam blocked.

Hallam blocked a follow-up attack and countered with a straight right, but Dakota dodged to the side and landed a right hand of her own before following up to the body. Hallam winced, but remained light on his feet and escaped any further punches.

“Someone’s had their vitamins this morning,” said Hallam, shooting Dakota an awkward smile, thanks to the gumshield in his mouth.

Dakota just flashed her eyes at him and beckoned him on with a cocky waft of her glove. Hallam should have known better than to take the bait, but he stepped in anyway, throwing a couple of loose jabs before again attempting a harder right. He missed and went sailing into the corner. Dakota moved in, landing a couple of solid body shots before Hallam dodged out of the corner and connected with two good shots of his own. Both were now feeling the strain a little, and Hallam was glad when Dakota pulled him into a clinch, resting her head on his shoulder. This wasn’t an unusual tactic, for either of them, but this time, it felt different. Everything from the way her hair brushed against his skin, to her breathing and how she held him close felt somehow much more intimate. He found himself not wanting to break the hold, and Dakota made no attempt to break it either.

“Is this a cuddling match or a boxing match?”

The voice startled Hallam and he and Dakota suddenly pushed away from each other before standing around awkwardly, their gloves pressed to their hips.

Dr. Rand was standing in the door of the gym, leaning nonchalantly on the frame and regarding them both with interest. Her lips were curled into the sly smile of a woman who had just caught two people in a compromising position.

“We were just resting,” said Dakota, quick to jump on the defensive.

“It’s okay, Miss Wulfrun, no need to elucidate,” Dr. Rand replied, “though I’m glad I came in when I did; I shudder to think what I might have seen should I have walked in ten minutes later.”

Hallam and Dakota both just stood there, open-mouthed. Neither could face looking at the other. Dr. Rand had completely blindsided them. Thankfully, it was also the genius scientist that rescued them from their uneasy predicament.

“I’m afraid I must cut short your sparring session,” Dr. Rand went on. “We lost contact with one of our Darkspace hideouts. Normally, we get daily status reports from all the hideouts, but one is now long overdue.”

Dakota pulled off her gloves and jumped down from the ring. “We’ll get suited up right away,” she said, glancing back at Hallam, who nodded.

“No need; I already sent a recon ship to make contact,” said Dr. Rand. “However, the base had been assaulted. I’m afraid everyone on board is already dead.”

“Rikkard…” said Hallam, speaking the mercenary’s name like it was a curse. He pulled off his gloves and jumped down beside Dakota. “So what do you need us for?”

“We have more to worry about than just the antics of the Blackfire Squadron,” said Dr. Rand as she led them out of the gym toward the operations center. “I’ve convened a snap briefing to cover the assault on this hideout and what comes next. I’ll explain everything there.”

Dr. Rand pushed through the door into the planning room. It was adjacent to the command operations center, which Hallam noticed was unusually busy. The base commander, a stoic former research director called Castell, was already waiting for them inside. Hallam had only spoken odd words to the man in the time he’d spent on Dr. Rand’s base, but Dakota had mentioned that he used to head up R&D at one of the Consortium’s aerospace corporations. Doyle had him fired after Castell began to uncover evidence of the potential harm of bridge travel. Had it not been for Dr. Rand’s swift intervention, snatching him first, Doyle would have made him “disappear,” likely as a result of more of Cad Rikkard’s handiwork.

“I believe you all know Commander Castell,” said Dr. Rand, though it was more of a statement than a question.

Hallam and the others filtered around the circular table, though Dakota seemed agitated. It became clear why.

“Where’s Ruby?” said Dakota, addressing the question to Dr. Rand.

“Give her more time, Miss Wulfrun,” Dr. Rand replied with a sort of motherly reassurance.

Dakota appeared a little crestfallen, but there was no time to reflect on Ruby Rivas’ absence before Commander Castell launched straight into the briefing. Hallam could see that Ruby was still weighing heavily on Dakota’s mind, but he’d held back from offering to talk with her about it. He figured it was best to let them sort it out between themselves.

“I warn you, the security footage you’re about to see is graphic,” said Commander Castell, enabling a holo projection in the center of the table.

“Don’t worry; we’ve already seen the aftermath of Cad Rikkard’s work up close,” said Hallam, but then he recoiled as the holo showed the mercenary decapitating one of the renegade fighters with his medieval-style sword. They watched another couple of minutes of edited highlights, with Castell commenting details over the top, during which time Hallam’s disgust for Cad Rikkard and his crew reached a new high. However, if he was honest, the brutality and inventiveness of their assault had scared the crap out of him too.

“I think we’ve all seen enough,” said Dr. Rand. Castell nodded, shutting off the holo.

“We should probably tell the other commanders not to roll out the combat bots, and especially not the Achilles models,” said Dakota, whose arms were now tightly folded across her chest. “They’re doing Rikkard’s job for him.”

“They are a risk,” admitted Dr. Rand. “Although in this case, the machine’s malfunction worked to our advantage, preventing the capture of any personnel or information.”

Hallam scowled at Dr. Rand; the scientist may have been right, but it was still a sub-zero level of coldness to consider her own base commander getting mowed down by a killer robot as a silver lining.

“You consider my last statement to be distasteful, Mr. Knight?” said Dr. Rand, who had seemingly observed Hallam’s reaction.

Hallam didn’t try to deny it. “It just came off a little heartless, is all,” he said with a shrug. “They were all still people; all part of your organization.”

“Don’t confuse my pragmatism for pitilessness, Mr. Knight,” said Dr. Rand levelly. “I will grieve for the loss of all those on the hideout; but if Cad Rikkard managed to extract more information concerning our base locations and organization, many more would now be at risk, or even dead.”

Hallam scowled again, but this time, it wasn’t as a result of what Dr. Rand had said; at least not directly.

“We’re missing something here,” Hallam said, searching the back of his mind for what was bothering him. Then it came to him. “Didn’t Draga Vex claim that they’d already extracted the base locations from Commander Lane? If that’s true, then why are they risking another ground assault?”

Commander Castell cocked his head to one side, appearing to find Hallam’s question to be insightful. “Their missiles can’t penetrate our flak barriers,” the commander offered by way of explanation. “In which case, they perhaps had no other choice?”

“Sure, but why not just stick a bomb in that breaching pod they used, and blow the base sky high from the safety of orbit?” Hallam countered. “They might have won that battle, but judging from those holo recordings they only got through by the skin of their teeth. Cad Rikkard may be an egotist, but I doubt he’d risk his neck if he had a better option.”

Dr. Rand leaned forward, palms pressed onto the table. “What are you suggesting, Mr. Knight? That they don’t have all the base locations?”

Hallam nodded. “It’s only a hunch, but it fits.”

Now Dakota spoke up. “We should go after Cad Rikkard directly,” she said, thumping a fist on the table. “It doesn’t matter if he knows all the base locations or just some; the longer we leave him out there, the greater the risk he’ll strike again.”

“You could be chasing around the galaxy for weeks trying to find him,” Castell replied. “And right now, we need you for another mission.”

Hallam and Dakota both straightened up, glancing anxiously at each other.

“Have you found out where Doyle has stashed the alien probe?” asked Hallam.

Dr. Rand shook her head. “No, but I believe we have the next best thing,” she said. Then the scientist quickly changed the subject before Hallam could press her further. “However, that’s not why I called you here. Right now, I need your help for another task.”

Dr. Rand tapped the control panel on the circular table in front of her and the holo image switched to a three-dimensional map of a star system. Hallam had been to the Pales system enough times to recognize its unique configuration of planets. However, Pales was also close to the top of his least favorite places to visit.

The rapid global industrialization of Earth during the expansion era, fueled by Dr. Rand’s discoveries, quickly turned humanity’s homeworld into a polluted and overpopulated ticking time bomb. In order to pull the planet back from the brink of disaster, the major governments and corporations – largely the Consortium – agreed to move all heavy industry off-world. Pales was chosen as the location for this new industrial planet. It was now so densely polluted that its population were forced to live in huge domed cities to protect them from the toxic air and acid rain. Crime was rampant, and the quality of life was amongst the worst in all the bridge worlds. Life expectancy was only lower on the drug-den planet of Vediovis or the mining world of Carmentis. It was so bad that many Palean workers even chose to take “safer” jobs on the outermost planet, Minerva, which was like moving back in time to the Wild West. And while the relocation of heavy industry to Pales had spared Earth the fate of becoming uninhabitable, humanity’s birthplace remained as overcrowded and contaminated as ever.

“That’s the Pales system,” said Hallam, frowning at the toxic little factory planet, which was fourth from the system’s star. “That’s the system you said had some sort of gravity anomaly, right?”

Dakota guessed at once what Dr. Rand was going to ask next, and tried to head her off. “Let me and Hallam go and check it out,” she said, remembering that Dr. Rand had expressed her intention to travel to Pales to run an analysis. “With everything that’s going on, we can’t risk you getting killed or captured.”

Dr. Rand tapped another command into her console, and the holo map of the Pales system started to animate. Hallam watched as planets and moons traced their orbits around the Palean star in accelerated time, completing several full circuits of the bright yellow sun in a matter of seconds. Dr. Rand stopped the image then met Dakota’s eyes.

“Can you see if there is anything wrong with the orbital paths in this picture?” Dr. Rand asked.

Dakota scowled. “No.”

“Are you the galaxy’s foremost expert on galactic and planetary dynamics?” Dr. Rand continued, her right eyebrow lifting slightly as she spoke the question.

Dakota folded her arms. “Well, obviously, no…”

“Have you spent the better part of your life researching and developing the technology for sub-dimensional superluminal travel?”

“Look, I know where you’re going with this…” Dakota began, but Dr. Rand cut her off.

“Good, then we depart in one hour,” said Dr. Rand breezily, heading toward the door. She then stopped and added, “I suggest we take one ship; it will be safer that way, don’t you agree?”

Dakota opened her mouth to reply, but Dr. Rand had already left the briefing room.

Hallam laughed, drawing an angry glower from Dakota before his partner turned to Commander Castell, looking for support.

Castell just held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. It would be easier to talk a shark out of swimming than change her mind once it’s made up.” Castell then hit the door release and stepped through into the operations command center. “I’ll get your ship cleared for departure in one hour,” he said, tapping his watch. “Which means you two had better get moving…”

7

Falken flitted between her various computer stations, tapping hurried commands into each one while slurping on a bright-red drink through a long yellow straw.

“Be with you in just a minute,” Falken said as Cad watched her circle around him. She’d been doing this same ballet of moves for the last five minutes already, and Cad was tired of waiting.

“I’m on the clock here, lady. Can’t this wait, whatever the hell it is you’re doing?” said Cad, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his Black Prince sword.

“Afraid not!” Falken replied, jumping from her current console to another. “There’s a major pay-per-view event starting soon – some sporting thing or another. I’m just hijacking their payment portal, so the transactions all go through me instead.”

Cad scowled; he remembered an occasion when he tried to watch a pay-per-view holo football match and his payment had just disappeared into the ether. He’d missed the match and been left out of pocket too. It had also cost him a new holo-TV, after he’d smashed his current one in a fit of rage. Cad considered challenging the nefarious young hacker about it, but then remembered his own assertion that he was “on the clock.”

“Look, how long is this going to take?” said Cad, realizing that his hand had now closed around the grip of his sword.

“All done!” chirruped Falken, spinning a full three-sixty in her chair and then stopping it in front of Cad. “So, what can I do you for?”

Cad shook his head. “You know damn well what: the jamming package for the renegade bases!” he barked, feeling like drawing the sword and stabbing it straight through the young woman’s heart.

“Right…” said Falken, again turning to what appeared to be her main computer console. “I haven’t managed to find a way through their firewall yet,” she continued, tapping away at a virtualized keyboard. “This is probably the best security system I’ve seen outside of Damien Doyle’s personal datacenter. Whoever set this up is one god-tier genius, that’s for sure.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the best at this crap?” said Cad, feeling like he’d just wasted the last five minutes of his life, only for Falken to tell him she’d made no progress.

“Oh, I am…” said Falken, seemingly unoffended by Cad’s subtle challenge to her credibility. “I’ll find a way through; I just need a little more time.”

Cad sighed and tightened his hold on the grip of his sword. “Time is the one currency I’m short of, lady,” he said.

“I’ll get back to you in a couple of days,” replied Falken, slurping down the rest of her bright-red drink. Then she clicked her fingers and added, “Oh, hey, did you manage to make that meeting I arranged for you? The one with ‘the woman’ you asked about?” Falken said “the woman” in an intentionally mysterious way, making it sound like she was discussing an illicit affair that Cad was having.

“Yes, I’m here right now,” said Cad. “Though the asshole is making me wait too, just like you.” An alert buzzed on Cad’s watch and he glanced down to check it before cursing. “I’ve got another call; get back to me as soon as you have some good news about the hideouts.”

Falken gave Cad a casual salute and said, “You got it, mister” before Cad tapped the screen of his watch and the holo image of her lair dissolved. Cad suddenly found himself standing at the sixteenth hole on Damien Doyle’s private golf course. Doyle was waiting at the tee, in a painfully-plain golf shirt and cream slacks, which only further accentuated his exquisite, one-of-a-kind pair of shoes.

“You’re a hard man to get hold of, Mr. Rikkard,” growled Damien Doyle, pulling a three-wood from his bag, which was being carried by his ever-present personal protection bot.

“Comes with the territory, I’m afraid,” said Cad with a frosty yet still far more amiable tone than Doyle had used. Though when he thought about it, Cad didn’t remember a single occasion when Doyle had spoken to him with anything other than simmering contempt. If it were not for his position, and the killer robot that seemingly never left his side, Cad would have educated the magnate in the error of his ways long ago. “There are no comm-relays out in the Darkspace, as you know,” Cad added, though he doubted Doyle would consider even this valid and reasonable answer to be a suitable excuse.

Doyle rested the golf club over his shoulder and regarded Cad for a moment. Cad was used to taking a more casual tone with the multi-trillionaire magnate than most people dared to, but he could see now that Doyle was in no mood for games.

“I got your report about the second renegade hideout,” said Doyle, moving up to the tee. “But I didn’t read anything in there about finding Dr. Rand, or you getting any closer to locating her.”

“You’re asking me to hunt down an organization that’s been operating in secret for years, led by one of the most brilliant people ever to draw breath,” Cad hit back. He then aimed a finger at Doyle and added, “Someone even your vast network of spies didn’t know still existed until recently.” Doyle’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened as Cad’s finger hung in the air. “I’ll find Rand, like I told you I would,” Cad added resolutely.

Doyle grunted and then turned to take the tee shot, launching the golf ball straight down the center of the fairway. If it had been any other person, Cad might have congratulated him for the shot, but since it was Doyle, he stayed silent.

“All I see is money going out of my account in large quantities, with nothing to show for it,” said Doyle, turning back to Cad. His personal protection bot thudded up to his side, leaving indentations in the grass wherever it had stepped before holding out the bag of clubs. “I came to you because you were the best – or at least you were supposed to be.” Cad gritted his teeth as Doyle again questioned his credibility, but he let it slide. “I came to you because I needed this done quickly and quietly, off the radar, and without the possibility of it being linked back to me. Maybe I made a mistake?”

Cad forced his jaw to relax and took a moment to compose himself before answering, “I’ve already single-handedly taken out two entire renegade hideouts,” Cad began, fighting hard to ensure that the rage he was feeling for the man didn’t bleed through into his words. “I’ll get you Rand. Work is already in progress.”

Doyle growled an unconvinced huff as he slotted the three-wood back into the bag. “I hope you’re right, Mr. Rikkard,” he said, and Cad knew that the malicious old asshole was about to level another threat in his direction. He duly obliged without delay. “Because there are many other mercenary organizations that would love nothing more than to take this job off your hands.” Doyle smiled, revealing a perfectly-engineered row of marble-white teeth. “Perhaps I should give Group-X a call instead?”

Cad returned the smile; having predicted Doyle’s attempt to goad him, he’d had time to prepare for whatever threat the Consortium boss had come up with. However, even for Doyle, the threat of giving his contact to Group-X was a low blow. Doyle knew full well that Group-X was run by a man called Xander Blade. And the only man in the entire galaxy that Cad despised more than Xander Blade was Doyle himself.

“You do know that’s not even his real name,” said Cad, unable to stop himself rising to the bait, at least a little. “He changed his name to ‘Blade’ just to sound more dangerous; his actual name is just as dumb as him and the rest of his brain-dead crew.”

Cad kicked himself for falling into Doyle’s trap, because now he also had to endure the man’s sanctimonious smirk.

“Well then, Mr. Rikkard, I trust that I will see a marked improvement in your performance,” Doyle said, again causing Cad to force his jaw shut to stop himself telling Doyle where to get off. Doyle climbed into his golf buggy, glancing back at Cad a final time. “I would hate to have to ruin your good name.”

The image of Doyle and his golf course dissolved around him, and Cad found himself again standing in the compact ready room on his fighter. Cad closed his eyes and drew in long breaths through his nose, releasing each one slowly through his mouth, but the meditation technique failed to have any calming effect on his unstable emotional state. Instead, he opened his eyes again and hammered his fist into the storage locker to his side, adding new dents alongside the numerous others he’d left there during previous fits of rage.

Eventually, he stopped, knuckles sore and breath heavy, and stepped off his ship. The cold air of the mountain settlement on Minerva’s rocky fourth continent was more soothing than his crazed assault of the storage locker had been, and he chastised himself for giving in to anger. I’m better than that… he told himself, flexing his fingers to help with the pain. And I’m better than that prick, Damien Doyle...

Cad had already vowed to himself that one day the repugnant man would get his due. One day, his army of security measures and his personal protection bot wouldn’t be there to safeguard him. One day, Cad would sink his Black Prince sword deep into Damien Doyle’s flesh, and smile as he watched the life leave his narrow, shifty eyes. However, he also knew that day would have to wait; first, he had to prove Doyle wrong. He had to humiliate him before he killed him. And, unlike every other life that Cad Rikkard had taken in his long and storied career, he would gladly fulfill his personal contract on Damien Doyle for free.

8

Cad walked toward the bar where Falken had arranged his meeting with “the woman,” otherwise known as notorious fixer, Sara Daggett. It had been built inside a natural cave structure, and would have been a great place for a quiet drink, were it not for the dozen or so thugs and lowlifes that regularly frequented it.

Minerva was a raw, untamed world comprised of dozens of small settlements and “frontier towns,” not unlike America’s Wild West, except without the horses. Each settlement district had an elected legislature and governor, but there was little law and even less order. Damien Doyle owned many of the speculative enterprises, though all were skeleton outfits on which he’d made minimal investments. It was a case of throwing mud at the wall and seeing what stuck. The settlements that prospered, typically by discovering valuable resources, were developed and would eventually become the planet’s major cities. The rest were left to rot and fester and fend for themselves.

Cad entered the bar and was immediately assaulted by the raucous laughter of Alexis Black. She was standing in front of a tall cabinet and playing some sort of vintage arcade game. Whatever it was, she was clearly enjoying herself.

Draga was also inside, but playing a game of an entirely different kind. It was a variation of darts, except instead of darts, it used throwing knifes, and instead of a dartboard, there was the head of a huge cow-like creature that was native to the planet. It gave a very literal new meaning to the concept of scoring a bullseye.

“Any sign of Daggett?” Cad asked Draga as her opponent threw the second of three knives at the severed animal head. It bounced off the substantial skull and dug into the bar, an inch away from another patron’s hand. The thrower cursed savagely, but the man who had almost been skewered remained unaware of his close call and continued joking with his companions.

“I’ve asked the barkeep to let me know if she comes in,” said Draga, waiting patiently for her next turn. “Nothing yet. Apparently, he says we’ll know when she arrives.”

Cad sighed again. He was still on edge and wound up tighter than a spring, and being made to wait again was doing nothing to temper his foul mood.

Alexis let out a blood-curdling victory cry as she defeated some unfeasibly grotesque end-of-level boss monster in her game. Her yell coincided with Draga’s opponent making his third and final throw, causing the dagger to fly wide and sink into the back of the man who’d narrowly avoided being hit with the previous throw.

The man let out a cry of pain and pulled the blade from his back before springing up and searching furiously for the culprit. However, Draga’s opponent appeared far more concerned with having missed the target and losing the round than with stabbing a fellow drinker.

“Who the hell threw this?” the man growled, holding up the blood-stained dagger.

However, the offender had already stormed up to Alexis and was standing next to the arcade cabinet, glaring at her.

Cad and Draga met each other’s eyes. Both had been in enough bars like this one to know what was coming next. They stepped apart from each other to give them space to move more freely for when the inevitable brawl began. Cad rested his left hand on the sheath of his sword, tipping it back in order to give himself a better angle to draw it.

“Hey, freak, you just cost me that game!” yelled the dagger thrower, showering Alexis with spittle as he barked at her.

Alexis closed her eye and wiped it with the back of her hand, meeting the man’s wild eyes. “Buzz off, I’m busy,” she snapped, returning to the game.

“Who threw this damned knife!” yelled the other man, staring around the bar. His eyes then fell on Draga, who was the only one who’d dared to look back at him. “You think this is funny, crazy face?” the man said while slowly advancing on Draga with the dagger now held in anger. “How about I shove this knife into your pretty little eye instead?”

The arcade cabinet suddenly shut down, and Cad glanced over to see that the dagger-thrower had yanked out the power cable and was now dangling it in front of Alexis like a lure. In the absence of the repetitive, synthesized music it had been playing, the bar was suddenly deathly quiet.

Neither meditation nor punching his storage cabinet had succeeded in quieting Cad’s aggravated nerves. Maybe a good old-fashioned bar fight would instead, he reasoned.

Draga moved first, claiming the knife from the hand of the stocky, foul-smelling lowlife and sinking it into his eye socket. The man yelled and staggered back, clutching his hands to his bleeding face.

At the other side of the bar, Alexis grabbed the power cord that had been dangled in front of her and wrapped it around the knife-thrower’s neck, slipping behind him and pulling back hard. The man flailed around, desperately trying to free himself, but Alexis merely wrapped her powerful thighs around his body, holding him like a wrestler going for a submission maneuver.

Cad watched and waited for his opportunity to strike, right hand now wrapped around the handle of the Black Prince sword. He saw a woman reach for a weapon and drew the blade, deflecting the pistol in the same motion, before cutting down across her neck, slicing clean through to the hip. The woman fell, and Cad stepped deeper into the room, ready to face anyone else who would be foolish enough to cross him.

Chairs screeched and boots shuffled across the stone floor, which was now splattered with blood from Cad’s earlier brutal strike. One man roared, eyes fixed on the dead body of the woman, before lifting a bar-stool and advancing. Cad stepped forward and slashed toward the man’s neck, but the attack was blocked by the stool. Continuing forward, Cad then drove the pommel of the sword into the man’s face, crushing his nose, before drawing the blade back across his neck, opening it to the bone.

This time, no one else moved, besides the writhing figure of the man who still had the dagger lodged into his eye. There was a loud crash, and Cad glanced back to see a body bent over the arcade machine, head buried through the screen. The knife-thrower – the man who’d actually started the fight thanks to his misplaced throw – lay on the floor, blue-faced, with the power cord still tightly wrapped around his neck.

“This is all a bit grim, even for this place.”

Cad looked toward the entrance and saw a middle-aged woman standing just inside, flanked by two men who looked more like mercenaries than the usual inhabitants of Minerva.

“Let me guess,” the woman said, looking at Cad. “You guys are the Blackfire Squadron?”

Cad checked the room, noting that the remaining patrons all appeared to be suitably shocked and subdued by his display of medieval swordsmanship, and sheathed his blade.

“Then I guess you must be Daggett?” said Cad, addressing the woman.

“I am,” Daggett said, walking further into the cave bar and stepping delicately over the body of the woman. “So you’re the guy who is trying to get hold of nukes?”

9

Cad Rikkard peered out through his binoculars at the enormous circular tower, built on the summit of a rocky hilltop. It was a lone fortress, constructed three hundred miles in any direction from the nearest settlement. To Cad’s eyes, its design had clearly been inspired by sixteenth century European tower houses, except that it was around ten times their size. Ordinarily, he would have enjoyed seeing such a noble-looking fortification, but the knowledge that he needed to attack the structure had dulled his ability to appreciate it fully.

“You’re sure that there are nuclear warheads stored inside that tower?” Cad asked the fixer, Sara Daggett. She was sat next to him in the driver’s seat of the buggy she had driven to the tower’s location. This had been in order to avoid Cad and Alexis landing their fighters too close to the target and raising suspicion. “Because it would be a shame to trash such a beautiful piece of architecture.”

Daggett recoiled slightly. “Beautiful?” she said, taking another look at the tower. Then she shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess. But, yes, there are nukes inside.”

“So go and get them for me,” Cad replied, wondering why the fixer had dragged him all the way out into the middle of the rocky desert. “That’s what I’m paying you for, right?”

Daggett scrunched up her nose as if she was thinking how best to phrase an awkward question. “Here’s the thing, you see – I need you to get them.”

Cad laughed, drawing curious glances from Draga Vex and Alexis Black, who were in the rear of a second buggy, driven by one of Daggett’s two bodyguards.

“If I’m getting it myself, then what the hell do I need you for?” Cad asked.

Sara Daggett reached into the rear of the buggy and pointed to one of a trio of metal containers that she’d brought with her.

“Because if you want to move those warheads, you’ll need these,” Daggett said, patting one of the containers with the flat of her hand. “Besides, without me, you wouldn’t even know that this thing was here.”

Cad replied with a thoughtful huff, then peered out at the tower again. “What the hell is it anyway?”

Daggett smiled. “It’s a treasury of priceless artefacts, both ancient and mysterious,” she said with an overly theatrical air before becoming more serious again. “It’s owned by a guy called Frazer Melton Strickland; just some obnoxious trillionaire collector,” she added with a bored waft of her hand. “Half of the stuff in there he acquired illegally, I suppose by paying guys like you to acquire them for him.”

Cad snorted. “Hardly. I’m no petty thief.”

Daggett conceded his point and apologized before continuing. “Anyway, inside the tower is everything from famous works of art, to ancient Egyptian relics, to the only surviving species of extinct animals stored in cryo-freeze. You name it, this guy has it.”

Cad cursed, and then blew out an annoyed sigh. Frazer Strickland was a business acquaintance of Damien Doyle. In addition to being another member of the galactic ultra-rich, he was probably the closest thing the contemptable man had to a friend. Robbing Strickland’s vault using tech and weapons paid for by Doyle was hardly the sort of quiet operation that his employer wanted. However, Cad badly wanted the nuclear warheads too.

Cad had always been aware of rumors that some warheads had escaped decommissioning, but he’d never had cause to need any, until now. Nuclear disarmament had been one of the few major collaborative successes that Earth’s governments had actually achieved. In the golden age of interstellar expansion, territory was cheap, and it was far easier and more efficient to wage wars via electronic rather than violent means. This time, however, Cad favored the brute force approach, and he knew that only something on the scale of a nuclear assault would get Dr. Rand’s attention.

Cad’s plan was simple. On the assumption that the genius hacker, Falken, would find a way to defeat the defense systems on the renegade hideouts, Cad wanted his next and subsequent attacks to make a statement. He knew he couldn’t keep attacking the bases on foot, one-by-one. Sooner or later, a renegade would score a lucky shot and end his mercenary career far sooner than he’d planned. Cad and his Blackfire Squadron members had nearly died twice already, and they were no closer to flushing out Dr. Rand. However, he was betting that by nuking one of her precious hideouts, Cad would get her attention and draw her out into the open. Cad would then open a dialogue on the pretense of ceasing hostilities, while Falken’s tracer tech pinpointed the famous scientist’s location.

“Okay, I’ll get the damn nukes myself,” said Cad, aiming a finger at Daggett. “But if I’m risking my neck here, then I’m not paying you a dollar.”

Sara Daggett’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time since they’d met, she actually looked like the woman whose cut-throat reputation Cad had heard so much about. However, before the situation escalated, Cad explained his reasoning.

“Your payday comes from taking whatever else you find in that tower,” said Cad, nodding in the direction of the looming fortification. “I get you and your goons inside, take out whatever defenses Strickland is using to guard his trinkets, and keep the nukes. Anything else is yours.”

Sara Daggett reclined in the seat of the buggy and regarded Cad for a moment before replying, “Okay, but only because it’s you,” she said in a genuinely complimentary tone. “The reputation of the Blackfire Squadron is well deserved.”

Cad smiled, pleased that his repute amongst the top echelons of villainous society was still in a high standing.

“I don’t suppose you know whereabouts in that fort the nukes are located?” asked Cad, looking for anything that could give him an advantage.

Daggett nodded. “They’re on the top level, maximum security. It’s guarded by sentry turrets and a Theseus-class warbot.” Cad let out a low whistle. The Theseus models were tough, and one of the least screwy too. However, like all combat bots, with the exception – at least, so far – of Doyle’s personal unit, the Theseus had its weaknesses too. “And you have some plans outlining the tower’s exterior defenses?” Cad added, seeing what else he could extract from Daggett for free.

“I do,” said Daggett before adding, as if to reinforce her material value to the success of the heist, “which didn’t come cheap, by the way…”

Cad stared back at the fort and began to rub the base of his chin with his thumb.

“So, are we on?” asked Daggett after Cad had been silent for a full minute.

Cad nodded, but continued to stare out at the tower, stroking his chin broodingly.

“How long do you need to plan the raid?” Daggett added, her interested tone betraying her obvious enthusiasm and excitement for the operation.

Cad smiled again; his mind had already run through a dozen different scenarios whilst they’d been talking. If the fixer’s intelligence was accurate, raiding the fort would be a cakewalk compared to assaulting the renegade bases.

Cad Rikkard turned to Daggett and said, “Give me an hour.”

10

Cad hovered his fighter above the dusty, rocky landscape of the Minervan desert and watched as Draga Vex circled around the fortress of treasures owned by trillionaire Frazer Melton Strickland. Anti-aircraft batteries tracked and fired at Draga’s fighter as she soared past the tower, whittling down the defenses with each attack run, until all were reduced to smoldering stumps.

Cad’s recon scans had confirmed that the plans of the tower’s defenses, supplied by the fixer, Sara Daggett, were valid. This gave him confidence that her account of the interior defenses was accurate also. However, since there was an electronic sensor barrier shielding the inside of the fort, he had no way to know for sure. He’d find out soon enough, Cad thought, as he prepared to execute the next phase of his plan.

Draga peeled away from the tower and began to patrol the area, in case Strickland had invested in additional manned or unmanned fighter defenses too. On account of Draga’s more serious injuries, Cad had made sure that she sat out of the actual tower assault. He’d achieved this by convincing Draga that, as the best fighter pilot, her skills were needed in the air. Cad’s assertion that she’d be bored assaulting the tower anyway, since there was no-one to kill, had sealed the deal.

Ordinarily, Cad would have wanted Draga by his side, especially as it was still not certain what they’d be faced with once inside. However, the chance of opening up her injuries, coupled with the fact that both he and Alexis were also ferrying one of Daggett’s hired guns into the attack, gave him confidence enough to sideline her on this occasion.

Cad signaled Alexis and then accelerated the fighter toward the tower, locking on to a section of the roof structure with his targeting computer. He waited for the precise moment then squeezed the trigger, launching a volley of small, dagger-sized missiles at the building. The weapon – another of Damien Doyle’s toys from the magnate’s own treasure trove – was purpose-designed for this sort of task.

Cad watched on his monitor as the missiles dug into the thick stone roof of the massive square fort in a perfectly circular pattern. They then drilled themselves deeper into the stone, each leaving a line of volatile residue, like an explosive snail trail, in their wake. The missiles detonated in sequence, causing a synchronized cascade of focused explosions that left a round hole in its wake.

Cad nodded to Daggett’s goon in the second seat – a man she’d introduced simply as “Brett” – then signaled Alexis. He configured his fighter to execute a customized auto-pilot program and transferred controls to his watch. The small device built into the wrist of his armor acknowledged the transfer of control before Cad stepped out of the cockpit and into the central gallery. The lower hatch had already opened, and Brett had begun abseiling down into the tower.

Cad snorted a laugh and shook his head as he waited for the hired gun to complete his descent. “Amateurs…” he said out loud, though in fairness to the man, he’d made fairly swift progress. Brett’s partner, and also his twin brother, was making a similar descent from Alexis’ ship. Cad had laughed when Daggett had given his name as being “Rhett,” believing her to be pulling his leg. However, the indistinguishable twin mercenaries had not shared Cad’s amusement.

“Do you want to show them how this is done, or shall I?” said Alexis Black, still in a playful mood, speaking over their private comm channel.

Cad smiled. “I’ll go first so I can show you how it’s done…” he answered. He could hear Alexis cackling on the other end of the comm. “Just remember to bring the EMP launcher. I’d hate to have to take down a Theseus warbot the hard way.”

Cad slung his custom-modified bullpup compact rifle and removed his sword and scabbard, holding it in his hand as he moved to the edge of the hatch. He tapped his watch and then waited as the fighter swooped lower to the opening in the roof of the tower block. With perfect timing and precision, he then leapt out of the hatch, slotting through the opening in the roof and thudding onto the floor of the tower’s upper level. His armor absorbed the shock of the impact, but the momentum he was carrying still forced him to tumble forward before sliding to a stop directly in front of Brett and Rhett. His sudden arrival had caused both mercenaries to look like they’d soiled themselves, and Cad realized he was probably lucky that neither had taken a panic shot at him.

“Bloody hell, mate,” cried Brett in his deep Australian accent. “You could have warned us that’s what you were going to do!”

Cad retracted the visor of his helmet. “Sorry, gentlemen, force of habit,” he said, though he was unable to conceal his amusement.

Alarms were already sounding in the room, and Cad could hear the mechanized whir of the sentry turrets in the corridors outside, searching for the intruders. However, Daggett’s intel had been correct – there were no turrets inside the gallery spaces themselves. The risk of them simply obliterating the treasures they had been set up to guard was obviously too high.

Alexis then plunged through the opening in the ceiling and performed a similar, though far more elegant roll to kill her forward momentum. However, Alexis didn’t stop there, adding a cartwheel and backflip into the mix, before landing gracefully in front of Cad and the two mercs. She added a bow and a flourish, then popped open her visor.

“Her entrance was better,” said Rhett (or Brett – Cad had already stopped being able to tell them apart), hooking a thumb in the direction of Alexis’ grinning face.

“Yes, well, she wasn’t also carrying a sword.” Cad scowled, refastening the scabbard to his armor. Then he looked around the room, which was a wide, open-plan space, decked out like a museum gallery, and his scowl deepened. “I would have expected some resistance by now,” he added, beginning to grow suspicious.

On cue, a slab-like door retracted on the far wall, revealing the anticipated Theseus-class warbot. Cad let out a low whistle as its power levels rose and red eyes began to shine brightly. It was a big one and probably top-of-the-line, he guessed. The military had intentionally designed the Theseus models to look like something out of a nightmarish science fiction horror movie, and the bot’s appearance certainly appeared to have spooked Brett and Rhett.

“Alexis will take out the Theseus,” Cad said to the two mercenaries, pointing to other potential entry points into the room. “Watch the doors and side-corridors, in case there are any secondary units. I doubt Strickland entrusted the safety of this place to just one bot, even if it is a monster.”

The two men nodded and moved away, drawing sidearms as they ran. Meanwhile, Alexis had unslung the EMP launcher from over her back and loaded a grenade. The Theseus was powering toward them now, uttering warning messages in a demonic-sounding synthesized voice. It was close enough that Cad could see that in place of its usual hand-mounted cannons, it was armed with two semi-circular blades. He knew that his advanced armor could take a bullet, but he was in no hurry to find out how resistant it was to the robot equivalent of a battle-axe.

Alexis nodded to Cad, indicating that she was ready, and fired the grenade. The EMP blast blew out the lights and alarm system in the gallery, immediately casting the space into pitch darkness and silence. The illumination systems in their power armor then automatically switched on, bathing the now disabled warbot in a clean white light. It stood, frozen in position, polished silver blade raised above its head.

“I’m glad that worked,” said Cad, staring up at the blade, which was held up like an executioner’s sword. “And I’m glad we’re still functional too,” he added, still able to move his arms and legs with the help of full power-assistance from the suit. “I wasn’t sure I believed the spec when it talked about EMP resistance. Doyle may be an asshole, but he certainly does have all the best gear.”

Alexis then turned to Cad, holding up a sparkling necklace, which featured a brilliant – and very large – yellow cut diamond.

“To hell with Doyle, this place is a wonderland!” said Alexis, opening a storage compartment in her thigh and delicately pushing the necklace inside.

“Don’t you have enough trinkets?” said Cad, shaking his head.

“Are you mad? That was the Tiffany Diamond!” said Alexis despairingly. However, Cad just returned a shrug, as if that was supposed to mean something to him, which only produced an exasperated sigh from Alexis.

“Who turned out the bloody lights!” came a cry from either Rhett or Brett – Cad still couldn’t tell which.

“Just grab whatever you can find and hurry back here,” Cad shouted. “We need to be in and out as quickly as possible.”

Cad then peered around the room, looking for the warheads, and spotted them, mounted in a display space to the side of the disabled warbot.

“Keep an eye on those two,” said Cad, nodding in the direction of the twin mercenaries. He’d been suspicious of Sara Daggett’s request that they tag along, but he also had no intention of pocketing any valuables on her behalf, and so had conceded to her request for the goons to enter the tower too. “I’ll secure the nukes so we can get out of here.”

Alexis nodded and slung the EMP launcher before drawing her twin Five-Seven-Sevens. She then stepped cautiously into the darkness, in the direction of Rhett and Brett’s last known location.

Cad smashed the glass cabinet in which the nine compact twenty-five-kiloton warheads were displayed like ancient relics. It wasn’t as many as he’d hoped for, but he was banking on only needing one to get Dr. Rand’s undivided attention. They were stored in sets of three in specially adapted carts, and thanks to his augmented strength, Cad was able to drag the first underneath the opening in the roof with ease. He then cycled to the correct command on his watch and tapped the screen. A few seconds later, a cable lowered through the opening in the roof, delivering one of the storage containers that Daggett had brought with her in the buggy. Cad loaded the nukes inside and then had them winched back up into his ship.

Going back for the second set of three warheads, Cad noticed that Alexis was circling back to his location, a look of concern on her face.

“What’s up?’ Cad asked, letting go of the second tray of nukes and resting his palm on the pommel of his sword.

“Those two shifty mercs have disappeared,” said Alexis, head still on a swivel. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Cad unslung the compact rifle from over his shoulder and stepped out beside Alexis. If she had sensed something was amiss, then Cad had learned to trust her instincts. He reached over and accessed the comm link to Draga’s ship, in case he needed air support, or just another pair of fighting hands.

Suddenly, the lights in the gallery space kicked back on, temporarily blinding Cad. Then there was a far more resonant thrum of a reactor kicking back into life. Cad cursed and closed his visor, spinning around to check on the Theseus warbot. The colossal killing machine had also sparked back into life, and Cad had turned just in time to see its axe-tipped arm slash toward him.

Cad ducked under the attack and the machine’s arm smashed into the wall, demolishing a chunk out of the thick stone as if it were no more substantial than honeycomb. He barely had time to breathe before the arm surged back toward him, the blade now bent and blunted. Cad raised the rifle to block the attack, but the power of the impact sent him flying across the gallery and into a glass cabinet on the opposite wall. The rifle dropped to his side, smashed into pieces from the ferocity of the machine’s attack.

The crack of Alexis’ twin pistols filled the air, but the bullets pinged off the heavily armored shell of the warbot without causing damage. The machine then swung at Alexis with its still sharp blade, and she was forced to employ all of her gymnastic prowess to escape being cut in half. Back-pedaling, Alexis holstered her pistols and unslung the EMP launcher.

Cad pushed himself to his feet and charged at the warbot, knowing he had to give Alexis time to reload the EMP weapon and take another shot. He gathered speed and then launched a flying kick to the warbot’s torso, trusting that the extra mass of his suit would deliver the impact he needed. The kick connected and the bot staggered back several paces, but it was already advancing again by the time Cad had landed and recovered his fighting stance. This time, Cad was unable to avoid the swinging blow from the machine’s arm, which hammered into his chest armor and propelled him back into Alexis. Luckily, the Theseus had used its blunted weapon arm, sparing Cad from serious injury. However, lady luck was seemingly a fickle mistress, and fortune did not favor him a second time. His collision with Alexis had caused her to lose control of the EMP launcher, which spun out of her grasp and slid across the polished stone floor. Cad and Alexis watched as the weapon vanished underneath one of the display cabinets like a frightened cat. Cad cursed as the two members of the Blackfire Squadron helped each other to their feet.

“Get the launcher. I’ll hold off the bot!” Cad shouted.

“Hold it off with what?” Alexis replied. “Your rifle is smashed and these pistols are useless against that thing’s armor.”

Cad unsheathed his Black Prince sword, which drew an uneasy glare from Alexis.

“This is no time for your Knights of the Round Table act, Cad,” said Alexis in an unusually stern tone of voice. The situation had become dire enough for Alexis to have fully switched over to her more intense warrior persona. The more flippant, jokey Alexis Black had taken a back seat.

“I just need to buy you some time, that’s all,” Cad hit back. “Now get the launcher, or we’re both dead anyway!”

Alexis raced off in the direction of the errant EMP weapon, while Cad turned back to face the Theseus. His mind started to fizz as he fought to recall everything he knew about the model – its strengths and, in particular, its weaknesses. However, Cad barely had a few seconds to think before the warbot was upon him.

Cad evaded the first attack and swung his sword, slicing a gouge into the machine’s dense shoulder armor. However, while the sword’s unique alloy blade had penetrated the warbot’s metal plating, the attack failed to deal any significant damage. The still sharp hand of the warbot then rushed toward him and Cad parried, producing a bright spark and ear-splitting clank. Cad was knocked off balance and barely recovered in time to evade the next scythe-like strike.

“Alexis, hurry!” Cad shouted, glancing back to see his partner standing by the end wall with her hands on her head. One of Daggett’s mercenary stooges stood in front of her, a shotgun aimed at Alexis’ head, while the man’s doppelgänger stood to her other side, holding the EMP launcher in his hand. Cad was about to cry out and demand an explanation, but the Theseus-class warbot continued to attack unrelentingly. This time, Cad was forced to parry again, but even the strength of his powered armor proved inadequate, and the blow struck the sword from his grasp. The medieval weapon clattered against the stone wall and spun to a stop behind the bot. Cad Rikkard gritted his teeth and cleared his mind. The time for planning and strategizing was over; now he would fall back on his fighting and survival instincts alone. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew the Theseus’ weakness. He just had to trust himself that he could find it.

The warbot lunged again with its blunted hand, but Cad dodged and drew the machine closer to the stone wall, waiting for its follow-up strike. It came in a near instant, but Cad was ready, throwing himself to the side and causing the machine to again bury its bladed fist in the wall. As before, the weapon became lodged into the stone, giving Cad the precious extra seconds he needed. Darting over to collect his Black Prince sword, Cad then used the spring of his powered legs to leap up onto the back of the warbot. Spinning the weapon into a reverse grip, he then drove the tip of the blade down the back of the machine’s neck, using every last watt of power the suit possessed. Sparks began to fly as the blade dug deeper, then Cad felt the machine lose power as he severed the main energy conduit to its cranial unit. The Theseus warbot crumpled under its own weight, with Cad still mounted on its back like a triumphant, mythical dragon slayer.

Cad flicked open his visor and sucked in deep gulps of air. Blood was pounding in his head, but another noise took its place. At first, he couldn’t work out what the sound was before it finally struck him – someone in the room was applauding.

11

Cad Rikkard climbed off the back of the crippled warbot and pulled his Black Prince sword from the slain metallic beast, like Arthur drawing the sword from the stone. In addition to Brett and Rhett, there were now two other mercenaries, armed with powerful shotguns, bookending a third man. He was short – maybe only five foot five, Cad figured – but what he lacked in height, he made up for in build. It looked like he spent every waking hour in the gym, and the clothes he wore were clearly designed to highlight this fact. Cad was about to demand the man’s name, but then his identity dawned on him like a long-forgotten memory percolating to the surface of his conscious mind. It was Frazer Melton Strickland.

“Bravo, Mr. Rikkard, bravo indeed,” said Strickland, still clapping like a circus seal. “I must say, you certainly do live up to your reputation.” Then he stopped clapping and pointed to the still smoldering carcass of the Theseus warbot. “Taking out a Theseus-class warbot single-handed, and with a sword no less. Bravo!”

Cad looked at Rhett and Brett, noticing that they were wearing the same uniforms as the other two unnamed mercenaries. He sighed, realizing that he’d walked into a trap.

“So you two idiots were in on this all along?” said Cad, pointing to the twin mercenaries. Then he lowered his hand, but brushed it against his watch as he did so, deftly activating the comm-link to Draga’s ship. “How long have you two double-crossing assholes been hiding out by the East wall? Ever since we got in here?”

Both mercenaries remained silent, and it was Strickland that eventually spoke up. “My men may not possess your enviable talents, Mr. Rikkard, but they do possess something just as valuable,” he said. He then shot Cad a greasy smile before adding, “Loyalty…”

“I just needed the nukes, Strickland,” said Cad. “This is nothing personal.”

Strickland’s smile faded. “Oh, but it’s always personal, Mr. Rikkard,” he answered with a sudden bitterness. “You may not care who your targets are, or why your repugnant master, Damien Doyle, gives you their names. But I assure you, Mr. Rikkard, it is always personal.”

“I thought you two trillionaires were friends,” said Cad, resting on his sword. Being tossed around the gallery like a frisbee hadn’t done much other than scratch his armor, but his body had still taken a pounding inside the hardened shell.

“Doyle sacrificed my friendship when he had your crew take out one of my chief negotiators,” said Strickland. Then his bulging muscles twitched and spasmed as he added, “A man who also happened to be my cousin. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever since.”

Cad nodded; it was starting to make sense now. Sara Daggett must have known of Strickland’s desire to find the Blackfire Squadron, and – as the master fixer she was – sold them out. However, Cad realized there was still one element he wasn’t sure about.

“Why wait till I smashed up your precious gallery, though?” Cad asked. “Daggett knew we’d be at the cave bar, so why not try to take me out there?”

Strickland laughed. “What you possess in terms of combat prowess, I see you lack in mental acuity,” he said, returning to his pompous, condescending tone.

“Come again?” said Cad. He knew full well what Strickland had meant; he was just stalling for time. His watch flashed, and Cad managed to catch the message, again without drawing attention to his actions.

“What I mean is that you are not very bright, Mr. Rikkard,” Strickland scoffed, clearly enjoying his victory. “It’s well known how much Doyle has invested in training you to be his loyal lap-dog,” he went on, causing Cad’s jaw to clench up. “If I just had you killed in plain sight, Doyle, as the vindictive swine that he is, would ensure I paid for such a slight many times over.” Then Strickland smiled and gestured to the partially crumbling walls of his gallery. “Here, you were killed in a botched attempt to rob me of my precious artefacts. Doyle cannot deny my authority to kill you here. He has some semblance of honor still.”

Cad let out an appreciative grunt. “Well, bravo, as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Strickland,” said Cad, doing a fake hat-tip. “Very well played. There is just one small problem with your ever so brilliant plan.”

Strickland’s eyes narrowed, and Cad could see than man’s muscles tense up again. “And what’s that?” Strickland replied anxiously.

Cad’s watch bleeped softly, as did Alexis’ at the same time. Cad switched his grip on the sword, holding the crossguard with the handle between his middle fingers before meeting Alexis’ eyes. The look lasted only for a split second, but it was enough time to communicate Cad’s intentions.

“You should have built this place with thicker walls…” said Cad.

Alexis deflected the shotgun that was aimed at her head with a deft swipe of her forearm before sprinting hard toward Cad. At the same time, Cad raised the Black Prince like a spear and launched it at Strickland, impaling him through the neck almost to the hilt. The blast of semi-automatic shotguns filled the air, and Cad felt slugs pound against his armor, but he too had already turned and begun to sprint away. A second later, the East wall exploded, and Cad was blown deeper into the gallery. He hit the polished stone floor, bouncing twice before skidding to a stop alongside Alexis Black.

The dust began to settle around them, and Cad climbed to his feet, peering back at the East wall, or what was left of it. The fighter craft piloted by Draga Vex was hovering outside, a single missile missing from one of its weapon mounts.

“Well, I guess we don’t need to use the hole in the roof anymore,” said Alexis in between bouts of coughing fits. With the threat from Strickland’s mercenaries gone, her more playful side was reasserting itself.

Cad and Alexis walked through the rubble to the edge of the newly blasted open hole in the wall. Cad threw up a salute to Draga, and then began to sift through the wreckage. He soon found what he was looking for: the impaled and also now crushed body of Strickland. He tossed away some of the larger stones and recovered his sword from the trillionaire’s neck. Cad inspected the medieval weapon briefly and cursed, noting several points of damage to the elaborate hilt, though the blade still seemed undamaged.

“We should get the remaining nukes loaded up right away,” said Alexis, also kicking through the rubble. “The local enforcers are likely already on their way, and it’s best if we’re not seen, considering what we’re hauling.”

Cad nodded and sheathed his sword. He was about to turn back to collect the remaining warheads, when his attention was diverted by a weapon displayed in one of the now smashed glass cabinets on what was left of the East wall. It was just to the right of the hole that Draga had created, and had miraculously been spared any damage. Cad huffed a laugh and went over to collect it before walking up beside Alexis.

Alexis looked down at the ornate, gold-hilted sword, still inside its velvet sheath, which was adorned with gemstones and a fleur-de-lis, and raised her eyebrow.

“Don’t you have enough swords?” said Alexis, mimicking Cad’s earlier tone of voice when he’d questioned her taking the Tiffany Diamond.

“But this is La Joyeuse,” said Cad, though Alexis just shrugged, again mimicking Cad’s earlier gesture to her. “The Sword of Charlemagne!” Cad added, throwing his arms out wide, but he was still met only with a blank look from his partner.

Alexis shrugged again. “Whatever makes you happy,” she said, planting a kiss on Cad’s cheek. “Come on, let’s stow these nukes so we can get the hell off this rock.”

Cad slid the new sword through his belt, alongside the Black Prince, and then turned back to the opening. The warm desert wind was now blowing inside, carrying more dust along with it.

“Okay, but I have to make one more stop before we head off-world,” said Cad, turning back to Alexis.

Alexis finished dragging out the second tray of nukes and met Cad’s eyes. “Can’t it wait?”

Cad shook his head. “Not this time,” he answered, feeling anger swell inside him. “No one screws over the Blackfire Squadron and gets away with it.”

* * *

The trio of Blackfire Squadron fighters lifted off from the rocky surface of Minerva and ascended toward the stars. Cad’s lead fighter now carried nine twenty-five-kiloton nuclear-tipped missiles – weapons that he intended to use in anger.

Below them, the fortress of antiquities belonging to the late Frazer Melton Strickland burned brightly. The blaze was lit by Cad Rikkard to serve as a warning beacon to all those who would go against him. The fortress was empty, save for the treasures and the dead bodies of Strickland and his four mercenary guards. However, Cad had also added one more exhibit to the collection. Unlike the others, this new addition to Strickland’s collection was still very much alive – at least for now. Marooned on the roof atop the burning tower was the fixer, Sara Daggett.

Cad took one last look down at the inferno and the terrified, panicking outline of Sara Daggett running to escape the flames, then focused his eyes ahead. To his left in the cockpit was his Black Prince sword, cleaned up as best he was able, while to his right sat La Joyeuse – the Sword of Charlemagne. It had once been the coronation sword of the Kings of France. Now it served to crown Cad Rikkard as the undisputed king of the mercenaries.

12

Hallam threw his half-eaten hotdog back onto the paper plate and let out a dissatisfied sigh. He’d eaten some pretty terrible food, in some of the galaxy’s worst canteens and diners, but this particular eatery was vying for the top spot.

“I’m not even sure what kind of meat this engineered crap is supposed to be,” said Hallam, wiping the feeble-tasting mustard from the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “And they might as well have served it up in a cardboard box, rather than this sorry excuse for bread.”

Dakota finished shoving the last of her hotdog into her mouth before looking at Hallam, cheeks puffed out like a hamster. It was clear she’d only half-heard his grumbling, and from the way she’d devoured the hotdog, it was also apparent that she didn’t share Hallam’s opinion of the food.

“What are you talking about? I love these things,” said Dakota, licking her fingers like a kid. “They’re the only thing about Pales that’s not terrible.”

Hallam glanced back at the sign above the restaurant, which read “The Dog Pound,” and shook his head. Even the name is terrible, he thought, but he kept his opinion to himself rather than risk Dakota’s ire. Hallam’s gaze then dropped to where Dr. Rand was sitting at a table next to his bar-style perch overlooking the central plaza of Habitat Dome C in Factory District Alpha Six. She was still busily working on her palm computer, analyzing the gravimetric readings she’d taken in space during their approach.

“Are you going to eat that?” asked Dakota, pointing to the half-eaten hotdog on Hallam’s plate.

“All yours…” said Hallam, taking a swig of his similarly lackluster soda in an attempt to wash away the taste. However, all it succeeded in doing was replacing one unpleasant flavor with another.

Dakota grabbed the hotdog with eager gusto, but then a loud wolf whistle caught her attention. Hallam and Dakota both turned to see three men standing in the walkway. Hallam detected the acrid, sulfurous smell of Pales’ toxic atmosphere lingering on their working clothes, and guessed that they’d just come off shift in one of the hundreds of factories nearby.

“Hello, sweetheart,” said a sooty-faced, rough-shaven man, presumably the one who had whistled earlier. “You’re a bit of much needed class around here,” the man went on, leering at Dakota as his two companions chuckled at his antics and egged him on. “How about a kiss?”

Dakota smiled innocently. “Sure thing, handsome,” she said, rising to her full height, which was a couple of inches taller than the man. “Close your eyes and pucker up. I’m going to give you something you won’t forget.”

Hallam knew what was coming next, but he suppressed a smile, so as not to tip off the man or his snickering buddies. He’d seen Dakota get hit on a hundred times before in the many crappy tanker depot bars and layover stops they’d been to together during their time as bridge runners. Her methods of dealing with them never failed to disappoint.

The man looked at his friends, who jostled him excitedly, then he turned back to Dakota, pressing his eyes shut and puckering his lips like an Atlantic cod. Dakota pressed the half-eaten end of Hallam’s now cold hotdog into the sauce on her plate, smearing it with a lavish coating of the syrupy red goop. She then pinched the man’s cheeks with her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to part his puckered lips, and shoved the wet hot dog into his mouth.

The man stumbled backwards, coughing and spluttering, and clawing the food off his face, while his two buddies laughed hysterically.

“You’re crazy!” the man yelled, hauling himself upright again before his two companions ushered him away along the walkway, slapping him on the back and gleefully explaining how he’d deserved it.

“That was a way better use for that thing than you had intended,” said Hallam, grinning at Dakota.

Dakota shrugged as she wiped her hands with another napkin. “It just means I need to go buy another one now.”

There was an obviously fake cough from the table next to them, and Hallam glanced across to see Dr. Rand staring up at him. She didn’t wear spectacles, but if she had, Dr. Rand would have been peering over the rims like a disappointed teacher.

“Remember when we talked about keeping a low profile and not drawing attention to ourselves?” said Dr. Rand with well-practiced sarcasm.

“Just blending in with the locals,” said Dakota, casually leaning back on the railings with her arms hooked around the top bar.

“Have you discovered anything interesting yet?” said Hallam, trying to accelerate their departure by hurrying Dr. Rand along.

“Many things,” replied Dr. Rand. “Including the worst sandwich I’ve ever experienced in my life.”

Dakota laughed. “You should have gone for the chili dog, like I said.”

Dr. Rand chose not to respond to Dakota’s culinary input and continued to answer Hallam’s question. “But if you mean about the gravitational anomalies, then yes, they have already extended to this planet.” Then she pointed to a sugar pourer on the table, and added, “For example, the weight of this object is two percent lower than it should be.”

“Two percent doesn’t sound bad,” said Hallam.

“It’s not,” admitted Dr. Rand, “But the rate of decay is steadily growing. Soon it will be three percent, then five, then fifteen, and so on. Eventually, the effects will spread far beyond this planet. Some regions of the star system will experience increased gravitational acceleration, while in others, it will be drastically reduced.” Dr. Rand shut off her palm computer, slid it into her pocket, and stood up in front of Hallam and Dakota. Her expression was grave enough to prompt Dakota into switching from her casual lean to a more alert stance. “Once the gravitational pull of the Palean star becomes significantly impacted, orbits will start to change and become chaotic.”

“Like in the star system you found, way out beyond Minerva?” said Hallam, remembering what Dr. Rand had told him when they first met.

Dr. Rand nodded. “Yes, or worse.”

“How long?” said Dakota.

Dr. Rand shrugged. “If all travel along the bridges to Pales stopped today, then probably never,” she said, though Hallam could tell she didn’t really believe that. “If not, then we could be talking a year, a few months, even weeks. I don’t have enough data yet.”

Hallam’s gaze moved beyond Dr. Rand to where two men in dark gunmetal gray riot gear were pushing through the crowds. One was occasionally staring down at the field computer built into the armor on his left forearm.

“The local enforcers are snooping around,” said Hallam, keeping his voice low but continuing to watch the two men. “They look like they’re searching for someone.”

Dakota followed the line of Hallam’s gaze, but then shrugged. “This is Pales; they’re always looking for someone. Half the people in this diner will have either broken the law already or plan to do so by the end of the night.”

Hallam knew Pales as well as Dakota did, but normally, the enforcers went about their sweeps with less urgency and enthusiasm than the two officers nearby were displaying.

“Can I borrow your palm computer?” Hallam asked Dr. Rand. She frowned, but then removed the device from her pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Hallam. He quickly cycled to the local bulletin page for Habitat Dome C and cursed. Dr. Rand and Dakota huddled closer so that they could see the screen. Front and center on the main bulletin page were the faces of Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun, with the headline reading, “Renegade terrorists land on Pales!” A hefty reward was also being offered for information leading to their arrest.

“This is Damien Doyle’s doing, no doubt,” said Dr. Rand, looking at Hallam and Dakota in turn. “Now you two really do need to become more inconspicuous.”

Hallam pulled up the hood on his jacket, while Dakota quickly swiped another diner’s baseball cap from the back of a nearby chair with the deftness of an actual criminal before pulling it on.

“We should get back to the ship,” said Dakota, but Dr. Rand wasted no time in shaking her head.

“I still need more data,” said Dr. Rand, taking the computer back off Hallam and pushing it into her pocket again. “My readings suggest there may be a more intense, highly localized anomaly in the upper east habitat ring. Getting a reading on this will allow me to model the behavior in far more detail.”

Hallam and Dakota glanced at each other, and both released weary sighs, almost in harmony with one another. Hallam could tell she was thinking the same thing he was – that they should go, now, but that Dr. Rand would stubbornly refuse to do so, until she had what she needed.

“Then we should get moving before those enforcers get over here,” said Hallam. “But we need to be as fast as possible. Every extra minute we spend here increases the risk we’ll be identified.”

The group headed off with Dr. Rand in the lead. Hallam immediately felt more uneasy as they departed the busy central plaza and climbed the corroded metal staircases into the upper habitat levels. Surveillance drones buzzed around the habitat, as they usually did, and Hallam made sure to keep his head down as they progressed.

The light level dipped lower with each flight of stairs they ascended, with only an occasional humming yellow lamp offering some solace from the darkness. It also felt cold and damp as the humid air from the lower levels condensed on the cold metal surfaces of the habitat zones. People moved around them much more cautiously than in the plaza, and at a more hurried pace. It felt like danger was lurking around every corner, like they were taking an ill-advised midnight stroll through the streets of Victorian London.

“No wonder people choose to ship out of here to Minerva instead,” commented Hallam, feeling a shiver rush down his spine as a drop of water fell onto the back of his neck. “You’d probably get better living quarters in prison.”

Suddenly, Dr. Rand rushed ahead. Hallam and Dakota were both caught by surprise and had to chase the scientist to keep her in sight.

“It’s just up here,” Dr. Rand called back to them as she pushed underneath a rusted metal sign, covering another corroded stairwell.

Hallam stopped and wiped some of the grime off the sign with the back of his jacket sleeve. It read “Condemned. Danger of Death. Do Not Enter.” He cursed and lifted the sign, allowing Dakota to duck under first and chase after Dr. Rand. They found her at the end of a metal gangway that normally linked one block of worker dwellings to another, like a bridge. However, the pathway simply ended abruptly, with seemingly nothing ahead of it. As Hallam crept closer, it quickly became apparent why – the entire block of dwellings opposite had collapsed, crashing hundreds of meters to the ground below, taking the lower levels with it.

Hallam inched back from the edge of the precipice and felt like pulling Dr. Rand away too, though he doubted the proud scientist would have taken lightly to such an intervention.

“This whole section is unstable,” said Dakota, apparently sharing Hallam’s concerns. “What are we doing risking our necks up here?”

Dr. Rand was busy working at her computer again. “This is the precise location where the center axis of the Palean bridge intercepts the dome,” said Dr. Rand. She then picked up a piece of loose metal from the damp, rusted deck and tossed it into the chasm ahead of her. They all watched as the metal fell in a parabola, as expected, then inexplicably rose again, climbing twenty meters above their heads before seeming to oscillate like a yoyo. A few seconds later, it raced downward, as if it had been shot out of a cannon, clattering harshly on the remains of the lower-level walkways as it fell. “Fascinating…” said Dr. Rand, peering intently at the data flowing onto the screen of her palm computer.

“That’s one word for it,” quipped Hallam. Then there was a noise from behind them, like the sound of a heavy bolt rolling across the metal deck. Hallam met Dakota’s eye and whispered, “Did you hear that?”

Dakota nodded. “Stay here,” she said to Dr. Rand, who was still engrossed in her work and not paying attention.

Together, Hallam and Dakota slowly crept back down the gangway, toward where they had first entered the condemned space. Pales was ranked fourth out of all the bridge worlds for overall crime, but it was number one for muggings and aggravated assaults by a clear distance. Hallam dipped low as he moved, picking up a broken section of guard railing, while Dakota wrapped a length of loose rusted chain around her fist.

The noise came again, this time from a side walkway to their right, followed quickly by another to their left. Shapes moved in the flickering shadows cast by the humming yellow lights, then two figures emerged, bandanas wrapped around their mouths and noses. Hallam and Dakota backed away slowly, as another two figures crept out of the darkness further ahead.

“I really hate Pales,” said Hallam, tightening his grip on the bar and steeling himself for a fight.

13

The first two muggers ran at them, and Hallam saw the flash of a blade glinting under the flickering yellow lights. He parried the thrust with the rusted metal bar, kicking the man in the chest and driving him back along the side gangway.

Hallam glanced across to see Dakota evading a similar attack, but then she yelped in pain as a knife glanced her side, nicking her ribs, just below the chest plate of her renegade armor. Her attacker tried to press his advantage, but Dakota sidestepped then hammered her chain-reinforced fist into the man’s masked face, sending him down with a crunch.

One of the second pair of muggers then charged at Hallam from behind, and he turned in to the man, catching the improvised club that was swung toward him. The first attacker recovered and slashed his knife at Hallam, scoring a groove across the armor on his back. Hallam shifted his weight, throwing the second man into the first and knocking both down.

During the scuffle, the final attacker had shot ahead and was racing down the central walkway toward Dr. Rand. Hallam abandoned his skirmish with the other two and sprinted after the new threat, tackling the figure from behind and dragging her back. He caught a kick to the gut before the assailant pulled a dagger and lunged at him. Hallam felt the metal scrape against his chest plate as it slid lower and cut his belly. He cried out but retained enough presence of mind to grab the attacker’s arm. Using all his strength, he twisted the woman against the railing and shoved her hard, sending her toppling over the top bar. Her screams faded into the darkness below, like the sound of police sirens from a patrol car that had raced past in the night.

Turning back to the others, Hallam saw Dakota squaring off against the remaining two muggers. Dr. Rand appeared behind Hallam, and he almost took a swing at her before recognizing the scientist and halting his attack.

“Stay back!” cried Hallam as he ran to help Dakota, boots clanking on the shaky metal gangway. The nearest mugger to him saw Hallam’s approach and met his advance, again stabbing the blade in his direction. Hallam parried again with the bar, but then was caught on the arm. He yelped in pain and felt blood wet his skin before the two locked up, each trying to wrestle the weapons from the other. The mugger’s forehead smashed into Hallam’s nose, and he was temporarily stunned, before then finding himself bent backwards over the railings. He panicked and let go of the bar, which silently slipped into the void. Gritting his teeth, Hallam tried to fight back, but his opponent was bigger and carried more weight. He could feel himself tipping further back over the railings.

Suddenly, the hold on him relaxed, and Hallam pushed away from danger, gasping for breath. In front of him, the mugger was staggering back along the gangway as Dr. Rand landed repeated sharp kicks to his knee. Seizing the opportunity, Hallam darted forward, slamming his shoulder into the man and driving him over the top of the railings on the opposite side. The man’s petrified screams soon faded to nothing.

Dropping to one knee from exhaustion, Hallam twisted back to face Dakota. Blood covered her ear and neck, but her opponent looked worse for wear. Stepping in, Dakota landed a fierce combination of punches, ending with a hard right-cross from the chain-covered fist, and the fight was over.

“I sure as hell hope you have the readings you need now,” said Hallam, looking up at Dr. Rand.

Dr. Rand nodded. “Yes, and I believe it would be a good time for us to leave.”

“That’s something of an understatement…” replied Hallam, though he was at least relieved that the determined scientist was finally ready to go.

Dr. Rand helped Hallam to his feet before they were met by Dakota, who was limping slightly.

“Are you okay?” said Hallam, quickly inspecting the cut to her head.

“I’ll live. How about you?” Dakota answered, noticing the bloodied and torn section of Hallam’s shirt, and the blood still dripping from his nose.

“I’ve had worse just from sparring sessions with you,” Hallam said, laughing and instantly regretting it as pain shot through his side.

The group headed out of the condemned section of the habitant ring and descended toward the main plaza level, moving as fast as they could without drawing unwanted attention. Even so, wary eyes followed their progress almost every step of the way. Hallam tried hard to conceal his face, but he could sense that he’d been recognized on at least half a dozen occasions.

Moving onto the main plaza, they turned down the street toward the docking garage, but two enforcers were heading in the opposite direction.

Hallam cursed and turned away. “We’ll have to find another route,” he muttered under his breath as Dr. Rand and Dakota also spun on their heels.

“Hey, you three!” came the shout from behind them. Hallam glanced back and saw that the two enforcers were pushing through the crowd toward them, speaking urgently into their radios.

Hallam cursed again and took stock of their location, head on a swivel as he searched for an avenue of escape. He’d never been to Habitat C before, but he had stayed in Habitat A, which was close to where the small, planetary Randenite depot was located. He figured they should all pretty much follow the same layout, and remembered seeing a service gate out the rear of the docking garage, close to where the Tanker Division crew room had been.

“Follow me!” called Hallam, running out into the lead, shoving bystanders out of the way and receiving a barrage of curses and thrashing blows to the back of his head as he went.

Hallam peeled off down a less-busy side street, hoping that his memory was accurate, and that the habitat did match the other he’d visited. Then he saw two different enforcers heading the other way. This time, there was no option to turn back, and there was nowhere else he could divert. Hallam gritted his teeth and dug in his heels even harder. The enforcers yelled at him to stop and tried to frantically usher bystanders out of their line of fire, but they were unable to get off a shot before Hallam ploughed through them like a wrecking ball.

The collision knocked Hallam off balance and he tumbled down the street, wiping out two more pedestrians en route. His light armor spared his elbows and knees from savage cuts and bruises, but the scrapes and knocks he took to other parts of his body more than made up for it. He felt hands underneath his arms, pulling him up and ushering him on.

“Where now?” cried Dakota, holding Hallam by the shoulders.

Hallam tried to shake some awareness back into his dazed head and looked around, quickly spotting the side gate in the high fence. “Through there,” he said a little groggily. “It’s a service entrance to the docking garage.”

Dakota and Dr. Rand hauled him on as the shouts grew louder behind them. Hallam could see surveillance drones buzzing around too, though so far, none were directly over their location. They reached the gate, and Dakota tried to open it, but it was locked.

“Damn it, we’ll have to climb!” Dakota cried, slipping her fingers through the chain-link fence.

“Wait!” called out Dr. Rand, who had already pulled the palm computer out of her pocket and was working feverishly on it.

Dakota hung on the gate, and Hallam stood ready to follow her, waiting with bated breath for whatever miracle the scientist was about to perform. Then the gate lock clicked, and Dr. Rand pushed it open.

“How the hell did you do that?” said Hallam, skidding inside after Dr. Rand.

“I’m a genius, remember?” replied Dr. Rand, waiting until Dakota was also inside before closing the gate and tapping a final command into the palm computer to lock the gate again.

“Over here!” said Dakota, ushering them toward a covered storage area.

Hallam and Dr. Rand followed, weaving themselves in amongst the barrels and containers. He could hear the hum of drones overhead now, and despite their covered location, he knew that the automated spies in the sky would be able to see them in spectrums beyond visible light.

“Those surveillance drones will still be able to tag us here,” said Hallam, jabbing a finger toward the corrugated roof of the storage bay.

Dr. Rand was still working on her palm computer, using a command interface that Hallam had never seen before. She even seemed to be entering commands in a unique language.

“What are you doing now?” said Dakota, who had seemingly also noticed Dr. Rand’s endeavors.

“I am hacking the security system to make sure those drones see right through us,” replied Dr. Rand calmly. She then finished the sequence and secured the computer back into her pocket. “There, now, even if they see us, they won’t see us,” she said, letting out a relieved sigh. “I’ve made it so that the image-processing system will map different faces onto our heads.”

Hallam huffed a laugh. “That’s a neat trick. I hope you gave me a pretty face.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to give you a prettier one than you already have…” said Dakota, jabbing Hallam in the ribs with her elbow.

The enforcers raced past, shouting into their communicators, and Hallam waited until their bootsteps had faded before venturing out of his hiding place. With Dakota and Dr. Rand again in tow, he then rounded the corner of a maintenance hangar and caught sight of the docking garage. Then Hallam closed his eyes and cursed again. Dakota’s fighter was right where they’d left it, but it was now guarded by four Palean enforcers and surrounded with a cordon of bright yellow security tape.

14

Hallam snuck under the metal shutter door of the maintenance hangar and crept behind one of the many storage racks at the rear of the space. He could make out three people inside, over by a messy office desk, all lounging around and chatting idly. Meanwhile, through the open hangar shutter, he could also see a super-freighter taxiing toward the massive external doors of the habitat dome in preparation to take off.

The plan, hastily agreed between them but primarily developed by Dakota, was simple in principle. Using her computer wizardry, Dr. Rand would again hack the enforcer’s security system and trick the drones into seeing a fake Hallam and Dakota over in the opposite side of the dome to where they were now. The hope and intention was that the habitat’s security enforcers would then flock to that location in an attempt to apprehend the phantom renegades. Using this distraction, Hallam would recover the security key to the engine covers that had been placed over the main drive exhaust of Dakota’s fighter to prevent it from taking off. At the same time, Dakota would deal with any remaining enforcers on the tarmac and prep the ship for launch. If they timed everything just right, they’d be able to maneuver underneath the super-freighter, which would mask their own engine signature, and sneak out of the habitat with it, like a fish surfing on a whale’s back. After that, it would be down to Dakota’s piloting skills to get them clear of the planet before any of the Palean Enforcer patrol ships shot them down. Dakota had described the operation as being “a piece of cake,” though neither Hallam nor Dr. Rand shared her optimistic appraisal of the plan.

Hallam checked his watch, waiting for the timer to tick down to the allotted moment when Dr. Rand would initiate the diversion. The counter hit zero, and Hallam again peered out toward the main airstrip, waiting to see what effect – if any – the phantom sighting would have on the forces in the docking garage. Seconds ticked away with no change to the normal, humdrum routine, until the radios on the shoulders of the two enforcers guarding Dakota’s fighter crackled into life. Hallam was too far away to make out anything other than a muted jumble of noise, but whatever the message was, it had jolted the officers from their boredom.

A few seconds later, heavy boots thudded across the airstrip as a squad of enforcers dashed inside two waiting quadcopter dropships. The vessels’ sliding doors were slammed shut, and the dropships lifted off and sped away, the vibrant hum of their rotors resonating through the maintenance hangar.

Hallam smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned, it actually worked,” he said to himself before turning his attention to the three men lounging by the desk.

Hallam had no idea what the key to the engine covers looked like, and so figured he had one of two options to find it. The first was to storm over to the maintenance workers and threaten them to hand over the keys. However, the average Palean was not one to walk away from a confrontation. The typical evening pastime for most of the workers in the habitat was to finish their shifts with a few pints in a local pub, followed by a good fight. This left him option two, which was to bluff his way out. He was already dressed in flight gear, and judging from how little work the three men were engaged in, he doubted they’d interrupt their afternoon of skiving off to interrogate Hallam too much.

Hallam crept out from his hiding place and dusted the dirt off his knees before standing tall and striding toward the three workers.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” said one of the three men, who was loafing in a beat-up old office chair with his feet on the desk.

Even from his reclined position, Hallam could see that he was huge. A small tow tracker was parked up several meters away, but Hallam guessed the man could probably haul some of the smaller ships into the hangar just using his brute strength.

“Jed Deckard,” said Hallam, thinking on his feet. For some reason, he hadn’t even considered that the man would ask his name, and so was forced to make one up on the spot. The startling similarity of his invented persona to that of the mercenary who was hunting them again showed how much Cad Rikkard was weighing on his mind.

Hallam followed up the announcement of his name by pointing to the fighter, still surrounded by yellow tape and guarded by the two enforcers. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could now see Dakota sneaking up on the ship, using the various container loaders, fuel and water trucks, and other common items of docking garage equipment as cover.

“I’m part of the enforcement squad,” Hallam went on, now switching to the story he’d concocted with Dakota and Dr. Rand. “I need to take that fighter over to the main enforcer base for analysis, but some asshole has left the engine covers on it.”

The large man’s brow furrowed as Hallam said this, and his two co-workers – who were possibly subordinates – suddenly appeared agitated. The giant man slid his feet off the desk and pushed himself out of the chair, which groaned under the additional pressure and looked on the verge of collapse.

“Some asshole, you say?” the man said, folding his tree-trunk arms across his barrel chest. Hallam swallowed hard, realizing his mistake: Paleans didn’t take kindly to insults. Hallam’s thoughtless quip was tantamount to a challenge. “Well, I’m the supervisor here, so I guess you must mean me?”

Hallam tried to keep his cool and stay the course. The worst thing he could do now was back down, as the large man would consider such lily-livered behavior to be even more of a slight.

“Noodle, pass me the pad, will ya?” the supervisor said, though without taking his eyes off Hallam. One of his companions – a stick-thin man, which was presumably the source of his nickname – placed the pad into the supervisor’s enormous palm. “Nope, there’s nothing on here about removing the engine covers for some rando enforcer who strolls in like he owns the place,” the supervisor added with a shrug, though he hadn’t even looked at the pad. “Do you see anything on here about taking the engine covers off for this rando, boys?” the man continued, addressing his co-workers but still staying laser-focused on Hallam.

The other two men chorused, “No, boss,” though both now seemed to be enjoying the little exchange.

The supervisor thrust the pad back at “Noodle,” who took it dutifully, and then bent forward, bringing his round face more onto a level with Hallam’s.

“Sorry, pal,” the supervisor began, showering Hallam’s face with spittle as he spat the words. “No orders, no covers. So why don’t you sod off and come back when you have the right permits?” Hallam could smell coffee and tobacco on the man’s breath, plus the hint of something considerably more flammable.

Suddenly, there were shouts from outside, and Hallam looked out to see the two enforcers aiming weapons toward a water truck. From the flickering shadows underneath, Hallam guessed that Dakota had been spotted. Their plan was unravelling faster than a cheap woolen sweater.

“Hang on, I know you,” said Noodle, pointing a thin finger at Hallam. “You’re that bloody terrorist they’re after!”

The supervisor turned back from the scene outside and peered down at Hallam, suddenly recognizing him too. A smile curled his wide mouth and he cracked his knuckles. “Good spot, Noodle,” he chipped in, smacking a fist into his palm; a gesture that left Hallam in no doubt as to the brute’s violent intentions. “There’s a nice little reward for this muppet too. Looks like it’s our lucky day, boys!”

Hallam had tried the clever approach of bluffing his way to the keys, and it had failed spectacularly. Now it was time for plan B. Wasting no time, Hallam launched a kick at the supervisor, expertly angling the toe of his boot directly at the target area – the man’s groin. His foot connected sweetly, and the supervisor crumpled to his knees, clutching his unmentionables while producing a sort of half-yelp, half-wheeze. He went down so quickly that it was as if the man had stepped into one of Dr. Rand’s gravitational anomalies, and suddenly become five times heavier.

Hallam turned his attention to the other two men, who had been stunned by the sight of their hulking supervisor being felled so easily. He stepped in and laid out the second man with a powerful right cross before rounding on Noodle. However, the thin man just shot up his hands in surrender. Hallam smiled. It seems that some Paleans like fighting a lot less than others, he thought.

“I need those keys,” Hallam growled, still threatening Noodle with his fists. “Where are they?”

Noodle reached back onto the desk and threw Hallam a keyfob. “Use the red one with a black stripe,” the man said, thrusting his hands up again.

“Hey!”

The shout had come from outside the maintenance hangar. Hallam spun around to see one of the two enforcers racing toward him, weapon ready, while talking frantically into his radio.

Hallam cursed and ran in the other direction as bullets pinged off the trucks and tractors inside. He ducked behind a stack of containers and watched through the narrow gaps as the enforcer edged closer, weapon raised. He saw Noodle point in the direction of the containers, and then quickly scarper. Hallam silently cursed the man, then looked around for anything he could use as an improvised weapon. He saw a tool station to his side and hurried over to it as the enforcer again called out, demanding that Hallam show himself and surrender. The top drawer was open, and Hallam dug around inside, finding a suitably weighty wrench.

Gripping the tool tightly, Hallam again peeked through gaps in the stack of containers, spotting the enforcer closing in on his position. Then he had an idea. Reaching up, he began to push on the upper row of containers, pressing his feet against the rear wall to give him extra leverage. The container toppled over, taking several smaller cannisters and boxes with it in a domino effect. The enforcer dodged back, trying to avoid the mini avalanche, but was struck as one of the larger plastic barrels tumbled into the hangar.

Hallam vaulted the remaining drums and charged, swinging the wrench and whacking the pistol from the enforcer’s grasp. The enforcer recovered quickly, evidently no stranger to brawls, and tackled Hallam. Caught off balance, Hallam was driven back into a tall metal rack, causing smaller objects to rain down on them. He took a punch to the side, but then blocked and spun the enforcer around so that his back was now against the rack. A sharp knee to the enforcer’s ribs was partially dulled by the man’s riot gear, but Hallam’s follow-up punch simply slammed into the man’s helmet, hurting Hallam more than it did the enforcer. Hallam yelped and was caught by a swift counter-attack, causing him to stagger backwards, but before the enforcer could press his advantage, Hallam landed a solid front kick to the man’s armored torso. The enforcer toppled over, colliding with the metal rack and causing larger and heavier objects to fall. The man was struck on the head by several heavy tools and containers and, despite the protection offered by his gear, was knocked out cold.

Sucking in deep gulps of air, Hallam quickly ran toward the exit. Dakota was now visible inside the cockpit, with the second enforcer sprawled out on the deck near the water truck. Hallam raced over to the fighter and clawed his way up onto the ladder at the rear of the craft.

“Do you have the key?” Dakota called out. She was leaning out of the side hatch, and Hallam could now see that Dr. Rand was inside too.

“I have it. Get the ship ready!” Hallam called back, flipping through the various keys until he found the red one with the black stripe.

“Hurry, the freighter is almost in position,” Dakota called back. “If the habitat doors close before we get through, then we’re stuck here!”

Hallam pressed the key to the security pad on the first engine cover and breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the lock released. Muscles aching from exertion and the two scuffles he’d fought, he managed to yank the first cover off. It clattered to the deck and Hallam quickly slid down the railings, pushing the ladder to the opposite side of the ship.

“Hallam, hurry!” he heard Dakota shout. “The enforcers are heading back here!”

Hallam cursed, realizing that Dr. Rand’s little ruse had been discovered. They were now rapidly running out of time. Pressing the card to the lock of the second cover, Hallam heard it click open. He pushed it, but this time, the cover would not budge. “Damn it!” he cried out, trying again, but still there was no movement.

Hallam heard the tell-tale thud of rotors in the distance and glanced toward the center of the habitat, spotting three enforcer dropships closing in fast. Climbing up onto the hull of the ship, Hallam lay back and pressed the heels of his boots onto the engine cover. Bracing himself against whatever he could grab on to, he pushed with his legs, but the cover barely moved.

“Come on, damn it!” Hallam yelled as he kicked the metal shroud repeatedly, each thrust of his leg growing more panicked and frantic, until eventually, the cover shot off.

“The engines are free; fire them up!” Hallam shouted, running across the top of the fighter to where the open side hatch waited for him. Grabbing the top edge, he swung inside, but then lost his grip and slammed into the deck like a sack of flour. The hatch closed, and Hallam glanced up to see Dr. Rand standing above him.

“Cutting it a little fine, aren’t we?” said Dr. Rand, offering Hallam her hand.

Still winded from the fall, Hallam accepted Dr. Rand’s help and she hauled him up, guiding them both into the cockpit. The fighter’s engines sparked into life, drowning out the rising thud of the quadcopters’ rotors.

“This is going to be tight!” cried Dakota, using the thrusters to lift the fighter off the deck. She then swung the nose toward the habitat doors, through which the huge super-freighter had now fully entered. The doors were already closing behind it.

“I don’t care if it’s tight, so long as we make it through!” Hallam shouted, finally managing to fix his harness in place.

“If you want to bring us good luck, you know what to do!” shouted Dakota, still frantically adjusting controls on her console.

Hallam glanced at Bob the bear, Dakota’s lucky mascot, stuck on the console between their seats, and shook his head. “Damn it, Dak, don’t start!” he growled, but she’d planted the idea in his head now, and it was impossible to shake off.

“Suit yourself, but if we crash and burn, it’s your fault, Hal!” Dakota hit back, managing a tense smile.

Hallam growled again then reached over and patted the bear’s head. “Come on, Bob, bring us luck,” he said, muttering under his breath and feeling like a fool.

Dakota smiled, but then they were all pressed back into their seats as she pushed the throttle forward, skimming the fighter over the surface of the airstrip at a frankly reckless velocity. Hallam gritted his teeth as the doors began to fill the view outside the cockpit, but the gap was narrowing just as rapidly. Dakota climbed higher then turned the fighter on its side, slipping through the opening by the thinnest of margins.

Hallam, Dakota, and Dr. Rand all screamed as they raced toward the glowing engines of the super freighter, but somehow Dakota just managed to miss them before reversing thrust and coming to a hover beneath the belly of the huge vessel.

For several seconds, they all just sat in their seats, breathing heavily. Hallam’s hands were trembling, and looking across to Dakota, he could see that her entire body was shaking too. Then Dakota did the last thing that Hallam expected – she laughed.

“See,” Dakota said, managing to shoot a weak smile at Hallam and Dr. Rand. “That was a piece of cake…” Then she leaned forward and patted the ragged little woolen bear on the head, adding, “Thanks, Bob!”

15

Alerts blared out inside the cockpit of Dakota’s fighter as she weaved the agile vessel between the enormous industrial structures of Palean Factory District Alpha Six. Three enforcer patrol ships were hot in pursuit, each of them vying to get a weapons lock.

“I appreciate the demonstration of your piloting abilities,” shouted Dr. Rand as Dakota laced between two factories, both of which were spewing dark smoke into the air. “But why have we not climbed into orbit?”

Dakota banked hard right and cut through a plume of smoke before dipping underneath a long tunnel of raw materials conveyors. “We have to clear the factory district first,” Dakota answered, her voice taut and stilted. “The whole area is surrounded with anti-ship defenses, including orbital batteries.” Climbing sharply to avoid a collision with a massive ground transport, Dakota then ducked underneath an aqueduct carrying effluent from the many factories to the densely polluted sea shore, three hundred miles away. “They are designed to deter pirates and smugglers from trying to raid the factories, and also take out incoming meteors, which this rotten planet gets hit by all the time.”

Hallam glanced up as Dakota continued to weave through the dense forest of factory buildings, keeping below the thick smog blanket caused by the hundreds of billowing chimneys. The covering of black cloud was so dense that the bright Palean sun could barely penetrate through.

“Doyle’s reward must be good for us to attract this much attention,” Hallam said, as Dakota began to follow the railroad tracks that would eventually lead to one of the main cargo docks on the outskirts of the district.

“A cool one million,” said Dr. Rand, who was enduring the high-speed maneuvers with far more composure than Hallam had expected. Then he remembered Dr. Rand’s earlier career as an expeditionary pilot and leader, and realized she’d probably been in more perilous situations than this one. “Dead or alive…” Dr. Rand then added with a more forbidding tenor.

Hallam scowled and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the commotion all around him and think. If the reward was “dead or alive,” then they’d be taken out as soon as they exited the factory district. It was only the risk of their fighter plummeting into a factory and causing many more millions of dollars’ worth of damage that was preventing the enforcers from opening fire now. At least half of the factories were owned by Doyle’s Consortium, and the Paleans knew better than to risk incurring the multi-trillionaire’s vengeful wrath. Yet he also knew they couldn’t just fly around in circles forever.

“Like it or not, we’re going to have to shoot our way out of this one, Hal,” said Dakota, oblivious to Hallam’s contemplations. “We’ll be clear of the factory district in less than a minute, and then it’s us or them.”

Hallam opened his eyes and glanced across to Dr. Rand, who was looking back at him quizzically. “We can’t start blowing up these enforcer ships,” said Hallam, “It will just confirm to everyone that the Darkspace Renegades are terrorists. At some point, we’re going to have to get the people on our side and show them that bridge travel has to stop. We can’t do that if every news holo is showing us shooting down Palean enforcer ships.”

Dakota cursed then climbed sharply, narrowly avoiding smashing head-on into an approaching quad-deck freight train. The view outside was suddenly shrouded in a murky darkness before she dipped below the smog line again and resumed course.

“We need to do something, Hal!” Dakota hit back. “I can’t outfly them forever.”

The nugget of an idea formed in Hallam’s mind, and he turned back to Dr. Rand. “Doc, that gravity anomaly you found in the habitat, how far out does it extend?”

Dr. Rand frowned then thought for a moment, shrugging. “I’d have to analyze the data properly, but it should extend all the way up to the bridge entry point above the planet.”

Hallam slapped his palm on the arm of the chair, relieved that Dr. Rand had given him the answer he was hoping for. “That’s how we get away,” he said, looking back at Dakota. “Lure those fighters into the anomaly. Their flight paths and systems will get mixed up in all that gravitational soup, giving us time to escape.”

Dakota didn’t answer, though from the expression on her face, Hallam knew she was intrigued by the idea.

“The gravitational changes in the anomaly may also tear their ships apart, or at the least cause them to crash,” Dr. Rand added. “The end result may be no different than shooting them down.”

“If they still crash, then at least we’ve drawn attention to the gravitational anomalies,” Hallam answered. “And if we climb high enough, the enforcers may be able to recover or bail out.”

“If we’re doing this, we need to do it now,” said Dakota, her voice rising in urgency.

Hallam looked out and realized they were about to punch through the boundary of the factory district. And when they did, the enforcers would almost certainly start shooting.

“Doyle will still suppress any media coverage,” said Dr. Rand, ever the pragmatist. “So long as he controls the narrative through the holo bulletins and BridgeNet, our message will never be heard.”

“But people will have seen what happened with their own eyes and start talking,” said Hallam. “Doyle can’t control that.” He turned to Dakota, who had her attention half-focused ahead and half-focused on Hallam. “We need to open people’s eyes to the danger they’re facing, and show them that we’re not the enemy.”

The fighter punched through the perimeter of the district, and almost immediately, a missile launch warning droned out in the cabin. Hallam held Dakota’s eyes; she had control – the choice was down to her.

The missile flashed up on Hallam’s screen, but Dakota was already banking hard, back toward the district. Hallam launched countermeasures and watched as the missile streaked past, heading harmlessly out into the polluted wasteland beyond the factory district. However, instead of heading into clearer skies, Dakota had aimed the nose of the fighter back into the heart of the district, directly toward Habitat C.

“I hope you’re right about this…” said Dakota, pushing the throttle harder. “And I hope I can manage to avoid the anomaly too. Otherwise, we’re going to end up as another stain on this already blotted landscape.”

Dr. Rand pulled her palm computer out of her pocket and began working. “I’ll upload a map of the anomaly’s position to your navigation system,” the scientist said, struggling to type on the screen as the fighter jolted left and right through the dense forest of structures. “It will only be a crude extrapolation based on my early data, but it’s the best I can do.”

Hallam saw a wireframed representation of the anomaly appear on his screen, looking like a giant tornado, rising from a sharp point at the edge of the dome into a wider plume as it climbed into space, toward one of the Palean bridges. Dakota let out an anxious breath as she adjusted course toward it and began her ascent.

The radio clicked on and the authoritarian voice of an enforcer boomed inside the cockpit. “Renegade fighter, adjust your course at once or we have been authorized to open fire on your vessel.”

Dakota frowned. “Surely they’re bluffing,” she said. “If they take us out now, it will be like dropping a bomb on the dome. Thousands could die.”

The weapons lock warning droned inside the cabin again, and Hallam and Dakota exchanged nervous glances.

“Doyle must really want us dead,” said Hallam, shaking his head, but then he saw that they were only seconds away from intercepting the anomaly. “Stay your course, Dak. It’s going to be tight, but I think you can make it.”

Dakota nodded and sucked in another lungful of air, this time holding it in. The missile launch tone sounded again, but Dakota had already begun her maneuver, rolling the fighter in an attempt to corkscrew past the anomaly without directly intersecting the area of gravitational instability.

Hallam looked behind, breath also held, muscles tight as the missile closed in. Then it suddenly slowed as if the air had become as thick as treacle before shooting upwards in an implausible vertical jump. A second later, it detonated harmlessly inside the thick blanket of smog, the flash barely visible through the dense cloud of dirty smoke.

Hallam whooped and punched the air before the pursuing fighters then also hit the unstable region. They too almost stopped in mid-air before being tossed upward like paper planes caught in a strong gust of wind.

“It worked, we’re clear!” Hallam called out, and Dakota responded instantly, leveling off and making a now unchallenged run toward the perimeter of the factory district.

Hallam peered back, seeing only one parachute sinking through the dirty air below them. “At least one of them got out,” he said, feeling a stab of guilt. Then the three stricken patrol crafts reappeared from the blanket of dense smog, spiraling out of control. One crashed into the dome, striking at a glancing angle and not penetrating through, but the other ships thudded into nearby factory buildings. Two additional plumes of smoke began rising into the air.

“Damn it!” Hallam cried, thumping the arm of his chair with his fist as the fighter raced across the perimeter and began to climb. Soon Hallam’s view of the crash sites was shrouded by the thick blanket of smog.

“Maybe no one was hurt,” said Dr. Rand, catching Hallam by surprise – she wasn’t one for wishful thinking. However, Dr. Rand was soon true to form again. “But if there were casualties, you can be sure they won’t be the last before this is all over,” she added. Hallam met her eyes, and the scientist’s expression was pensive, even teacherly. “But take heart knowing that the information gained here will help to save the lives of millions, perhaps even billions more.”

Hallam nodded and then relaxed back again, letting out an exhausted sigh. Dr. Rand’s reasoning was sound, and he’d accepted that they were in a war, and that it was always going to be a numbers game. Knowing this didn’t make the loss of life any easier to bear, but it also didn’t change what they had to do. Because if they failed, it wasn’t just one or even a dozen lives that would be lost – it would mean the end of humanity itself.

16

The holo call connected and Cad Rikkard found himself standing on the grand veranda outside Doyle’s penthouse office in the Consortium HQ on Vesta. The office, like everything else to do with Doyle, besides his choice of clothing, was lavish. It could only be reached by his private elevator or via the small landing pad that jutted out to the side of the building.

Cad knew that Doyle typically liked to arrive in his personal flying vehicle, and could see the vessel sat on the pad. Its design was little different to the other tilt-rotor personal transports that flitted across all the cities on the bridge worlds. However, now that he saw it close up, the metal chassis of Doyle’s personal vehicle gave off a slightly iridescent sheen, similar to that of Cad’s power armor.

“I have been receiving disturbing news from the outer bridge planets,” said Doyle. He was staring out across his vast campus and hadn’t turned around or greeted Cad, as any normal, polite person would do. If Cad had physically been in the office with him, rather than existing as a holo, he would have been tempted to throw the man over the edge of his precious building.

“Is there ever a day when you don’t hear disturbing news from the outer bridge worlds?” said Cad, strolling alongside his employer.

“Don’t play games with me,” Doyle hit back with a spontaneous venom that Cad hadn’t anticipated. “You attacked the personal vault of Frazer Melton Strickland, and then killed him!”

Cad felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle and he straightened up. Normally, there was at least the pretense of civility, but this time, Doyle had wasted no time in laying into him.

“I wouldn’t shed a tear for that asshole,” Cad hit back. “He was just trying to get at you. He wanted me dead for killing his cousin.” Cad levelled a finger at Doyle. “A hit that you ordered me to do.”

Cad knew that pointing at Doyle would only enrage him further, but he wasn’t prepared to take the flak for a situation Doyle had perpetuated. Surprisingly, however, Doyle recovered his composure, rather than exploding even more violently.

“With the Blackfire Squadron out of the way, Strickland planned to step up his efforts to attack your various interests,” Cad continued, further emboldened by Doyle’s silence. He then pressed his hands behind his back and puffed out his chest before adding defiantly, “You should be thanking me, not complaining.”

Doyle grunted then turned back toward the vast grounds of his corporate estate. “The fixer, Daggett, was useful. You could have just taught her a lesson, rather than burn her to a crisp on the roof of that tower,” Doyle complained, choosing not to take up Cad’s suggestion of offering thanks for taking out one of his biggest rivals, though Cad expected nothing less.

“I made an example out of her,” Cad answered coolly. “It’s your other rivals that will have learnt the lesson – that lesson being, don’t screw with Cad Rikkard.”

Doyle sighed then met Cad’s eyes again. “And the nuclear warheads you stole? What the hell do you need with those?”

“Those are for another lesson I intend to teach someone else,” Cad replied, still maintaining his imperious stance. For once, Doyle appeared to be showing him a measure of respect, and he was going to milk it while it lasted.

“I need Dr. Rand alive, not atomized,” Doyle snarled.

“I thought it was ‘dead or alive’?” replied Cad, wondering if he’d misheard the Consortium boss when he’d given him the mission.

“Circumstances have changed, and I am compelled to alter the terms of our agreement,” Doyle muttered, clearly unhappy with the situation. “Shelby Rand must be brought to me alive.”

Cad sighed. “I don’t suppose you care to tell me why?” he asked, though he didn’t know why he bothered, since he knew how Doyle would respond.

“You know all you need to know,” replied Doyle, proving Cad correct. “So you can put those damn nuclear warheads into storage. They won’t be needed, and I certainly don’t need the heat that will come down on me if you’re discovered using banned weapons of mass destruction.”

“Nothing will come back on you,” said Cad, oozing confidence. The victory on Minerva had given him a boost, and he was still buzzing from acquiring possession of La Joyeuse, the magnificent sword of Charlemagne. Added to the fact that Doyle was – for once – not talking to him like a peasant lackey, he was on a high.

Doyle grunted again but continued to regard Cad with narrowed eyes. “There was also a renegade attack on Pales, involving your friends from Wolf Squadron.”

Cad bristled at the mention of the name; the Wolf Squadron was the only force to have ever stood against him and survived. His mind turned to Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun, and in an instant, Cad was knocked off his high.

“For what reason?” Cad asked. “There’s nothing on Pales but drunkards and effluence.”

“That’s precisely the point, Mr. Rikkard,” Doyle barked. “That’s what you and your hapless cronies are supposed to be finding out!”

Cad bristled again. It hadn’t taken Doyle long to revert to his usual belligerent self.

“So far, all you have given me is problems, an enormous and growing bill, and no results,” Doyle went on. This time, it was the multi-trillionaire that thrust a finger, aiming it squarely between Cad’s holographically-generated eyes. “This is your last warning,” Doyle snarled. “You have seventy-two hours. After that, I am terminating your contract.” Doyle lowered his finger and pressed his hands behind his back, seemingly mimicking Cad’s earlier imperiousness. “And we both know what that will mean for you and your precious Blackfire Squadron. Fail me, and I will drag your name and reputation through the gutter!”

Every muscle in Cad’s body tensed up, and his jaw clenched so tightly that he could feel one of his back teeth crack.

“Seventy-two hours, Mr. Rikkard,” Doyle said again, then the holo faded and Cad was back in the ready room on his ship.

Immediately, Cad let out a maddened roar and hammered his fist into the locker to his side. The cathartic effect of pummeling the metal was short-lived, and he drew his fist back, hammering the locker again and again and again, until the panel was smeared with blood.

The holo transceiver bleeped an incoming call, and Cad glanced down at the screen, briefly pausing from his therapeutic assault. His heart was still thumping, even if his fist was now still. Cad read the name then reached over to accept the call, dripping blood onto the deck of his ship as he did so. Moments later, he was standing inside Falken’s lair.

“I swear, this call had better be to bring me good news or I will turn your little mountain hideout to dust,” Cad snarled, still holding up his bloodied fist.

Falken recoiled slightly, but as on the other occasions Cad had dealt with her, the threat seemed not to faze the virtuoso hacker in the slightest.

“Wow, someone is grouchy today,” Falken began, taking a slurp of a thick pink milkshake. “But, as it happens, yes, this is good news.” Cad lowered his fist, but then Falken scrunched up her face and hastily added, “Well, good news and bad news, actually.”

Cad sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose. “What’s the bad news?”

“Let me give you the good news first, just so you don’t use one of those nukes on me.” Falken laughed, causing Cad to raise an eyebrow.

“Thanks, now I’ll know who is responsible, should any government agencies or enforcement bodies know that I have them,” said Cad, offering another, more veiled threat.

“Relax. I think it’s cool you have nukes,” said Falken, again completely unperturbed by Cad’s aggression. “Anyway, the good news is that I have a way to defeat the security systems on the renegade hideouts that you’re clearly planning on nuking. And I also know how to find out where the others are,” she added, taking another slurp of the pink milkshake and awaiting Cad’s response.

“So what’s the bad news, lady?” Cad asked, refusing to let himself feel any swell of excitement, until he’d heard the caveat.

“The snag is that I need a command computer console from their operations center,” said Falken with a breeziness that made the task sound simple. “The entire thing, I’m afraid. Bit of a bummer, I know.”

Cad laughed, a reaction that even caught himself by surprise. However, it wasn’t an amused laugh – quite the opposite. He knew that he would now be forced to risk a third assault on a renegade base. The funny part was that if he hadn’t blown up the first base, he could have just returned to it and saved himself the hassle. He hated everything about this job, and despite knowing that it was only stubborn pridefulness that was preventing him from walking away, he just couldn’t do it. His reputation was his life. The prospect of Doyle destroying his status and costing him his position as the galaxy’s top mercenary was worse than death.

“You’d better be right about this,” said Cad, meeting the woman’s unflinching eyes.

“I always am,” Falken replied with a carefree little shrug.

Cad grunted and shook his head. “I’ll bring you the damned computer in twenty-four hours.”

17

Cad Rikkard’s Blackfire Squadron sat in a high orbit above the rogue moon, vigilantly stalking its prey. This time the renegade hideout was deep in the Darkspace between Vesta and Fortuna. However, to Cad, the location didn’t matter. All that mattered was the success of the mission. If he failed this time, then he had no hope of discovering the whereabouts of the other renegade bases or flushing out Dr. Rand. Failure would mean his ruination at the hands of Damien Doyle. He’d die before he let that happen, and take Doyle down with him – but Cad Rikkard wasn’t done with living yet.

“I wonder why they haven’t launched fighters?” said Alexis Black over the comm channel.

She and Draga Vex had sat on Cad’s wings, waiting for the hideout to scramble their alert ships, as they had done on the previous two occasions. However, the renegade base had shown no signs of responding to the threat looming above them. It had transmitted no messages, no warnings – nothing.

“They know they can’t beat us out here,” replied Cad, who had been silently mulling over the same question for the last couple of minutes. However, it wasn’t the question of why the renegades hadn’t launched fighters that bothered him, but rather what the renegades had in store for them instead that weighed heavily on his mind. “They’ve adapted their strategy,” Cad continued, stroking the base of his chin with his thumb as he pondered their next move. “They’ll be expecting us to breach the hangar doors again, like last time.”

“Except this time, they’ll have the guns of their fighters trained on the breach gate, waiting for us to step out and get obliterated,” Alexis chipped in, seemingly coming to the same conclusion as Cad.

“So we don’t breach the hangar door,” said Draga Vex matter-of-factly. As usual, the finer minutiae of mission planning bored her, and she was clearly eager to get into close action. “There are plenty of other places we can breach the base.”

Cad brought up an enlarged tactical scan of the hideout. Something still didn’t feel right. “What if they’re expecting that too?” he said, again stroking the base of his chin. “A double bluff to force us into making a risky attack…” What the hell are they planning?... Cad asked himself, growing increasingly frustrated with each passing second.

Normally, Cad would relish the opportunity to get into close action, just like Draga, but he’d lost all his advantages. There was no longer the element of surprise – the renegades had clearly prepared a defense against his breaching pod tactic. And even when he did get inside, the fighting would be tough. Despite knowing that the renegades would deploy combat bots or even warbots, he couldn’t use EMP grenades for risk of destroying the computers in the command operations center. He needed more time to plan, but time was not on his side, and neither were the odds.

“Alexis, I need you to stay outside and draw fire from the base’s flak cannons and missiles,” said Cad, finally making a decision. “If they’re expecting us to use the breaching pod again, then they will now understand what it takes to put it down. By splitting their fire, it gives us a chance to make it through.”

There was silence on the comm channel for several seconds. Cad knew that Alexis would be eager to challenge his command, but he also knew that she wouldn’t do it openly. And if he were forced to assault the base with only one of his two squadron members at his side, Draga was the obvious choice. Alexis would know that too, and even agree with Cad’s selection, but she would also know that reducing the assault force to two would dramatically increase the chances of him getting killed.

“Understood,” came the eventual and unusually stunted reply from Alexis. Cad fully expected to get it in the neck from Alexis later, assuming he managed to make it out of the base alive.

Cad reset the target coordinates for the breaching pod then depressurized the cockpit in readiness to space walk over to it. He glanced right and saw that Draga had already opened her canopy and was maneuvering through space using the thrusters in her armor.

“We’ll breach directly into the command operations center,” said Cad, also now popping open his canopy. “The corridor linking the operations center to the rest of the base will be a choke point. Draga, I’ll leave it to you to hold that position and stop any reinforcements from getting inside.”

The rear hatch of the breaching pod swung open and Draga pulled herself into the main compartment. “I have just the thing for such a task,” she said. Cad didn’t ask what Draga had in mind but trusted that it would be suitably violent.

“I’ll deal with whatever lunatic robot they decide to let loose,” Cad continued as he pushed himself out of the cockpit and set himself on course for the breaching pod.

“Do me a favor and keep your sword in its sheath this time,” Alexis chipped in. Cad could tell that she was still seething. “No unnecessary risks.”

Cad touched down onto the deck of the breaching pod and hit the button to close the hatch. “Once we secure the operations command center and capture the commander, it should be over quickly,” he replied, trying to allay Alexis’ obvious concerns and – if he was honest – his own as well. “Then I expect you to haul our assess off that base in double quick time, got it?”

“You can count on that…” said Alexis resolutely. Her sterner warrior persona was in full effect once again.

Cad slid down into the forward seat and strapped himself in, noting that Draga was already in position. She was holding her semi-automatic shotgun in one hand but had another substantial piece of equipment stowed directly to her left. Cad couldn’t quite make out what it was but guessed he’d find out soon enough. Glancing to his own left, he checked that his Black Prince sword was safely stowed. Despite Alexis’ grouchy warning to leave it sheathed, he still intended to take it and use it if necessary. However, stowed alongside it was another weapon from Doyle’s repository of experimental tech that he also intended to use in anger, should the need arise. The description had intrigued him when he saw the item on the stock record in the secret warehouse. It was listed as an “Electroblade.”

“Ready to initiate breaching program in three… two… one… initiate,” Cad spoke over the comm channel before hitting the initiator with his thumb. The breaching pod’s multiple layers of external shielding fell into place and the thrusters fired, maneuvering the seize weapon on course.

With all external windows now blanketed with thick layers of dense armor plating, Cad activated the virtualized external view. He immediately saw Alexis’ fighter shoot ahead of them, guns lighting up the Darkspace as she attempted to provoke the base’s defenses into engaging her. Soon flak barrages were detonating all around them, but as Cad had predicted, their fire was being split between the breaching pod and Alexis’ ship.

A low, urgent tone filled the cabin and Cad saw that the base had launched two missiles.

“Damn it…” Cad snarled, grabbing the gun controls as flak started to buffet the armored pod. The first missile was taken out by the base’s own flak barrage, but the second snuck through. Cad targeted the missile and fired the cannons, taking it out long before it posed a threat. The pod was then rocked hard by a series of heavy thuds, and one of the defensive weapon mounts went dead. “Hell, they won’t need missiles to take us out if we keep taking a pounding like this,” said Cad as another volley exploded ahead of them, pockmarking their armor with more shrapnel.

“Armor integrity at sixty percent,” said Draga, speaking for the first time since taking her seat. Her voice remained calm and composed. “Hard contact with the base in fifty seconds.”

The base launched another four missiles, two snaking off in pursuit of Alexis while the remaining two pierced the flak barrage and raced toward the breaching pod. Cad targeted the missiles and fired again, taking one out before his cannons went dead completely.

“Damn it, brace for contact!” Cad cried out, hoping that what remained of their dense armor was tough enough to stop a missile. The flak barrage continued to intensify, and with each successive thump and shimmy, additional warning lights flashed up on Cad’s panel. The virtualized view outside was also now failing, but through the chaos, Cad saw the missile get swallowed up by flying debris. It exploded, simply adding more shrapnel to the mass of metal fragments that were constantly thrashing their armor, whittling down their last line of defense, millimeter by millimeter. Cad was now helpless to prevent the base’s onslaught – his fate was in the hands of a higher power. Then the barrage stopped.

“We’re through their firing perimeter,” Draga called out, still with remarkable composure. “Shield integrity at ten percent. Cutting beams three through seven are down.” Suddenly, there was a harder and much more physical thump as the breaching pod made contact with the outer hull of the renegade base. “Lock and seal achieved. I’m initiating cutting and manual drilling. Standby, ninety seconds…”

Cad unclipped his harness and climbed out of the seat, as Draga hauled her new mystery weapon onto her shoulder. He grabbed the Black Prince sword and attached it to his armor, slinging the Electroblade over his back. If the Darkspace Renegades did send a combat bot at them, it would at least allow him the opportunity to test the experimental weapon’s true capabilities. Finally, he grabbed his rifle, holding it ready and beginning a series of deep, meditative breaths, mentally readying himself for battle.

Then another alert shrieked inside the cabin, and Cad’s gut tightened into a knot, realizing that it was a mayday. Alexis’ ship had been hit. Cad’s heart raced even faster as he hurriedly punched up the external feed, bringing the image of Alexis’ fighter into view. It was spinning away from the base, out of control and with smoke billowing from its aft section.

“Alexis!” Cad yelled over the comm channel, but he received only static in reply. “Alexis, give me a status report, now!” Still, there was only static in reply. “Alexis!”

Cad hammered his fist into the console, pulverizing it with the enhanced strength of his armored gauntlet, sending sparks and shards of plastic and metal flying. Then the lights dimmed and turned red as the breaching pod finally finished cutting and drilling through the outer hull of the renegade base. The access tunnel extended, creating a conduit through which Cad and Draga could directly infiltrate the command operations center.

Draga made a move toward the opening, but this time, Cad was quicker. His blood was pumping, adrenaline was surging, and his fears were calcifying into rage. He discarded the rifle and drew the Black Prince sword from its scabbard. The renegades had now made it personal, and his reprisal would be equally intimate. The rifle was too quick – too easy. Cad wanted to see the life leave his enemy’s eyes, and to feel their last breath on his face as he slid the blade deeper into their flesh.

Cad stood on the threshold then launched his body through the opening and into the Darkspace Renegade hideout. The mission was no longer at the forefront of his mind. Now his mind and body were gripped only with a hunger for retribution.

18

Cad Rikkard landed on the deck of the renegade command operations center like a Greek god descending to Earth from Olympus. The sudden shock arrival of the sword-wielding mercenary in shimmering power armor stunned the renegades and gave Cad the opening he needed to attack.

Advancing with his sword raised, Cad cut down the first two renegades with a brutal combination of strikes, driven by the anger and terror that was fueling his bloodlust. Bullets pinged off his armor, but he ignored the danger and vaulted the outer row of consoles, driving the blade hilt-deep into the chest of a third man.

The renegades began to mobilize and Cad could hear their frantic calls for help, directed down the connecting corridor to the main part of the base. More bullets landed on his armor, and Cad swung again and again, first removing a renegade’s arm below the shoulder before practically cleaving another in half; such was the unrestrained ferocity of his blows. Renegades fled from his path as Cad advanced toward the commander in the center of the room. More shots landed and Cad felt the bite of pain, but nothing was going to stop his relentless advance. The edge of the Black Prince sword was wet with the blood of two more renegades before there was another resonant thud on the deck plating. Draga Vex had arrived, mystery weapon slung across her back and shotgun in hand. Deafening booms drowned out the panicked shouts of the terrified renegades as Draga unloaded into the room. For once, her bloodlust was at a level below that of her leader’s. Cad could see that she was careful to avoid taking out the commander – more careful than Cad was able to be at that moment, such was the overwhelming influence of his fury.

Draga advanced, taking down four then five then six renegades before she stood at the entrance to the connecting tunnel. There she unslung the equipment from her back and set it down, then pressed a single red button on the top. Cad finally realized what it was, and were he less filled with bile, he would have commended Draga for her ingenuity and foresight. However, there was no room in his thoughts for anything other than Alexis and murder.

The sentry turret unfurled from its inactive state, dropping spidery legs onto the deck before a powerful automatic cannon rose from the central column. Renegades started to pour down the corridor, unaware of the trap that Draga had laid for them. A second later, the turret had tracked its first target and begun to fire. Leaving the automated weapon to deal with the choke point, Draga moved into the side rooms that were linked to the operations center, calmly reloading her shotgun as she moved.

Cad was hit from the rear and turned to see a renegade feebly attempting to crack his armor with a piece of twisted metal from a collapsed section of roof. Grabbing the renegade by the neck with his left hand, Cad lifted the helpless man off the deck, tightening his hold as he did so until he heard the throat collapse and the neck snap. Tossing the man away like a piece of garbage, Cad leapt over the final row of consoles to the backdrop of Draga’s booming shotgun and the rapid pounding thump of the sentry turret.

“Shut down the outer defenses and seal this room!” Cad growled, aiming the tip of his blood-stained sword at the base commander’s neck. He was now the only renegade left alive in the entire operations center.

The renegade commander vacillated, seemingly torn between bravely resisting Cad’s threats and capitulating to the mercenary’s demands. It was a choice between selfless duty and self-preservation. Normally, Cad would have encouraged his enemy to see reason and to graciously admit their defeat. He was not a monster or a crude implement of destruction. Any thug could kill. Cad Rikkard’s skill was in making his enemies realize the certainty of their death and to recognize his superiority. He wanted them to stoop and prostrate themselves before him prior to ending their lives with honor. Not this time. This time, Cad would make them suffer.

Driving the tip of the blade into the commander’s shoulder, Cad reiterated his order. “Shut it down and seal that door, now!” he barked, continuing to press the razor-sharp metal through the man’s flesh as he spat each word. The blade had now penetrated through the rear of the commander’s shoulder, blood pouring from the tip.

Mewling muted screams of anguish, the commander struggled over to his console and entered a sequence of commands. Moments later, a heavy blast door thudded down, closing off the corridor linking the operations center to the main base. The sentry stopped firing and emitted a deep, whirring groan as its motors relaxed like aching muscles. The barrel was glowing red like a hot poker, yet the weapon had already left its mark.

Cad checked the watch built into his armor, which was linked to the sensors in his fighter, and confirmed that the outer defense turrets had powered down.

“I’ve done… what you asked…” the commander said, face still contorted in agony. “Spare my people… I will… order them to… stand down!”

The renegade’s pitiful pleas for mercy merely served to further enrage Cad. He slowly removed the blade from the man’s shoulder and allowed the commander to slump forward onto the console, clutching his wound and gasping for breath.

“Is this your main command computer?” Cad asked, tapping the console with the sword.

A twisted frown was added to the commander’s already tortured expression. “Yes, but…”

Cad did not allow the man to finish the sentence. Spinning on his heels, he swung the Black Prince sword and removed the commander’s head in a single clean strike.

No sooner had the severed head hit the deck than an alarm sounded, except this time, it was not coming from any of the consoles. He peered down at the headless body and saw that the watch on the commander’s wrist was pulsing red.

A life signs monitor… Cad realized before a powerful mechanical thud shook the room, centered on a large metal door to the rear. Cad knew what was coming. He’d faced one before. This time, however, he was more than ready for it.

The heavy door slid open and the colossal metal frame of an Achilles Seven UGV stepped through, sparked into action by the death of the base commander. Cad placed the Black Prince down on the command console and advanced toward the powerful combat bot, slowly drawing the Electroblade from its sheath on his back as he did so. The weapon was a sword in everything but name, with one major difference, which was that its blade could be charged with electrical energy.

Cad twisted the activation ring at the base of the hilt and heard the crackle of energy enliven the edge. Vaulting the row of consoles, his advance seemed to confuse the mighty combat machine, whose twisted logic circuits perhaps expected Cad to retreat rather than attack. They met in a clear section of the deck, in front of the layers of computers, all of which were now devoid of any potential spectators.

The Achilles Seven attacked first, driving toward Cad with arms swinging, but he evaded the strikes and rolled past the machine. The Electroblade flashed through the air, striking the combat bot’s shoulder and producing an intense spark of energy. Residual crackles of electricity rippled through its frame, and it appeared momentarily stunned.

Cad attacked again, but his eagerness got the better of him, and the bot’s breeze-block-sized hand hammered into Cad’s armored chest. He was thrown through the air, colliding hard with the metal panels forming the outer-row of computer consoles. He tasted blood, but it only made his desire to destroy even stronger. Pushing himself upright, he advanced again, blocking the bot’s next strike with his reinforced forearm. The armor cracked and buckled, unable to repel the colossal might of the Achilles Seven, but Cad had no intention of winning a battle of strength. Raising the Electroblade high, he brought the crackling blade down onto the machine’s faceless cranial unit. The entire body of the Achilles Seven crackled and sparked as the blade dumped its charge into the machine’s circuits, but Cad continued to press down, gritting his teeth and forcing the suit to give him every last watt of power it could muster. The Achilles Seven crumbled to its knees and slumped forward, cranial unit bowed low. Cad released the weapon from his grasp as the Electroblade fizzed and sparked, smoke rising from the handle. The grip then blew itself apart, like a firecracker exploding.

“Cad…”

Cad stopped dead, leaving the now broken weapon impaled deep into the machine. Standing tall and perfectly still, he listened again for the voice.

“Cad, do you read me?”

Cad’s eyes widened as he realized it was the voice of Alexis Black. “Yes, I read you Alexis,” he replied, rushing his words out. “What’s your condition?”

“I’m hurt…” said Alexis, sounding weak but not afraid. “I crashed on the moon’s surface. Location unknown. All power has failed.”

“Hang tight, Alexis, I’m coming!” cried Cad, raising his wrist and recalling his fighter with a single command from his watch.

Draga Vex reentered the command operation center and inspected the carnage before she addressed Cad. “The rest of them are dead, but that door won’t hold the others forever,” she said, again with the cool clinicality that Cad expected of her. “Any news of Alexis?” she added, allowing a hint of concern to bleed into her voice.

“She’s alive, for now,” said Cad, vaulting the rows of computer consoles to reach Draga’s side.

“She is strong,” said Draga. “She’ll live.”

Cad nodded then recovered his Black Prince sword and sheathed it before tapping a finger on the command computer.

“Recall your ship, and load this onto it,” Cad said, turning back toward the breaching pod.

“Stay on your guard; they could still launch their fighters,” said Draga, not questioning where Cad was going.

Cad knew she would have guessed his intentions and would never try to talk him out of his decision. However, Draga had a far cooler head than Cad at that moment, and she was right to warn him. He knew the odds of taking out a squadron of renegade fighters on his own were slim, but this time, he didn’t care about the odds. Nothing would stop him from rescuing Alexis.

Cad leapt up and grabbed the edge of the breaching pod, pulling himself inside. “Find me when you’re done here. I may need your help,” he called back to Draga through the opening.

Draga nodded. “I’ll see you out there,” she said, turning to the computer and beginning the task of forcing it free of its mounting.

Cad felt and heard the thump of his fighter docking to the breaching pod, and was about to enter the main compartment when he had a final thought. Ducking back inside the command operations center, he called over to Draga. The mercenary turned and awaited his order patiently. Her killing spree had sated her hunger, at least for now, Cad realized.

“Once you’re off this base, I want you to reduce it to dust,” Cad said, his mind returning to his mission and his plan, now that he knew Alexis was still alive. “Send them a message. Nuke the damn base and everyone still in it.”

19

Cad Rikkard thumped his fist on the door to Falken’s lair for the fifth time. Each successive bout of hammering had been harder than the last, and now his hand throbbed. A light dusting of snow had already coated his flight suit and hair while he’d been waiting, and the cold was quickly seeping into his bones.

“Come on, damn you!” Cad snapped as he thumped his fist again. Then he felt a thud on his back, and he quickly drew his pistol and spun around, pulse quickening at the anticipation of an attack. However, all he discovered was the remains of an icy snowball stuck to the back of his shoulder. He glanced up at the innocent-looking face of Alexis Black before casting his eyes across to Draga.

“Don’t look at me…” said Draga huffily, while Alexis faced away, pretending to inspect her nails, despite the fact that she was wearing gloves.

“Shouldn’t you still be on bed rest?” Cad called over to Alexis, who mimed a “who, me?” gesture in response. Then the heavy metal door to Falken’s lair finally creaked open.

“At last. I’ve been freezing my ass off out here!” Cad barked, shoving the door open wider. He picked up the command computer that Draga had removed from the renegade base and stepped past Falken into the warmth of her mountain den.

“I told you, it takes me a while to get down here,” said Falken. She was unapologetic, but also unfazed by Cad’s rudeness.

“Couldn’t you install an automatic door buzzer or something?” Draga chipped in, also walking inside while irritably brushing the snow from her black one-piece jumpsuit.

Alexis walked in next, wound-dressings visible on her neck and chest, extending inside her flight suit.

“You look like you’ve been in the wars,” said Falken, observing Alexis’ various injuries as the mercenary closed the heavy metal door behind her.

“Always…” Alexis replied, winking at Falken and sashaying along the corridor in pursuit of Cad and Draga.

Lugging the heavy command computer console through the maze-like structure of the lair was more challenging than Cad had anticipated, and he wished he’d worn his power armor. Eventually, he reached Falken’s mezzanine-level working space and dumped the bulky piece of equipment on the floor. Another twentieth century movie was playing on the old-fashioned cinema screen. The movie involved a couple of teenagers messing around on an ancient-looking computer in what appeared to be the boy’s bedroom. On the screen was an extremely basic wireframed representation of the United States and the old Soviet Union, with what looked like random numbers underneath. Cad scowled, but almost at the same time, Alexis chirruped an excited noise as she entered the mezzanine and saw the movie playing. She then wasted no time in hurrying over to the enormous selection of drinks and snacks that Falken kept stocked up on the side wall. She grabbed a luminous orange soda and a large bag of popcorn before seating herself on the sofa in front of the screen.

“That crap’s no good for you,” commented Cad as Alexis pulled open the silver-foil bag.

“It’s medicinal,” said Alexis with a shrug, tossing some popcorn into her mouth.

Meanwhile, Falken had been busy connecting the command computer to a device nestled alongside her primary system, using an array of brightly-colored cables.

“Can I keep this?” said Falken, gently patting the command computer as if it were a puppy. “Once I’m done getting the information you need, I mean.”

Cad shrugged. “I don’t give a damn what you do with it,” he answered brusquely. Then he scowled, intrigued by the request, and added, “Why? What good is that beat-up old thing to you?”

“You’re kidding! This ‘beat-up old thing’ is an IMSAI 8A-8A,” Falken said as her various physical and holographic screens flickered into life. She flopped down into her chair in front of them before adding, “It’s the last system they designed before the Consortium bought out the company and gained a monopoly on all computer hardware.”

Cad shrugged again. “So? So what?”

Falken interrupted her work to peer up at Cad, regarding him in the same way that someone might look at a peculiar piece of abstract art.

“All of Doyle’s computers have tracking tech built in,” said Falken, clearly surprised that this was information Cad didn’t know. “Whoever your renegade head honcho is, he’s as smart as they come for using this baby,” Falken added, patting the computer again. “With this, you can interface with the BridgeNet without being snooped on. You have no idea the trouble I go to in order to circumvent the Consortium’s spyware.”

Cad shook his head and sighed. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Doyle would be secretly mining private information in the way Falken had described, but it still made him uncomfortable. It also explained how the multi-trillionaire always seemed to know where he’d been and what he was up to.

“I don’t suppose any of these gadgets can stop that rich asshole from snooping on me and my crew?” Cad asked, picking up one of a dozen anonymous-looking pieces of equipment on Falken’s desk.

“I can give you something that’ll circumvent most of their tech, yeah,” said Falken, who was now working at an almost frenetic pace. Then she stopped typing for a second and looked up at Cad, smiling. “For a price…”

Cad’s watch bleeped and he checked the screen before cursing. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered, more to himself than to Falken, then turned back to the genius hacker. “Get me three of them. I’ll pay whatever you want,” Cad said, causing Falken’s smile to widen further. Then he walked away, searching for a place where he could speak to Doyle without being overheard.

Cad paused alongside Draga, who had been observing the exchange from a distance, ever watchful, ever vigilant. “Keep an eye on her,” he said in a hushed voice. “I have to speak to Doyle.”

“I will,” replied Draga, but then her eyes sharpened and jaw tightened as she nodded toward Cad’s still flashing watch. “He’s becoming a problem. This job is spiraling out of control.”

“We can handle it,” Cad hit back, keen to quash any suggestion that they might walk away. “And I can handle Doyle.” Draga nodded respectfully, and Cad took a step away, but then paused and turned back to her. “But, just in case things do go south quickly, we need a contingency plan.”

“I already have something in mind,” Draga replied. The lack of any hesitation suggested that whatever Draga had in mind was something she’d been thinking about for some time already.

Cad grunted an acknowledgement then moved past Alexis, who was too consumed with the movie and her snacks to notice his departure. He hurried down the metal staircase leading off the mezzanine level and found a concealed spot next to a sealed-up elevator door. Judging that the location would offer some level of privacy, he slid his virtualization glasses out of his breast pocket and slipped them on before answering the call from Damien Doyle.

“Catch you at a bad time, Mr. Rikkard?” said Doyle as the image of the multi-trillionaire businessman sitting at his desk in his giant study materialized. The unique personal protection bot stood dutifully behind and to his side.

“I wouldn’t have answered if it was a bad time,” Cad replied. Already, he could feel his pulse start to quicken, preparing for whatever slights and threats the magnate would level at him this time.

“I need you to go to Fortuna at once,” Doyle went on, for once getting straight to the point without any unnecessary pomp. “The renegades who were snooping around on Pales have been spotted en route there.”

Cad shrugged. “So send one of your CSF squadrons or alert the local enforcers. That’s work well below my pay-grade.”

Doyle’s eyes narrowed and he began to rub his knuckles, a clear sign of irritation that Cad had noticed him doing before. He realized he should probably soften his tone a touch, but Alexis had almost died during his last mission. Were it not for the state-of-the-art automated medical pod that Cad had installed on his ship, she might not have made it.

“It is not that simple, Mr. Rikkard,” Doyle said, growing impatient. “I have important facilities on Fortuna that house some extremely sensitive information. Should the renegades be in search of this facility, I need them dealt with swiftly, and by a professional. And, as ever, without anything coming back on me.”

Cad’s eyebrows raised up a little. A compliment was the last thing he expected to hear out of Doyle’s mouth. However, he was still angry about Alexis, and couldn’t help pushing his luck.

“Why not ask Group-X?” Cad said with more snark than he’d intended. Though he liked to believe otherwise, Cad held long grudges, and Doyle’s previous threat of replacing him with a rival mercenary company still grated on him. “Give them a call,” Cad went on. “I hear they’re permanently available, since no one is dumb enough to hire them.”

“Enough games, Mr. Rikkard!” Doyle snapped, slamming his hand down on the desk, causing ornaments to jostle and a photo to topple over. The personal protection bot to Doyle’s rear also jerked into life momentarily before quietly standing down again when it realized there was no threat. “The information in question is far too sensitive to risk sending an enforcer squad. I would have to spend days personally vetting the candidates. You may be arrogant and discourteous, Mr. Rikkard, but you are also proficient and discreet, and you know what’s in your best interests.” Doyle then reached over to a computer console and tapped a sequence of commands. A few seconds later, Cad’s watch bleeped, notifying him that data had been received. “Do not forget that you are in my employ, Mr. Rikkard,” Doyle added darkly. “And do not forget our earlier conversations either.”

Cad snorted a laugh. Doyle had got to the insults and threats eventually, he realized. “Look, I don’t have time to chase around the galaxy fixing the problems that your enforcers are too inept to deal with themselves,” Cad answered. “Do you want me to take out the renegade hideouts and get Dr. Rand or not?”

Doyle rose from his seat and aimed a finger at Cad. “You would do well to watch your tone,” Doyle said, the muscles in his lanky body tense and his jaw tight. “Now get to Fortuna at once. You may travel via the Centrum bridge in order to expedite your journey. I have already sanctioned it.”

Cad’s eyes narrowed. How does he know that travelling via the Centrum is my quickest route to Fortuna? he wondered. Then he remembered what Falken had said earlier about all of Doyle’s tracking tech, and anger swelled inside him again.

“Fine, I’ll leave right away,” Cad replied, pulling off his glasses and terminating the call. He remained in the dark corner of Falken’s base for some time – it could have been seconds, or a few minutes, he didn’t know – meditating on the trajectory of the mission. Draga, as usual, had been right. The mission was heading toward a dark place, though what final form it would adopt was still unclear. However, what was clear was that he was in too deep to walk away. To do so would cost him his reputation, and that was something he’d never sacrifice. Doyle was a problem – Draga had been right about him too – but the multi-trillionaire mogul was a problem for another time. Heading back up the metal stairwell to the mezzanine, Cad saw Falken excitedly waving him over.

“I’m starting to get some data,” Falken said as Cad drew alongside. She was fizzing even more than her sickly-sweet beverage. “It’s incredible stuff. Who would have believed that Dr. Shelby Rand was the renegade’s leader! That’s just wild! I can’t wait to get this news out on the Dark BridgeNet.”

Falken then lifted a cup to her lips and sucked a fizzy green liquid though a long, red straw. Without a word of warning, Cad drew his sword and swung it toward Falken’s neck, stopping less than an inch away from her throat. Green liquid oozed out of the thick straw, which had been sliced in half. One section remained pushed through the lid of the cup, while the other was still pressed between Falken’s lips.

“You will reveal that information to no one, do you understand?” Cad said, speaking the words calmly and with authority, but without aggression.

Falken let the straw fall from her lips before returning a series of short, staccato nods. “You got it. No problem at all,” she replied, and perhaps for the first time since Cad had met her, the eccentric hacker actually appeared afraid.

Cad held the blade to her neck for a few seconds longer before he drew it back and sheathed the sword. “Contact me as soon as you have the co-ordinates of the first renegade base,” he said, pointing to the command computer. “I have to leave now. I have a pointless errand to run for an old fool.”

Draga Vex appeared at Cad’s side. “Where are we headed this time?” she asked.

“Fortuna,” said Cad, releasing an agitated sigh. “Our renegade friends are up to something.”

Alexis Black also now joined him, apparently having sensed Cad’s change in temperament, as she was adept at doing. All traces of her playful mood had already vanished, and she looked ready for a fight. Cad often likened Alexis to a switchblade – innocuous one moment and deadly the next. It was another thing about her that he loved.

“Let me know when you have those gadgets,” Cad said, again addressing Falken. “I’m sick of Doyle seeming to always know where I am.”

“These will do it,” said Falken, pointing to three identical black modules that she’d apparently set out on the desk while Cad had been gone. “They won’t completely shield you from the Consortium’s spidery reach, but it will make it a whole hell of a lot harder – and slower – for them to track and trace your movements.”

Cad grunted and collected the devices, handing one each to Alexis and Draga. He then drew in a deep breath before asking, “How much?”

Falken held out a small computer pad, and Cad took it, reading the number and then laughing boisterously. “You’re a bigger damn crook than Doyle himself,” he said, transferring the money but using his own personal account, rather than Doyle’s traceable war kitty.

“I’ll transmit the first co-ordinates as soon as I retrieve them,” Falken said, taking the pad back with a broad smile on her face.

“I’ll be waiting,” replied Cad, again fixing his cold, serious eyes onto the hacker. “And remember what I told you. I’d hate to have to reduce this little mountain den of yours to a radioactive pile of dust.”

Falken’s uncommon silence was enough to let Cad know the hacker had understood his warning, and that it was no idle threat. Cad Rikkard then turned to leave, with Alexis Black and Draga Vex following perfectly in-step behind him.

20

After completing their narrow escape from Pales, Hallam and Dakota had diverted to Fortuna, as per Dr. Rand’s instructions. However, much to Dakota’s relief, the scientist had decided not to accompany them on their new mission to infiltrate Damien Doyle’s secret data bunker to steal the data concerning the alien probe’s location. Instead, they had rendezvoused with another renegade fighter in the Darkspace so that Dr. Rand could be transported back to her hideout.

Hallam recalled the anticipation on Dakota’s face as they had approached the rendezvous fighter. She had clearly been hoping that the pilot was Ruby Rivas. However, Dakota’s excitement had quickly ebbed as it became clear that the flyer was from the reserve squadron on Dr. Rand’s Darkspace hideout. During their time on Pales, Dakota had talked of her sadness over her falling out with Ruby. They had still not spoken to one another, or even seen each other, since their clash on the hideout, after Ruby had destroyed a retreating CSF fighter against Dakota’s orders. However, a reconciliation with Ruby was the least of their problems. First, they had to complete their heist on Fortuna. After their excitement on Pales, Hallam had considered it a definite case of “out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

Hallam and Dakota’s new target was a Consortium office block in one of Fortuna’s many financial districts. Simply reaching the building had not been a simple task. The colonies on Fortuna were some of the wealthiest and highly-developed in all the bridge worlds, on account of the predominantly high-tech, high-worth industries that had located themselves on the planet. As such, security was tight, which meant that they couldn’t simply fly into the city’s commercial spaceport in a heavily armed space fighter, as if they were no different to a passenger transport. Instead, they’d landed in a secluded valley system on the outskirts of the city and walked into one of the suburban areas. From there, they’d taken a public transport into the district center. Both had still attracted plenty of attention, in the form of inquisitive and anxious looks from other transport passengers. Neither Hallam nor Dakota were wearing their renegade armor, but their base-layer flight suits still contrasted starkly with the crisp uniforms and stylish workwear of most Fortunans. The journey had been tiring, but thankfully, Hallam knew that their plan to get off Fortuna again involved considerably less effort, albeit with a proportionately higher level of danger.

It was three o’clock in the morning, Fortunan time, and the clean streets of the financial district were dark and quiet. The Consortium building itself was as nondescript as a square block of concrete. However, harsh lights illuminated the sidewalks surrounding it, in addition to all the doors and emergency exits, making it impossible for anyone to creep up on it unseen. As Hallam studied the structure in more detail, he noted that there were no signs or identifying logos on the structure at all. It was simply an anonymous black obelisk, shrouded in privacy glass to ensure no-one on the outside could see in.

Hallam crept along a nearby alley, his back pressed against the wall, and peeked around the corner toward the fenced-off rear courtyard of the Consortium building. Dakota Wulfrun inched up behind Hallam, her back also pressed to the wall to stay out of sight.

“How many guards are there?” Dakota asked, unable to see past Hallam.

“None, at least none that are human anyway,” Hallam replied, ducking back into the alley and pressing his back flat to the wall again. “But there are plenty of cameras covering the gates and the doors, and there’s a security drone buzzing around too. That’s a lot of security for such a boring-looking building, in the middle of a boring district.”

Dakota nodded. “Dr. Rand was right. Whatever is in that building must be important.”

Dakota unslung a compact backpack she was wearing and began to remove the various items Dr. Rand had given them prior to her departure. The genius scientist had surprised Hallam on Pales with her ability to hack the security systems. And she surprised him again by equipping them with the tools and gizmos necessary to achieve the same level of stealth on Fortuna. However, due to the more sophisticated security on the high-tech world, compared to Pales, the hardware required to ensure their covert progress inside the Consortium building had to be similarly upgraded.

“I hope these things work,” said Hallam, attaching another one of the many sensor jammers to his clothes in the locations Dr. Rand had indicated. They were innocuous, matte-silver metal circles that automatically pinned themselves through the fabric as Hallam pressed them in place. He now had these circles dotted all over his body, so that he looked like a Hollywood motion-capture actor about to go on set.

“If Dr. Rand designed them, then I’m sure they work,” replied Dakota, who was also busy undertaking the same task. Then she shuffled around and held out a palmful of the circles to Hallam. “Can you add the last ones to my back? I can’t reach.”

Hallam took the sensors from Dakota and started to dot them onto her shoulders, moving down her back to her hips. He smiled as he got to the last one, which he attached firmly before tickling Dakota’s sides.

Dakota spun around and almost slapped him, full force, around the face. “Cut it out, will you?” she snapped, though she was trying – and failing – to suppress a smile too. “We’re supposed to be undercover, not clowning around.”

Hallam raised his hands apologetically. “Sorry, Dak. Though if these sensor jammers don’t work, our careers as spies will be pretty short lived…”

Dr. Rand had explained that the sensor jammers would create a short-range bubble of interference around their bodies, which would temporarily blind nearby cameras inside the building. To any remote observer, they’d just look like glitches or localized distortions on the security feeds.

Hallam finished off his new stealthy ensemble by pulling on a full-cover balaclava, which would have looked a bit like a ski-mask were it not for the matte-silver sensor patches dotted around it. Dakota laughed as Hallam looked back at her with only his eyes visible through the narrow window in the headgear.

“You look like you’re about to rob a bank,” she said, grinning.

Hallam picked up the second balaclava and tossed it at Dakota. “Well, let’s see if you look any better,” he hit back.

Dakota pulled on the headgear, and Hallam studied her for a moment, making a show of stroking his chin thoughtfully, since his actual facial expressions were hidden under the fabric.

“I never noticed before, but you have really shifty-looking eyes, did you know that?” said Hallam, receiving a jab to his arm for his trouble.

Dakota then reached over to Hallam and flipped a switch sewn into the neck of the garment. Hallam could feel his skin tingle as energy filled the little metal patches covering his body.

“We only have a couple of hours before the power runs out on these things,” Dakota said, activating her own array of sensor jammers. “After that, we’re visible to the security feeds.” Dakota then removed the last couple of items from the bag and handed one of the devices to Hallam. “This should hack any locks we come across.”

Hallam took the device and pushed it into his thigh pocket. “I preferred the version where the Doc just hacked the security systems from her palm computer,” he said, taking another peek around the corner. “It beats all this sneaking around. We’re renegades, not ninjas.”

Dakota stood and threw the backpack on again, pulling the straps tight. “Well, tonight, we’re renegade ninjas,” she replied, holding up a spherical object about the size of a baseball.

“What’s that thing?” said Hallam, feeling the need to edge away from the device for fear of it exploding in his face.

“The sensor jammers work well when we’re indoors,” Dakota explained, “but to get past the outer security perimeter, we need a bigger burst of interference to blind the cameras and that drone.” Then she met Hallam’s eyes and added, “Are you ready? We’ll only have about two minutes once this thing goes off to get over that fence and inside.”

Hallam also rose to his feet and then stretched and flexed his legs and arms. “Last one inside buys the drinks…” he said.

Dakota smiled. “You’re on. And you’ll also lose…”

Hallam expected that Dakota probably felt as anxious as he did, but he figured stoking the friendly rivalry between them was a good way to motivate them both.

Dakota compressed two buttons on the top and bottom of the device, darted out of the alley, and lobbed the metal sphere toward the building. Hallam snuck a look and watched the orb sail over the fence and land in the courtyard before spikes jutted out from its surface, preventing it from rolling away into a dark corner. Dakota looked at her watch, which then bleeped twice.

“The jammer is active; we go on three…” she said, her voice urgent. Then she started a countdown. “Three… Two…”

The “one” never came, because Dakota had already raced out of the alley and was hurtling toward the tall wire fence.

“Damn cheater!” cursed Hallam, realizing that Dakota had tricked him in order to get a head-start and win their bet. Perhaps the challenge wasn’t such a good idea after all…” he thought as he raced out after her.

Dakota was already halfway up the fence by the time Hallam reached the bottom. He leapt up onto it, digging his fingers through the gaps.

“What took you so long?” Dakota called down to him, though despite Hallam’s best efforts, he couldn’t gain on her.

Through the fence, Hallam could see a little a ring of light pulsing around the metal sphere, which seemed to be getting faster the higher he climbed.

“One minute,” said Dakota, who was already over the fence and descending even faster than she’d climbed. “Get a move on!”

Hallam’s fingers were already burning as he reached the top and threw himself over. The dense fabric of his flight suit prevented the metal barbs on the apex from penetrating through, but it still felt like his body was being used as a pin cushion. He heard Dakota’s boots thud onto the asphalt and quickened his descent, but then slipped and fell. Hallam hit the ground hard but managed to roll through, sparing himself from a sprained ankle, or worse, a broken bone. He heard Dakota’s boots screech to a stop, but he hauled himself up and waved her on.

“Keep going. I’m fine,” cried Hallam, though in truth, he was badly winded and pain was still shooting through his legs and knees.

Dakota hesitated then continued over to the back door, pulling out Dr. Rand’s lock-cracker device and applying it to the door mechanism.

Hallam dragged himself to his feet and staggered on, noting that the ring of light surrounding the metal orb was now spinning so fast that it had almost turned solid.

“It’s not working…” said Dakota as Hallam finally reached her side.

Hallam immediately saw the problem and plucked the device from the lock before re-attaching it to the top corner of the door.

“The lock electronics are usually embedded far away from the handle to foil unwary thieves like yourself,” Hallam said, using the brief downtime to rub his aching knees.

Dakota’s eyebrows raised up, disappearing beneath the fabric of the balaclava. “And you know this how? From your childhood days spent robbing neighbors’ houses?”

The device bleeped softly and Hallam reached up, plucking it off the door. “Hey, I wasn’t always a tanker gunner, you know?” said Hallam, handing the device back to her. “Let’s just say I’ve picked up a few tricks along the way.”

Hallam pushed opened the door and slipped inside, with Dakota close behind, but then she stopped and knelt down. Hallam was about to ask what the hell she was doing, when Dakota tapped her watch, and the spidery legs of the little sphere retracted. Then, as if it had a life of its own, the sphere rolled toward the door, where Dakota scooped it up as if it were a pet welcoming her home after a hard day at work.

“Something tells me that this isn’t your first espionage rodeo either…” said Hallam as Dakota closed the door.

Dakota shrugged innocently. “You’re not the only one with skeletons in your closet, Hal.”

Hallam snorted a laugh, and then watched as Dakota projected a simple wireframed holographic schematic of the building from her watch.

“The central data core seems to take up the entire basement level,” said Dakota, holding up the last of the mysterious devices that Dr. Rand had given them. “We get inside, head straight to the core, and plug this in.”

“Really? That’s all there is to it?” said Hallam, figuring that it should have been much more difficult to steal secrets from Damien Doyle’s clandestine offline data bunker.

“That’s all there is to it when you have a bunch of unique tech gizmos developed over decades by the galaxy’s smartest person, yes,” replied Dakota.

When Hallam thought about it like that, it made more sense. However, he still had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Footsteps echoed along the corridor and Hallam saw the flicker of a flashlight in the distance. They both quickly diverted down an adjoining corridor, and Hallam chanced a look back, spotting a CSF Enforcer heading their way.

“Can Dr. Rand’s genius devices stop us from getting shot by the building’s enforcers?” asked Hallam sarcastically.

“You’re welcome to find out,” said Dakota, moving along the corridor in the opposite direction, following the map on her watch. “Here…” she said, attaching the lock-cracking device to a plain-looking metal door.

Hallam again adjusted the location of the device, receiving a glower from Dakota for his trouble, and then frowned. “Are you sure this is it? It looks like the door to a storage closet to me.”

The footsteps began to grow louder, but the device still hadn’t completed its work. Hallam shuffled quietly to the end of the corridor and snuck another look. The enforcer was about twenty meters away, moving from door to door and checking each one diligently.

Then the device bleeped and Hallam saw Dakota hurriedly remove it from the door. Hallam moved back as quickly as he could without making too much noise, and arrived just as Dakota tried the handle. It twisted and Dakota smiled, pulling the door open. Then her smile faded.

Hallam felt his stomach sink as he peered inside at the rows upon rows of shelving racks filled with cleaning products. There was also a low-level sink and tap, and a small army of cleanerbots.

“Damn it, I hate it when you’re right,” said Dakota.

Hallam might have found her outburst funny, had it not been for the flickering flashlight creeping ever closer through the darkness. Then he had a thought, remembering back to one of his CSF training sessions, which had covered smugglers and the various ways they hid contraband from CSF patrols. Hallam smiled as the idea took form, then stepped inside the closet, beckoning Dakota to follow him.

“This isn’t high school, Hal,” Dakota said, looking at him like he was mad, or about to make a move on her, or both. “And this is hardly the time...”

Hallam shook his head, taking Dakota’s hand and pulling her inside. Before she’d had a chance to protest, Hallam had closed the door, pitching them into complete darkness.

“If you try to kiss me, I’ll punch you really hard where it hurts,” said Dakota, leaving Hallam in no doubt as to her sincerity.

The footsteps grew louder outside, and Hallam could hear the rattle of door knobs as the enforcer continued his rounds. Hallam activated the torch on his watch and pressed a finger to his lips to stop Dakota from uttering any further protests. He then crept to the back of the room, shining the intense beam at the floor and walls.

“What are you doing?” whispered Dakota as the rattle of door handles grew louder.

Hallam kept quiet and continued to scour the closet before he found what he was looking for – a seam in the wall. It was only faint but definitely visible under the powerful white light of the torch, and as he ran a finger along it, he could feel it too.

“Give me the lock cracker thing,” Hallam whispered back to Dakota, who was holding it in her hand. Dakota handed over the device, still looking like she’d been trapped in a lunatic asylum and locked inside with the inmates. Hallam moved the device over the wall, following the seam, all the while watching the indicator for any flicker of activity. Then he saw the lights pulse briefly, and he smiled again, locking the device in position, and watching as it set to work.

Suddenly, the door handle of the closet rattled, and Dakota jumped, knocking into the shelving rack. A bottle fell from a high shelf, but incredibly, she caught it – a pure reflex catch that may well have saved their lives. They both froze, and Hallam even thought that his heart had stopped beating.

The silence persisted for a few more seconds before a voice said, “Is anyone in there?”

Hallam grimaced and peered up at the device, which was still flashing chaotically.

“Damn cleaners left those infernal vacuum bots on again…” the voice grumbled from outside the door as chains rustled and keycards jostled.

The device bleeped and Hallam snatched it as the seam widened and a hidden doorway revealed itself. Sliding it open, Hallam waved frantically to Dakota to move inside. She did so, but then forgot that she was still holding the bottle she’d caught, and doubled back, placing it on the shelf.

The door knob rattled again, but the door itself remained closed. “I can never remember which one of these damn cards is the right one,” the voice muttered.

Dakota sped past Hallam and he was about to follow her inside, when he had another thought and stopped.

“Hal, what the hell!?” Dakota called out to him in a hushed but panicked cry.

Hallam moved up to one of the cleanerbots and quickly examined it, finding the master power switch. He flipped it on, and the little robot began to scuttle out of its stow. Hallam darted back into the hidden room just as the lock to the closet clicked open. He slid the false wall back, closing the gap at the same instant that the door opened and footsteps fell inside.

Hallam could hear the little cleanerbot buzzing around and getting to work on the tiny space it had been allotted to clean.

“Damn cleaners,” protested the voice of the enforcer, so loud and clear that he couldn’t have been more than a meter away. Then the cleanerbot fell silent and Hallam heard footsteps again, but this time growing quieter. A door slammed shut, and the sound of footsteps quickly vanished into the distance.

Dakota threw herself against the wall of the hidden room, the back of her head pressed against the smooth metal panel. Then she seemed to notice that Hallam was smiling at her – or at least his eyes were.

“What the hell is so amusing?” she snapped. “We were almost caught!”

“I was just thinking how, after how I heroically saved our asses, that you probably do want to kiss me now…” said Hallam cockily. It was meant as a joke – a bit of humor to cut through the tension, in a similar way to how the challenge to reach the building first had worked. However, the swift kick that Dakota delivered to Hallam’s groin suggested that, this time, she hadn’t seen the funny side.

21

The hidden room that Hallam had discovered inside the storage closet led on to an elevator. With the help of Dr. Rand’s hacking device, they were able to ride the elevator deep below the Consortium building and into the heart of Damien Doyle’s secret offline data bunker. It was a vast warehouse-like space, with rows upon rows of storage centers and servers, all of which housed the multi-trillionaire’s impressive collection of secrets. Dr. Rand had described the bunker as more than just a repository of Doyle’s critical business data from his thousands of companies, but also a repository of people’s lives too. Every interaction that touched one of Doyle’s businesses or technologies was recorded, analyzed, and stored, and used to make him richer and even more powerful than he already was.

“How are we supposed to find the one piece of information we need amongst all this?” said Hallam, who was crouched down behind one of the hundreds of data towers that occupied the upper level alone. The bunker extended another two levels below, each with the same number of flashing stacks of technology. It was dizzying to look at.

“Doyle keeps all his super-secret stuff in the central core,” said Dakota, pointing to a larger, cylindrical object in the dead center of the cavernous space. It was accessed by four gangways, suspended above the lower level. Each entry-point was gated, adding another layer of security, and yet another obstacle for them to overcome. “Once we get to the core, we just need to plug in Dr. Rand’s device, and it will do the rest.”

“That simple, huh?” said Hallam sarcastically while surveying their immediate location. There were cameras positioned all around them, including one pointing toward where they were currently crouched down. However, since the place hadn’t erupted into a ballad of alarm wails and flashing lights, he assumed that Dr. Rand’s sensor jammers were working as advertised.

Dakota lifted her watch, and four small objects shot out from each corner before buzzing away into the air above them, like flies. Hallam observed with interest as Dakota’s watch began to display a three-dimensional image of the data bunker, composited from the cameras and sensors built into the miniature devices.

“That’s a neat trick,” said Hallam, wondering how many other secret locations Dakota had infiltrated in a similar manner.

“If we zig-zag along these walkways, we can minimize the number of camera arcs we pass through,” said Dakota, highlighting the route on the screen. “Once we’re inside the data core, so long as we remain still, the cameras should just see us as a slightly fuzzy patch of distortion,” she went on before switching off the map and meeting Hallam’s eyes again. “The chances are that no-one in the security office will be looking closely enough to notice.”

Hallam nodded, though Dakota’s use of “should” and “chances are” highlighted just how much of a gamble they were taking.

Dakota took the lead, crouch-running along the maze of walkways, lined to either side by seemingly endless rows of flickering towers. Progress was swift and they quickly got within sight of the central core before a heavy thump caused them both to stop and freeze.

“What the hell was that?” said Dakota, trying to peer through a gap between two data towers to spot the source of the noise. However, they could barely see more than a few meters before the view was blocked by another stack of servers or data towers.

“Check your watch,” suggested Hallam, pointing to the device. “Maybe your little cameras can pick up whatever made the sound?”

Dakota nodded and worked quickly, bringing up the image before repositioning the mini-sensors. Hallam watched over her shoulder, but so far, besides the flickering lights of the towers, the bunker appeared to be still. Then Hallam thought he saw something, but in a flash, it was gone again.

“Wait, go back,” said Hallam. “I’m sure I saw something over toward the west wall, on the top level…”

Dakota repositioned the mini flying sensors, and the image of a woman came into view. She was carrying a portable computer and seemed to be inspecting one of the many clusters of towers.

“Damn it, she’s right above where we need to be,” said Dakota, again trying to peek through the data towers to see the woman with her own eyes. “If we move over to the central core now, then she could see us.”

Hallam shuffled to the end of the row of data towers and glanced up, spotting the woman on the upper walkway about thirty meters away. He cursed under his breath. Dakota was right, the woman was in a perfect position to see them. And, unlike with the bunker’s digital security cameras, their sensor jammers would do nothing to shield them from her eyes.

“Should we wait her out?” said Dakota, shuffling up behind Hallam.

Hallam thought about this for a moment, but then remembered what Dakota had said about the sensor jammers having only limited power cells.

“We have no way to know how long she’s going to be,” Hallam said, resting back on a data tower and meeting Dakota’s eyes. “And we don’t want to be stuck in here when the cells in these sensor jammers start to die.”

Hallam looked back at the data core and had an idea. It was a risk, but right now, everything they were doing hinged on the roll of a dice. He pulled his lock-cracking device out of his pocket, switched it on, then removed his boots.

“What are you going to do?” asked Dakota. She seemed to be intrigued by Hallam’s curious actions, but she was also clearly anxious.

Hallam readied himself to run at the gate, glancing back at Dakota. “Just some renegade ninja stuff,” he said, turning back to the data core and stealing one last glance up at the worker on the level above. Her back was turned, and Hallam decided to take his chance.

Running out on tip toes, without making a sound thanks to the soft fabric of his socks compared to the hard rubber soles of his boots, Hallam attached the lock-cracker device to the gate. He turned and headed back, stealing another quick look up at the woman to check that she was still facing away. However, averting his gaze, even for a second, caused him to veer off course, and he walked into the end of the row of data towers. Stifling a cry, he felt a hand grab his arm and yank him out of view of the woman.

“So much for being a renegade ninja…” Dakota whispered, but then the sound of shoes clacking on the hard flooring prompted both to fall silent.

“Hello?” a well-spoken female voice shouted. “Is there anyone down there?”

Hallam held his breath and didn’t move a muscle. He even closed his eyes, as if he was an ostrich and the act of blinding himself to the outside world would make the woman go away. Then the footsteps clacked away again, and Hallam exhaled before resting his head back against the data tower.

“Maybe leave the renegade ninja stuff to me from now on, you great klutz,” said Dakota, though it was said with warmth and no small measure of relief.

Hallam heard the faint bleep of the lock-cracker device completing its task and the gate clicked open. He glanced up again to where the woman had been, but she’d now moved elsewhere, out of view.

“After you, renegade ninja master…” said Hallam, opening his palm toward the data tower before pulling his boots back on.

Dakota crept through the open gate with Hallam close behind, though he was now watching where he walked with an almost obsessive attentiveness. Wasting no time, Dakota removed the device that Dr. Rand had given her and inserted it into a data access port in the core.

“Any idea how long that thing will take?” said Hallam, resting up against the massive cylindrical column.

“No,” said Dakota, her tone as stiff as her body. “And stay still, will you? Remember that there are probably a dozen cameras on us right now.”

Hallam did as Dakota said, but over the stillness of his body, he picked up a faint sound. It was a low tone, repeating about once every second. What the hell is that? Hallam asked himself, but he was afraid to move his head to locate the source of the noise, for fear of being spotted by the surveillance devices now honed in on their location. Then he cast his eyes down and saw that a tiny LED on the rim of a sensor jammer attached to his knee was blinking. The rhythm of the pulse matched the beat of the sound exactly.

“Crap, I think my sensor jammers are losing power,” said Hallam, being careful to only move his lips.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Dakota cast her eyes down at her legs before she too cursed under her breath. “You’re right; mine are too.”

The clack of footsteps on the upper level snatched back their attention. The woman came into view, computer still in hand before she began working on a different cluster of data towers. The tension was almost unbearable. If the woman so much as cast a glance toward the data core, they’d be seen.

“Just keep perfectly still,” Dakota whispered, causing Hallam to roll his eyes.

“What the hell else am I going to do?” he replied, also in a whisper. “Jump up and do a dance?” Hallam was sure he felt an elbow to his ribs, though he could have imagined it.

Hallam and Dakota remained motionless for several minutes, though every second of it was agonizing. Eventually, the woman departed, her formal work shoes clacking sharply on the hard floor.

“Remind me to buy a lottery ticket this week,” said Hallam, thanking whichever of the trillions of stars had been their lucky one. The device that Dakota had inserted into the central data core then bleeped, and Hallam let out a relieved sigh. “Are we good to go?” he said hopefully.

Dakota removed the device, peered intently at the small display panel built into its side, then nodded. “We’re good. Now let’s get the hell out of here,” she said, slowly getting to her feet and glancing at the map on her watch. “The elevator that heads directly to the roof is at the end of the west gangway,” she added, indicating the direction they needed to go with the slightest nod of her head.

Just as in the Consortium HQ on Vesta, Dr. Rand had explained that Doyle would have installed a private elevator leading directly to the roof. This was to allow him to access the facility without having to consort with, or even see the riff-raff that worked for him. Their aerial recon of the building had picked up a personal flying vehicle parked on the roof’s landing pad. Dakota’s genius escape plan involved them reaching the roof, stealing the vehicle using the lock-cracker device, and flying back to their hidden fighter. That way, they could be off the planet before the local authorities or CSF Enforcers knew anything had happened.

Hallam took the lead this time as Dakota safety stowed the device that now contained a chunk of Doyle’s most precious secret data. He crept out of the central core with Dakota on his heels. Then, when he was clear of the core, he picked up speed and rounded the corner onto the west gangway before colliding head-first with Draga Vex.

22

Hallam felt pain shoot through his shoulder as he hammered into Draga Vex’s iridescent black power armor at full speed. Fortunately, the mercenary was caught completely unawares and off balance, and the force of the impact propelled Draga back along the gangway. The mercenary tripped and fell into Alexis Black, knocking her off her feet. Incredibly, Draga Vex managed to stay standing, but Hallam had already overcome the shock of literally running into the lethal mercenary. He’d been expecting the worst since the moment he and Dakota had set foot inside the Consortium building, and now that the worst had arrived, he was ready for it.

Hallam launched a swinging haymaker at Draga, catching her cleanly. The mercenary went down, crashing through the metal railings to the side of the gangway and slamming her head into the deck. However, laying out the female mercenary with the striking black eyeliner only revealed another far more serious problem, in the form of Cad Rikkard.

Like Hallam, Cad did not hesitate, immediately grasping the handle of his medieval sword. However, while the mercenary leader of the Blackfire Squadron reached for his sword, Dakota was charging at him. The blade of the Black Prince had barely become exposed to the cold air inside the data bunker before Dakota launched herself at the mercenary, drop-kicking him squarely in the chest. The alien-looking armor that Cad Rikkard was wearing spared him from injury, but the blow still sent him crashing to the deck.

“Go, while we still have a chance!” Hallam yelled, hauling Dakota to her feet and shoving her past the prone bodies of all three mercenaries. He could see the hesitation in Dakota’s eyes, but Hallam didn’t need to explain to her the importance of her escape. Dakota was holding the clue to the location of the alien probe in her backpack. Without it, they had no hope of retrieving the vital alien technology, and no hope of destroying the Centrum. She had to get out, at all costs.

Dakota gritted her teeth and ran for the elevator as Hallam launched another kick at Cad Rikkard, smashing the toe of his boot into the mercenary’s face as he climbed to his feet. Cad collapsed to the deck again, blood pouring from his nose, but somehow, he was still conscious.

Hallam turned to run before spotting Alexis Black, hands resting on her knees, still trying to shake off the collision with Draga. She glanced up, saw Hallam, and reached for her twin Five-Seven-Seven pistols. Hallam ran at the mercenary, closing the narrow gap between them in a mere fraction of a second before driving his already bruised and stinging shoulder into her chest. The pistols fired and two cracks reverberated around the cavernous data bunker, but Hallam was not hit.

Alexis fought back, using her augmented strength to push Hallam away before attempting to whip one of the Five-Seven-Sevens across the side of his face. Hallam ducked under it, hearing the swoosh of air rush past his ears as the weapon flashed over his head. Hallam sprang up and drove an uppercut into Alexis’ chin, knowing that striking her exposed head was the only way he could beat her. The mercenary screamed, as much from frustration and anger as from pain. Her eyes were wild now. There was no trace of the flirtatious woman Hallam had met on the casino space station above Feronia. She was like a different person, and from the look in her eyes, Hallam knew that this Alexis Black would give him no quarter. It was all or nothing – if the next blow didn’t send her down, he was finished.

Throwing himself forward, Hallam launched a flying headbutt at the mercenary. It was a desperate move, but it caught her by surprise, causing Alexis to fall back and crash through the metal railings at the side of the gangway. The mercenary screamed again, but this time, it was out of terror. Hallam thrust a desperate hand out to catch her, more out of pure instinct than from any real desire to save her life, but it was already too late. Alexis Black’s body slammed into the gangway on the level below, the noise of her impact reverberating around the data bunker like the crash of thunder. Hallam grabbed the railings to the side of where she had fallen and peered down at her, but the female mercenary remained still, blood oozing from her skull. Then an anguished roar forced him to tear his eyes away from the motionless body of Alexis, yet he didn’t need to look to know who had uttered the cry.

“No!” Cad Rikkard howled as he clawed himself forward and stared down at Alexis over the edge of the gangway. “Alexis!” the mercenary yelled, but the woman remained motionless in the steadily-expanding pool of blood.

Cad Rikkard’s bloodshot eyes met Hallam’s, and what he saw staring back at him was more animal than man. Hallam backed away, grabbing one of Alexis’ Five-Seven-Seven pistols as he did so before aiming it at Cad’s head.

“You had better kill me now,” Cad growled back at Hallam. “Because if you don’t, I will find you and I will tear you limb from limb. I will never stop coming for you!”

Hallam continued to back away, but then saw Draga Vex climbing to her feet. Like Cad Rikkard, she was still dazed and groggy, but her cruel eyes were looking sharper and more alert by the second.

“Hallam, run!” he heard Dakota yell from the far side of the gangway.

Hallam’s mind was racing. He had no doubt in his mind that the mercenary leader was sincere. If he didn’t deal with Cad Rikkard now, the mercenary would never stop coming for him, no matter what Damien Doyle ordered. Cad Rikkard had to die, Hallam decided in that moment. And he had to kill him. It’s one life to save billions… Hallam told himself, remembering Dakota’s words to him. Then he recalled Dr. Rand’s similarly somber warning that there would be more casualties before the fight was over. It was either Cad Rikkard or himself.

Hallam gritted his teeth, the sick feeling in his stomach building in intensity to a point where he wanted to vomit. Yet Cad Rikkard remained, back straight, eyes level, almost daring Hallam to take the shot. Hallam took a deep breath and held it before squeezing the trigger.

The crack of the pistol split the air, but Draga Vex had already launched herself in front of Cad, raising her arms to shield both of their faces. The bullet deflected off Draga’s shimmering black armor, as if he’d been shooting pellets, before she dragged Cad down, shielding him with her own body.

“Run!” he heard Dakota cry again, and this time, Hallam did not hesitate. He’d taken his shot at Cad Rikkard and missed. Legs and arms pumping, Hallam sprinted across the gangway and inside the waiting elevator, slamming into the back wall and using it as a brake. Dakota practically punched the button for the roof level, as Hallam collapsed to the floor, bruised, breathless, and more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. The doors of the elevator began to slowly whir shut, and through the gap, Hallam saw Cad Rikkard leap over the railings and drop out of sight to the level below. However, Draga Vex had not gone to attend to her fallen squadron member. Fueled by bloodlust, Draga was racing along the gangway, eyes burning with a seething hatred that was aimed directly at him. Then the doors closed and the elevator began to ascend.

23

Dakota helped Hallam to his feet as the elevator swiftly ascended toward the roof of the Consortium building. Both of them were shaking from a mix of adrenaline and fear, but most of all, Hallam had a deep sense of foreboding that what had just happened would come back to haunt him.

“I think we just poked a hornet’s nest,” said Hallam, flexing his aching shoulder. “Or more like smashed one to pieces.”

“Did you take out Cad Rikkard?” asked Dakota while watching the numbers on the elevator panel rise.

“No, Draga jumped in front of him and blocked the bullet,” said Hallam, reaching down to pick up the Five-Seven-Seven pistol he’d taken from Alexis. “But Alexis Black fell to the level below. She looked bad, maybe even dead.”

“Let’s hope so,” replied Dakota, coldly. “Only having to deal with two of those nutjobs is a lot better than three.”

Hallam didn’t share Dakota’s optimistic opinion. A vengeful Cad Rikkard was the last thing they needed. “Given the way Rikkard screamed when he saw that Alexis had fallen, I’m not so sure. If she dies, then who knows what lengths that maniac will go to in order to hunt us down.”

The elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open, allowing the chilly air of the Fortunan night to gust inside.

“Well, we’re not out of this yet,” said Dakota, stepping outside and spotting the personal flying vehicle on the landing pad, across the opposite side of the rooftop.

Hallam followed Dakota onto the rooftop but then hung back, holding the door open. “Wait, hold the doors while I find something to jam them,” he called to Dakota. “That way, Draga can’t follow us.”

Dakota nodded and shoved her boot into the door jamb, while Hallam quickly scoured the rooftop for something he could use to brace the door. He tore the cover off an air vent before running back to Dakota. Holding the chunk of metal between the opening, Dakota then released the doors, allowing them to slide shut and brace against the vent cover. The door mechanism whirred and grumbled then fell silent before a low-pitched alarm droned out from inside the elevator.

“There, let’s see that sadistic witch try to follow us now,” said Dakota, dusting off her hands.

Hallam and Dakota ran side-by-side across the industrial rooftop space, dipping beneath cooling ducts and dodging past skylights and air vents, until they were within sight of the landing pad.

Suddenly, an access door in front of them flung open and hammered into the wall at its side. It sounded like a gong being dropped onto a concrete floor. Hallam slid to a stop with Dakota close behind, heart still pounding in his chest. Then, from out of the darkness, a figure emerged, eyes wild, chest heaving, and fists clenched. It was Draga Vex.

“Did you really think you could get away?” snarled Draga, methodically pacing toward them. Then she pointed a finger at Hallam like it was a gun. “You, I will leave alive for Cad to deal with,” she spat, aiming her finger at Dakota instead. “You, however, I will enjoy killing myself, slowly and painfully.”

“Like hell you will,” Hallam hit back. He raised the Five-Seven-Seven pistol he still had in his hand and squeezed the trigger.

However, Draga had already raised her arms in front of her face, using her armor as a shield, while methodically pacing toward him. Hallam fired again and the crack of the weapon pierced the cold night air before deflecting of the mercenary’s protective shell. Still Draga continued to march toward Hallam as bullets pinged off her armor with no effect. Hallam squeezed the trigger again and again, growing increasingly more frantic and desperate, until the weapon clicked empty. Draga’s arms fell to her sides, fists clenched tightly, but still she continued on. Her armor was dented and punctured in several places, and Hallam could even see blood seeping through the cracks, but the woman’s pitiless expression had not altered.

Hallam was momentarily stunned, unable to comprehend how the mercenary was still standing, and in that moment of hesitation, Draga charged. Before his senses had returned, Hallam was swept aside as easily as a willowy tree branch and sent tumbling backwards into a skylight, cracking the glass with his shoulder and elbow. He pushed himself up and tried to shake off the pain before spotting Dakota and Draga squaring off against one another.

Dakota made the first move, launching a series of strikes, but Draga either blocked them or allowed Dakota’s bare fists to strike her black armor, causing her to cry out in pain. Draga’s sadistic smile remained as Dakota continued to attack, but it was as futile as trying to smash down a wall with her bare fists. Seemingly growing bored of toying with Dakota, Draga reached out for her. The move was swift, like the whip of a scorpion’s sting, and Dakota was caught by the throat. Draga then slowly lifted her so that soon Dakota was on the tips of her toes. Hallam could see that Dakota’s mouth was open, trying desperately to speak or cry out, but the only sound escaping her lips was the strangled croak of someone whose throat was being crushed.

Hallam scrambled to his feet and ran at the mercenary with no plan in his mind other than to stop her from choking Dakota to death. He launched himself at her, using his momentum to send all three skidding across the surface of the rooftop. Hallam was not injured by the fall, but his shoulder burned even more fiercely from the impact with Draga’s power armor. Dakota had rolled to a stop about five meters away. She was now tantalizingly close to the flying vehicle. Her hands were clasped to her throat, and she was coughing bitterly. Once again, Draga had come off the worst from the collision, and had toppled backwards into a skylight, the weight of her armor causing the glass to fracture and collapse. The mercenary fell through, but just managed to catch the ledge, preventing a fall to the level below.

Wasting no time, Hallam ran to Dakota and pulled her to her feet. “Get to the flyer and start cracking the lock!” he yelled as Dakota met his eyes, her face still twisted with agony. “I’ll hold her off. She won’t kill me; she said so herself.” Dakota tried to speak, but again only a painful croak passed between her bleeding lips. “No arguments, Dak. Get the flyer started or we’re both dead!” Dakota nodded weakly and staggered toward the flyer, eyes flicking between Hallam and Draga Vex, who had now pulled both arms up onto the rooftop. “Dak, go!” Hallam yelled again, and reluctantly, this time, Dakota turned and scampered toward the quad-rotor flying vehicle.

Hallam spun back to face Draga Vex, still feeling breathless and lightheaded, and with no clue how he was going to stop her. The mercenary now had one leg up onto the rooftop, which gave Hallam precious little time to act. He accelerated into a run and jumped forward into a baseball slide, planting the soles of his boots squarely into Draga’s shoulders. He’d expected to send her crashing through the skylight to the office floor below, but instead, it was like hitting a brick wall.

Hallam winced from the pain shooting through his legs and scrambled away from Draga. The mercenary’s eyes were glowering back at him, blood now streaming across the lightning strike motif that shot across her temple. The fingers of her powered gauntlets were burrowed into the rooftop, biting into the material like football cleats digging into turf.

Hallam sprang up, panic swelling in his gut, as Draga again began hauling herself onto the roof. He peered around the rooftop, looking for a weapon – anything he could use to hold off the bloodthirsty mercenary for long enough to get away. Running over to the door that Draga had smashed open earlier, he launched a kick at the handrail next to it, dislodging a section of the metal tubing. Hallam twisted the bar clear of the fixings and gripped it tightly. It was crude, but it would have to do, he realized. With the bar in his hands, he moved back in front of the skylight to where Draga Vex was now rising up from her knees to her full, intimidating height. Her gaze flicked from Hallam to the bar and then back to his eyes.

“You think that pathetic weapon will stop me?” snarled Draga, wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. “Drop it and submit to me now. Your death will be much easier and far less painful if you do.”

Hallam glanced across to the personal flying vehicle and saw that the gull-wing door was open and that Dakota was inside. The flashing lock-cracker device now sat atop the main control console, lights blinking rapidly.

“Do you even know why Doyle sent you after us?” Hallam replied, trying to stall the mercenary and also get a moment of respite to gather his strength.

Draga shook her head and took a measured step toward Hallam. “I don’t care why he wants you,” she said plainly before again lowering her gaze to the metal bar in Hallam’s hand. “Put that down. Cad may want you alive, but I’ll hand you to him broken if I have to.”

Hallam raised the bar as Draga took another step toward him, her dilated pupils emphasizing the whites of her eyes, which were starkly contrasted against the dark circles surrounding them.

“If you stop what I’m here to do, then the bridges will all collapse,” Hallam continued, still trying to buy time, though internally, he was screaming for the lock-cracker device to complete its task. “Every bridge world, and even Earth, will be thrown into chaos. Everyone will die.”

Draga stopped, though her penetrating glare had intensified even further. “Everyone dies sometime,” she spat back, her expression as unyielding as her emotions. “Whether now, tomorrow, or ten years in the future, it makes no odds to me.” Then she extended a hand toward the metal bar, as if signaling for Hallam to hand it to her. “But you can at least choose how to die. You can die on your knees, in agony, begging for me to end your misery, or you can die at the point of Cad Rikkard’s sword. A clean death, versus torture and misery. That is the only choice that matters for you now, renegade. Make it quickly, or I will choose for you.”

Hallam forced down a dry swallow; from anyone else, he would have dismissed Draga’s speech as mere posturing and hyperbole. However, from her, it had been truly chilling. It was like the breath that had formed the words had seeped from Draga’s mouth as a bitter vapor, turning everything it touched to ice.

Suddenly, the rising whine of the flying vehicle’s quad-rotors burst the bubble of silence, and for the merest fraction of a second, Draga’s attention was diverted. In that moment, Hallam acted out of pure instinct and desperation, knowing that if he did nothing, he was almost certain to die. He launched himself at Draga, driving his shoulder into her armored gut and wrapping his arms around her body. Adrenaline and a will to survive gave him the burst of strength needed to lift the combined weight of Draga and her armor, and launch them both into another skylight. The glass smashed as easily as eggshells and Hallam released his hold on the mercenary, thrusting his hands up in the blind hope of catching the ledge. From finding the hidden door in the storeroom to narrowly avoiding being spotted by the worker in the data bunker, so many factors of the mission had hinged on the roll of a cosmic dice. This situation was no different, Hallam told himself. He would either fall to his death or survive to fight another day. Probability would decide his fate.

Hallam’s fingers curled around something cool and metallic, and instinctively, he gripped tightly, feeling glass cut into his fingers. He yelped from the pain but held on tightly as glass and metal fell through the opening, along with the screaming form of Draga Vex. Hallam saw the mercenary crash through a glass conference table before being peppered by falling splinters and fragments of the skylight. He hung above her for a few moments, watching – hoping – that the cruel woman was dead. Then her head bobbed to the side, and her legs and arms shuffled amongst the glass shards and debris.

Cursing, Hallam reached up with his other hand and tried desperately to catch the ledge, but instead, he drew his palm across broken glass, slicing open his flesh. The pain was excruciating, and he pulled his injured hand away, trying again to find purchase on some other part of the roof. The human body could only take so much, and to his horror, Hallam realized that his strength was failing and that his grip was slipping.

Slowly, Draga sat upright, clearly dazed and confused. Maybe if I dropped on her, I could take her out with me? Hallam thought. Then at least his death would have served the goal of removing one vile stain from the universe. And it would allow Dakota to get away. It wasn’t the death he had thought for himself, not that he’d given death much consideration before these final moments. Yet at least it wouldn’t be for nothing, he told himself.

Hallam sucked in a deep breath of the Fortunan night air, feeling the strength ebbing from his fingers, and tried to aim his feet toward the head of the mercenary five meters below. Then he let go of the ledge – but he didn’t fall.

“Take my arm!” yelled Dakota, and Hallam peered up to see her face, twisted from the effort of holding his weight. “Quickly; I can’t hold you!”

Hallam reached up with his other hand and clasped it around Dakota’s forearm. He couldn’t even feel the grip of her hands around his, such was the numbness in his own body. Dakota screamed from the effort of pulling him up, finally heaving Hallam’s head and shoulders back up above the skylight. Hallam released his hold on Dakota’s arm and grabbed a handhold on the roof, using all the strength he had left to drag himself out of the hole. Dakota continued to pull, and eventually, Hallam lay on the rooftop again, hands cut and bloodied and heart pounding.

“The flying vehicle is ready,” Dakota said in between heavy breaths. “Can you walk?”

“Walk?” said Hallam, hauling his exhausted frame up and onto his knees. “If you’ve got that thing working, I’ll damned well cartwheel over to it!”

Despite everything that had happened, they both laughed, though the noise that escaped their lips was more of a synchronized guttural croak. Dakota helped Hallam to stand and together they staggered toward the flying vehicle. However, Hallam couldn’t help but steal a last glance down through the smashed skylight. He’d hoped to discover Draga Vex still in the place where she’d fallen, but the mercenary was nowhere to be seen.

“We need to hurry,” said Hallam. The knowledge that Draga had gone was instantly sobering, like a bucket of ice water over his head. “She’ll be back.”

Dakota cast a nervous glance at the door where Draga had first burst through onto the roof. “I’m beginning to think that witch is actually a warbot.”

Hallam huffed a laugh but shook his head. “I think that’s an insult to warbots,” he said, also stealing another glance behind. “That woman is crazier and more dangerous than any machine ever devised by human minds.”

They reached the personal flying vehicle and practically dove inside through the gull-wing doors. Hallam flopped into the rear seat, nursing his cut and bleeding hands, while Dakota took the controls. The door swung shut and Dakota lifted the flying vehicle into the night sky, its quad-rotors throbbing with a rhythmic beat.

“I don’t believe it,” said Hallam, peering through the glass canopy at the slowly receding rooftop below them.

Dakota followed his gaze and saw her too. Draga Vex was standing on the landing pad, calmly watching them depart.

“Damn it, that woman’s unkillable!” Dakota snarled before a soft bleep from her console grabbed her attention. She studied the data and laughed. “Want to know something else you won’t believe?” Dakota added, glancing back at Hallam with a world-weary look on her face.

“I’m sure I don’t,” replied Hallam, “But go on…”

Dakota pointed out toward where the main city spaceport was located and said, “There’s a Blackfire Squadron fighter closing in.”

Hallam jerked upright and peered into the night sky, initially failing to spot the fighter. Then he caught sight of it, soaring over the city far lower than any craft was permitted to fly.

“Is it coming for us?” said Hallam, feeling his heart rate again begin to climb, but Dakota shook her head.

“It’s on course for the Consortium building,” said Dakota, releasing another weary sigh. “It’s on remote piloting,” she added, again meeting Hallam’s eyes. “It’s going to pick up Draga Vex.”

24

Dakota Wulfrun had pushed the diminutive quad-rotor flying vehicle to the limits of its performance, but it was still not enough to outpace the advanced fighter piloted by Draga Vex. Hallam’s grip on the grab-handles in the rear seat had steadily tightened as the craft raced across the Fortunan skyline. However, as the vessel’s velocity reached and then exceeded its design limit, the groans and shudders of its strained metal frame grew louder and more ominous.

“How far to the landing site?” Hallam called out over the din inside the cabin. He could see Draga’s fighter in the distance, accelerating away from the city and out over the rolling hills and valleys of the lush green countryside.

“We’re still maybe two minutes out,” Dakota called back. Her knuckles were white against the control column, which was shuddering violently, causing her whole body to tremble, as if she were shivering on a snowy mountain top.

“Damn, that’s too long,” Hallam answered, though he muttered the words under his breath, talking more to himself than in reply to Dakota. Draga’s fighter would be on top of them in half that time, Hallam realized. And even from her current distance, she could easily destroy them with a single missile, if that had been her wish. However, everything Hallam knew about the sadistic mercenary pointed to her toying with her quarry first. Once she was satisfied or had grown bored, Draga would then wait until she could see the whites of their eyes before gunning Hallam and Dakota down in cold blood. Either that, or she would intentionally just wound them and allow them to limp away so that Cad Rikkard could finish the kill.

“We have to ditch the craft,” Hallam said, this time turning to Dakota and speaking clearly and with authority. “We can make it back to the fighter on foot, using the hills and rocky outcrops for cover.”

“Are you crazy? I’m not ditching!” Dakota hit back. “We’d be like ducks in a barrel on the ground.”

Hallam glanced behind them again, but he’d now lost sight of Draga’s fighter. He knew she was close and could almost feel her dark presence. It was like being enveloped by the shadow of a storm cloud.

“We’ll have more chance on the ground than up in this flying tin can,” Hallam said, again turning back to Dakota. He then had to brace himself as the little craft juddered violently once more. “Besides, at the rate you’re going, Draga won’t need to shoot us down, because you’ll have already flown us apart!”

Dakota glowered at Hallam, ready to fight her corner, but then her eyes flicked beyond him and suddenly grew wide. “Get down!” she yelled, grabbing Hallam’s head and pushing it toward the deck. The craft shook again, except this time, the jolt was more brutal and was accompanied by a succession of sharp, metallic clangs. “We’re hit!” Dakota called out, though the announcement was hardly necessary, as Hallam could already see that they were rapidly losing altitude. Draga’s fighter then blasted overhead, causing Hallam to duck instinctively, a curse involuntarily escaping from his lips. The lightweight flying craft was buffeted as it passed though the wake of turbulence from Draga’s fly-by, which only served to accelerate its already alarming rate of descent.

Hallam looked up and saw that two of the four rotors had been destroyed, and as he hurriedly surveyed the rest of the craft, he saw holes the sizes of old quarter dollars punched through the back of his seat. Similar holes punctured the front passenger seat and gull wing doors. Hallam let out a heavy sigh, realizing how close the cannon rounds had come to perforating his body.

“I’m going to have to land in the valley,” Dakota shouted, oblivious to Hallam’s near miss. “But it’s going to be rough.”

Hallam scouted outside for the mercenary fighter and saw the ship turning in a sharp arc over the rolling hills to the east.

“Rough is fine, so long as it’s fast,” Hallam answered, jumping into the now perforated passenger seat and fastening the harness. “Draga is turning for another pass.”

There was a small explosion above them as the motor powering one of the two remaining rotors expired, due to the massive strain it had been put under.

“I don’t think going down slowly is really an option anymore!” Dakota cried out as they plunged out of the sky and into the deep grassy valley.

Dakota managed to steer the stricken craft into a flat section of the valley floor, narrowly avoiding a jagged cluster of rocks. The flying vehicle hit the ground and bounced like a skimming stone before carving a narrow furrow through the lush, green meadow. The canopy jettisoned and spun away behind them, leaving Hallam and Dakota exposed to the chilly Fortunan night air.

“Are you okay?” said Dakota, unclipping her harness and pushing the broken control column away.

“I’m still in one piece, if that’s what you mean,” replied Hallam, removing his harness and anxiously looking up into the sky. He could hear the roar of Draga’s fighter, but the sky was still as dark and as cold as the mercenary’s heart. “We need to move. The first thing Draga will do is sweep back and target the crash site.”

Hallam and Dakota leapt from the craft and ran across the meadow before starting their ascent of the first hill that would eventually lead them back to their hidden fighter.

“We have maybe two or three hundred more meters to cover before we reach the ship,” said Dakota as they powered up the slope as quickly as their weary legs could carry them.

Hallam nodded but was too out of breath to respond with words, and he was also still pre-occupied with searching for the enemy fighter. Then he saw a glowing light in the sky, turning toward the valley, and a thunderous roar started to build once again. Looking ahead, Hallam saw a cluster of sharp rocks jutting out from the hillside.

“Get to those rocks; she’s coming back!” Hallam shouted, pointing to the outcrop.

They both scrambled up the hill, clawing into the dirt with their fingers in an effort to climb faster and harder. Hallam reached the rocks first, threw his back up against the cold, jagged stone, and peered down the valley. A missile whistled toward them before thudding into the crashed shell of the flying vehicle. A fierce explosion lit up the valley, illuminating their surroundings as if dawn had suddenly broken. Then, just as quickly, it turned to night again. Draga’s fighter blasted past, barely thirty meters above Hallam’s head, before climbing sharply, trailing black smoke in its wake.

Dakota reached Hallam’s side and rested on his shoulder. “You know, I think that psycho is actually enjoying herself…” she said breathlessly before slapping Hallam on the back. “Come on, not far to go now.”

Hallam trudged after Dakota, cresting the first hill as the rumbles of Draga’s fighter continued in the distance. They ran down the opposite side, but Hallam stumbled and fell near the valley floor. Rolling the last few meters down the slope, he lay on his back, contemplating just staying there a few moments longer to catch his breath. However, Dakota then lifted him to his feet.

“Come on, lazy bones, last one to the ship buys the drinks,” she wheezed before continuing toward the steep overhang under which she’d hidden her fighter.

Hallam coughed a laugh and pushed himself up. That’s my motivational tactic… he thought to himself as Dakota increased her lead. However, just as laying down a hollow personal challenge would always provoke a response from Dakota, it worked on him too – and Dakota knew it.

Hallam drove himself up the hillside, gaining slowly on Dakota, whose pace was flagging, but then a sonic boom caused to him to lie flat and again scour the sky for Draga’s ship. The Fortunan sun was close to creeping over the horizon, and the sky had brightened to a dull orange-gray. It was enough to pinpoint Draga’s fighter, turning toward them for another attack run.

“Dak, take cover!” Hallam cried out. He was exposed and in the open, but Dakota managed to slip behind a small outcropping. Hallam flattened his body into the long, sweet-smelling grasses as cannon rounds thudded all around him. He was showered with dirt and smashed fragments of rocks, but miraculously, the rounds missed his body.

Again, the fighter blasted overhead, so low that Hallam felt like he could have reached up and touched it. He climbed to his knees and watched the fighter slip away down the valley, staying low. However, this time, it did not vanish over the horizon. This time, the fighter slowed to a hover a few hundred meters away and spun back around. Hallam punched the soft soil, realizing that Draga had finally tired of toying with them like a cat playing with a crippled bird, before finally making the kill.

“She’s turning back; let’s go!” Hallam yelled to Dakota, but when no answer came, he turned to the cluster of rocks she’d hidden behind, panic rising in his gut. Dakota was on the ground and not moving. “Dak!” Hallam cried, rushing to her side. He cradled her head, feeling her blood wet his hand. “Dak!” he called again, and this time, her eyes opened. She saw Hallam peering down at her and tried to stand, but then stiffened as pain shot through her body.

“I must have hit my head,” said Dak groggily as Hallam helped her up. She replaced her hand over the cut that Hallam had been cradling and glanced down the valley. The hawk-like shape of Draga’s mercenary fighter was slowly moving toward them, powerful vertical thrusters holding the ship level with where Hallam and Dakota were now trapped against the cluster of rocks. Draga had finally cornered her prey.

Hallam lay back against the rock, exhausted and out of options. Dakota sat back with him, resting her head on his shoulder, blood dripping onto Hallam’s neck like light rain. The sun had now crept above the lush green countryside, casting a golden glow across the valley. Other than the dark, predatory form of the mercenary fighter blotting the horizon, it was beautiful, Hallam thought. There are worse places I could die… he told himself.

Dakota took Hallam’s hand and squeezed it as the fighter dipped its wings toward them, cannons poised and ready. Hallam squeezed back and considered closing his eyes, but then resisted the urge. Draga may have killed them, but she wouldn’t beat him. He’d meet his end with his eyes wide.

A dissonant rumble pierced the air before reverberating across the hills and valleys like rolling thunder. Hallam scowled and glanced up, but the dawn sky was cloudless and still. Then the roar of Draga’s thrusters was mixed with the percussive clatter of metal pounding against metal, and flashes lit up across the fighter’s hull. However, these weren’t the flashes of Draga’s cannons, pulverizing the helpless bodies of Hallam and Dakota into a bloody pulp, but the spark of cannon shells hammering against the enemy fighter’s armor.

Draga veered away sharply and climbed as another fighter roared overhead, arcing across the horizon in pursuit of Draga’s ship. The new vessel caught the morning light and Hallam saw a stylized emblem of a closed fist giving the middle finger painted onto its side. Hallam laughed and glanced at Dakota, whose smile was even broader than her own.

“It’s about damn time she showed up,” said Dakota, pushing against Hallam’s shoulder and rising to her feet, extending him her hand.

Hallam took it and hauled himself up alongside Dakota as the fighters belonging to Draga Vex and Ruby Rivas began to do battle in the skies above the Fortunan countryside.

“I knew she’d come around eventually,” said Hallam, shooting Dakota a mischievous smile. In truth, he was convinced that the firebrand second member of the Wolf Squadron had bailed on them for good, and Dakota knew that.

“Yeah, sure you did,” scoffed Dakota. “But her timing couldn’t have been better.”

“Well, she could have turned up before that nutjob mercenary shot us down,” said Hallam, unwilling to give the outspoken renegade too much credit too soon.

Dakota snorted and shook her head, but then seemed to immediately regret it, becoming dizzy. Hallam had to catch her shoulders to stop her from tumbling down the hillside.

“Come on, let’s get airborne,” said Hallam, helping Dakota the last part of the way to where her fighter was hidden, under a hastily put together camouflage of tree branches and dirt. Then he looked at the gash carved into the side of Dakota’s head, and the still glassy look in her eyes, and added, “And this time, I’m doing the flying.”

25

Hallam dropped into the pilot’s chair of the renegade fighter and powered up the engines, bypassing every pre-flight check in the book. Dakota was already strapped into the second seat, first-aid kit sprawled out on her lap, hastily applying a dressing to her cut, as well as some meds for the pain.

The scanner console flickered on as Hallam lifted the fighter off the ground, shaking off dirt and tree branches like a bird shaking water from its feathers. Ruby Rivas and Draga Vex were still circling in the skies above them, cannons flashing and missiles flying, but so far, neither had scored a decisive hit. Hallam knew that Ruby was a good pilot, but Draga’s reputation preceded her, and the longer the fight went on, the greater the odds were that the mercenary would prevail.

“Wolf Two, this is Wolf Three; we’re airborne,” Hallam called out over the squadron comm channel, “I have Wolf One on board too, so let’s get the hell out of here.”

Ruby’s voice crackled back over the comm, breathless but in control. “Just head into orbit, Wolf Three. I’ll keep this psycho distracted while you make the climb.”

Hallam gritted his teeth and glanced back at Dakota. His instinct was to tell Ruby to run too, but he didn’t want to start another fight with her only moments after she’d run to their aid. The pensive look in Dakota’s eyes told Hallam that she was having similar thoughts. Then Dakota sighed and pulled on her headset, resting it over her newly-applied bandage and blood-soaked hair.

“Just make sure you get off this rock as well, Wolf Two,” said Dakota.

Hallam turned back to face his instruments, impressed with Dakota’s restraint, but also unsure whether she was just giving Ruby enough rope to hang herself with.

“Affirmative, Wolf One. I have no intention of crashing and burning on this corporate hell hole of a planet,” replied Ruby.

Hallam heard Dakota huff a laugh. “Typical Ruby… always eager to stick it to the man,” she said, opening the comm channel again. “Good to hear, Wolf Two…” said Dakota, but then she paused, leaving the channel open. A few seconds later, Dakota added, “And thanks for coming for us. It’s good to have you back.”

The channel returned static for another few moments before Ruby replied, “You never lost me, Wolf One. I’ll see you back at base. Out.”

Hallam spun up the Shelby Drive and began running the computations to make their first solo jump into the Darkspace. Travelling across the established bridge routes would have been far quicker and easier, but it would also make it easier for Draga to track and follow them. He was about to make the burn for orbit when his scanner bleeped and four new contacts appeared.

“Ah crap,” said Hallam as the computer registered the identification of the new vessels. “Four CSF Enforcer patrol ships just came onto the board.”

“Have they spotted us?” asked Dakota, but then the comm system chimed and an open broadcast filled the cabin.

“Hostile vessels, stand down immediately, or you will be fired upon,” a severe voice demanded. “If you attempt to make orbit, we will launch missiles to intercept you. Land and power down your crafts, immediately.”

Hallam slammed the console with the palm of his hand as a missile lock warning flashed up on his tactical computer. “Damn it, they’ve already got a lock,” he said, noting that one of the fighters had slowed to a hover and was holding at stand-off range. “If we try to run now, that fighter will hit us with a long-range missile.”

Hallam’s eyes flicked between the scanner and the horizon, watching as the three other CSF fighters swooped in and began to circle around Draga and Ruby as they continued to weave their chaotic dance across the sky. Then he scowled as it looked like the CSF was also targeting Draga Vex.

“I’m on your side, you fools!” said the voice of Draga Vex over the open comm channel.

“You have destroyed a civilian vessel and are illegally engaged in combat operations,” the voice of the CSF enforcer hit back. “You will stand down now or be fired upon!”

Draga didn’t reply on the open channel, but Hallam was sure he heard the woman growl. “At least they’re going after Draga too,” he said, trying to find a silver lining. “It should make it easier to slip away.”

“Burn for orbit now, while Draga is distracted,” suggested Dakota. “We can just jam their missiles and bridge as soon as we reach space. It’s a risk, but I don’t see that we have a choice right now.”

Hallam shook his head. “That won’t work while we’re so close to Fortuna,” he said, thanking his CSF training for the detailed knowledge he had of their tactics and capabilities. “The missiles have multiple independent guidance systems. If we jam the missile’s sensors, any number of satellites or ground transceivers will guide them in. This ship’s countermeasures system doesn’t have the power or range to block them all.”

“Damn it,” said Dakota, scrunching her eyes shut and trying to think of another option.

Suddenly, Draga Vex broke off her pursuit of Ruby and turned in behind the CSF patrol. Within seconds, she had locked on and fired her cannons. The engines of the trailing CSF patrol ship burst into flames, kicking out a thick plume of billowing black smoke. The Consortium vessel spiraled downward, out of control, before colliding into the hilltop and bursting into flames.

“I hate to say it, Hal, but that witch has got the right idea,” said Dakota with a morbid solemnity. “If we’re going to get off this planet alive, we have to fight our way out.”

Hallam gripped the controls, muscles taut and jaw clenched. Dakota was right. It’s a numbers game… he reminded himself. And not everyone is going to make it.

Hallam’s scanner bleeped again, picking up a full flight of six more CSF Enforcer patrol ships. They were on the outer limits of his scan range, but they would still arrive within minutes. And even with Draga Vex as a temporary and reluctant wingman, there was no way they could take down that many CSF fighters.

“Ruby, break off from Draga and engage the CSF fighters,” Hallam called over their squadron comm channel. “We only have a couple of minutes before CSF reinforcements arrive.”

“What about psycho lady?” Ruby hit back as Draga took down another of the CSF fighters with a perfectly aimed missile.

“For the moment, the enemy of our enemy is our friend,” replied Hallam, accelerating toward the CSF patrol ship that was still sitting at standoff range, blocking their retreat. “I’m engaging. Stand by to make a run for it as soon as we get an opening,” Hallam continued as the CSF ship was highlighted in his heads-up display.

The targeted patrol craft then powered away, its pilot clearly having spotted Hallam’s rapid approach. A launch warning droned inside the cabin and Hallam cursed. His opponent had also seemingly had the wherewithal to launch a missile before turning tail.

“Crap, hold on!” said Hallam, banking hard and dipping into the valley as the missile slammed into the rocks and exploded, showering his canopy with stones and dust.

Hallam felt the belly of the fighter graze the ground, and he pulled up before turning in behind the CSF ship. More by luck than judgment, he had popped out of the valley directly on his opponent’s tail. Hallam got a weapons lock and squeezed the trigger. The cannons in his wingtips flashed, and moments later, the CSF ship was a ball of fire, hurtling toward the grassy valley below. Hallam turned toward the remaining CSF fighters, watching as the burning ship smashed into the ground, scarring the idyllic, peaceful countryside with fire, metal, and blood. Then metal chimes pinged all around him and the control stick juddered before alarms rang out.

“We’re hit!” called Dakota, craning her neck to look for their attacker.

“I don’t see it on our scanner,” replied Hallam, banking hard and increasing thrust, while also visually scanning for the fighter that was targeting him. Then he saw the familiar hawk-like shape of Draga’s advanced mercenary combat ship arcing away behind him. “Damn it, that woman is relentless,” cursed Hallam, manually locking on to Draga’s vessel and trying to match her turn.

There was another explosion on the horizon and Hallam saw the last CSF fighter flash and blink off his scanner, gunned down by Ruby. They were in the clear, at least until the CSF reinforcements arrived, and assuming he could shake Draga Vex off their tail. Hallam continued his turn, but Draga’s fighter had the edge in speed and maneuverability. He glanced at the scanner, spotting Ruby Rivas closing in fast, and had an idea.

“Wolf Two, get ready, I’m going to line her up for you,” said Hallam over the squadron comm channel.

“Roger that, Wolf Three. Standing by,” came the unequivocal reply from Ruby Rivas.

However, while Ruby had shown no hesitation, Dakota was less enamored with Hallam’s statement. “Just how exactly are you going to ‘line her up’ for Ruby?” Dakota asked warily.

Hallam continued to watch the scanner, waiting until Draga was almost upon him. “Like this…” he said before levelling off the ship and flying straight as an arrow toward the rising sun. A weapons lock tone blared out inside the cabin, but Hallam held his course.

“Hal…” a nervous Dakota called out from the second seat, but still Hallam held his course and speed. “Hal, she’s got a lock on us!” Dakota added, finally losing the normally vise-like hold she had on her emotions.

“Just a few more seconds!” Hallam called back. He knew Dakota was the galaxy’s worst back-seat flyer, but if he was honest, his butt cheeks were clenched tighter than a clam shell too.

Draga launched a missile, but then out of the sun, Ruby Rivas shot toward them, cannons blazing. Hallam banked hard, launching countermeasures and powering the fighter into a steep climb. Below them, smoke trailed across the idyllic Fortunan countryside as Draga’s fighter, engines ablaze, ploughed into the deep valley. The missile streaked away harmlessly, slamming into the hillside a second later and adding yet another blot to the otherwise pristine landscape.

There was a raucous whoop over the comm channel before Ruby’s voice yelled, “Yeah, suck on that, you sadistic piece of crap!” at the top of her lungs. It was so loud that Hallam had to pull the headset away from his ear.

“Great shot, Wolf Two!” Hallam said, blowing out another heavy sigh of relief. “Now let’s go home before anyone else starts shooting at us.” Then he remembered that Dakota was in the second seat and let out an apologetic cough. It was still her ship, and she was the squadron leader. “Assuming that’s your order too, of course, Wolf One?”

Dakota laughed. “Yes, I think it’s safe to say that I agree with getting the hell out of here, before someone else starts shooting at us,” she said, more than a little sarcastically.

Hallam continued his steep climb, pushing the engines to full thrust and accelerating the renegade fighter toward the stars like a rocket. The flight of six CSF reinforcement fighters was still ninety seconds from weapons range, but Hallam knew they’d be long gone by then.

Punching through the atmosphere with Ruby Rivas close behind, Hallam activated the Shelby Drive and let his muscles go dead as the pulsing whine of the system began to build. Moments later, the fighter had pushed through onto the temporary bridge, transporting them on a path deep into the heart of the Darkspace, where no one – not even Cad Rikkard’s Blackfire Squadron - could follow.

26

Under threat of being shot out of the sky by both the CSF and Fortuna’s local enforcers, Cad Rikkard set down his fighter in the meadow, close to Draga’s downed ship. Smoke was still curling into the air from the damaged fighter’s engines, but to Cad’s expert eye, the vessel was not critically damaged.

Cad opened the rear ramp, which descended into the soft Fortunan soil, but he left the ship’s systems running. He had no intention of staying for long, despite the dozen different enforcement craft that were either circling overhead or already set down in the meadow. More problematic was that Draga had already locked horns with these enforcers, who in all likelihood would now try to arrest him too.

Draga Vex stood in the meadow about a hundred meters away, her jet-black armor contrasting sharply with the vibrant green grass of the Fortunan countryside. Six armed Fortunan enforcers surrounded her, all with either sidearms or riot batons raised in anger, but all timidly kept their distance from the intimidating mercenary. To their side, four enforcers were propped up against the grassy bank of the valley, being attended to by medics. Their bruised and bloodied faces wore the tell-tale marks of a losing encounter with Draga Vex.

Ordinarily, Cad would have laughed at the scene and tried to picture how Draga would have beaten down these enforcers, who had foolishly tried to apprehend her. However, recent events had left no room in his soul for joy. Alexis Black remained in serious but stable condition in Fortuna’s top Consortium-owned private hospital. Cad had flown her there himself, using the advanced life support pod on his fighter to administer the first aid that had ultimately saved her life. And he would have remained by her side, were it not for hearing the radio chatter about the fighter battle nearby, and how a lone renegade with black lightning strike marks across her face had been cornered. If he had not come for Draga, she would have chosen to die fighting the enforcers rather than submit to them. Draga would never permit herself to be imprisoned – it would be like attempting to bottle lightning itself. In truth, Cad was half-expecting to have found her dead already, with the bodies of many more enforcers littered around her corpse.

“Halt! Stay back!” shouted one of the local Fortunan Enforcers as Cad walked calmly toward the scene. He had already removed his combat armor, but the approach of a powerfully-built six-two mercenary with a sword strapped around his waist was evidently still an intimidating sight.

“I said stop!” the woman barked again, this time raising her weapon and aiming it at Cad’s chest. The officer was wearing lieutenant’s rank tabs and was flanked by two masked enforcers, both of which were also now aiming weapons at Cad’s body.

Cad Rikkard felt like drawing his sword and running all three officers through, and he would have done so were it not for the many other enforcers surrounding him. Instead, Cad stopped as ordered and met the lieutenant’s eyes.

“Before you do anything stupid, you might want to check in with your commander,” Cad said, remaining cool, though inside, he was filled with bile and a desire to hurt them – to hurt anyone. “Chief Olson will be expecting your call. Tell him that Cad Rikkard is here to collect his colleague.”

The lieutenant frowned and lowered her weapon slightly before touching a finger to her earpiece. “Base, this is Lieutenant Duggan. Is the chief there with you?” The officer had phrased the question with obvious suspicion, but also no small measure of curiosity. A few seconds later, Cad could hear the muffled response, chattering out through the lieutenant’s earpiece.

“Sir, I have a Cad Rikkard here at the scene of the starfighter crash…” Lieutenant Duggan began, but then her sentence was sharply curtailed, which told Cad that his name had registered the desired impact.

“Yes, sir…” Duggan added after another few seconds of chatter, during which time the officer’s frowning eyes had stayed locked on to Cad’s. “I understand, sir,” Duggan continued before tapping the earpiece again and holstering her weapon. She then glanced behind to the two masked enforcers and motioned for them to lower their weapons too.

“My apologies, Mr. Rikkard. The chief has briefed me on the situation,” Duggan said. The officer’s tone remained professional, but her closed posture and pursed, turned-down lips betrayed her irritation at the order. “How can I assist you?”

Cad sighed, grudgingly thankful that Doyle’s decades spent infiltrating and corrupting the top echelons of local enforcement leadership on the bridge worlds had paid dividends. However, he also resented having to invoke Doyle’s aid to once again claw him out of a tight spot. And he would live to regret it once the multi-trillionaire learned of the theft from his data bunker. He knew that Doyle would blame him, despite the fact that the failure rested squarely on the shoulders of his own security services, who had allowed the renegade incursion in the first place.

“Release my companion,” said Cad, nodding toward Draga, who was watching the exchange with interest. “And have the damaged fighter air-lifted to the nearest Consortium maintenance facility for repair.”

Lieutenant Duggan chewed the instructions over in her mind for a few seconds, her body language continuing to reveal the officer’s uneasiness with Cad’s demands. However, Duggan then turned to the sextet of officers still nervously penning Draga inside their circle and said, “Let her go.”

With a similar level of trepidation and confusion, the circle of enforcers lowered their weapons, and Draga strolled out from amongst them without uttering a word or looking upon any of their mystified faces.

“I’ll get the fighter moved to Portus Maintenance Yard,” said Duggan, turning back to Cad, who merely grunted an acknowledgement. “Will there be anything more, sir?” she added, asking the question in such a way that it was clear she hoped the answer to be “no.”

“That’s all, you can go,” Cad obliged brusquely before Draga arrived at his side. Her face was streaked with dried blood from cuts that had already partially scabbed over, and it looked like her armor had repelled numerous bullet hits too.

“How is Alexis?” Draga asked with her usual clinical coolness as the small army of bemused enforcers dispersed.

“She’s alive,” replied Cad. He couldn’t elaborate, because that was all he knew.

“I don’t care what the mission is anymore,” said Draga after a few seconds of silence had passed between them. “Those renegades must die.”

Cad Rikkard nodded then looked up into the sky, now bright and perfectly cloudless. The heat of the Fortunan sun had burned away the morning gloom, but its warmth brought Cad Rikkard no comfort.

“We’ll need to handle Doyle too,” said Cad, unconsciously resting a hand on the pommel of his Black Prince sword. “The renegades escaped with data from his facility. Doyle will blame us.”

“I know a way,” answered Draga coolly. “But I will need Alexis.”

Cad’s grip on the pommel tightened at the mention of her name. He needed Alexis too, but for more than just her fighting skills and technical abilities. He hadn’t realized quite how much he needed her until that moment. Then his grip tightened further as the memory of how Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun had almost taken her from him invaded his thoughts. The pommel pierced his skin and blood began to run down the handle and onto the cross-guard. Knight and Wulfrun would both pay the price for what they had done, he swore to himself. Even if he was forced to tear down Damien Doyle’s empire in order to reach them, Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun would die on the edge of his sword.

27

By the time Hallam had set Dakota’s fighter down on the deck of Dr. Rand’s Darkspace Renegade hideout, the ship was on the verge of breaking down. The damage they’d sustained during the aerial battle with Draga Vex and the CSF had been amplified during blast-off from the planet, and exacerbated further by travelling through bridge space. As Hallam stepped onto the deck and peered back at the pock-marked fighter, its metal panels chiming like a cooling kettle and smoke rising from its engines, he realized how lucky they’d been to make it back at all.

“The cosmic dice rolls landed in our favor this time,” he said out loud, patting the fighter as if it were a thoroughbred racehorse.

“I thought I was the one who hit my head?” said Dakota, moving up beside him. Medics were already rushing to their location. “But here you are, talking to my fighter…”

Hallam turned around and smiled at Dakota. “Can you blame me? I get more stimulating conversation out of this hunk of metal than I do from you.”

Dakota jabbed Hallam in the ribs, but the act seemed to hurt her more than it did Hallam. “Anyway, our survival has nothing to do with cosmic dice rolls,” Dakota said, also resting the palm of her hand on the fighter. “We have our own lucky mascot, remember?”

Hallam snorted a laugh. “You’re giving Bob the bear the credit for my incredible combat flying?”

Dakota shrugged. “Most of the credit,” she said sassily. “Though I guess you did okay too.”

The hideout’s medics rolled a stretcher up alongside Dakota, but she brushed it away as if it were a casket. “I can walk; I’m not that bad,” said Dakota, clearly uncomfortable with being made a fuss over. One of the medics then checked her head wound, while another began asking her a string of questions, which Dakota answered curtly, barely falling short of sounding downright rude.

Suddenly, a loud whoop rose above the noise in the docking bay, and Hallam saw Ruby Rivas strutting away from her fighter toward them.

“Yeah, that’s how it’s done!” she yelled before letting out another whoop, which startled a nearby mechanic who hadn’t seen her swagger past him. “Notch up another few strikes for the Wolf Squadron!” she said, while performing what Cad considered to be a fairly crude victory dance.

Dakota brushed off the medic attending to her wound as if she was trying to swat away a fly that had been buzzing around her head, and moved over to Ruby.

“What the hell took you so long?” said Dakota, adopting her rigid squadron-leader stance and standoffishness. However, the curl of her lips gave away her true feelings.

Ruby shrugged. “I had to stop to pick up some gas on the way,” she said, also trying to keep a straight face, but she was clearly too pumped up to do anything other than grin like a Cheshire cat.

Then the two women embraced, laughing and slapping each other on the back before pulling away and gazing at each other like long-lost sisters. Ruby’s eyes then landed on Hallam.

Oh boy, here we go again… thought Hallam, bracing himself for another string of insults or cocky one-liners from the hot-headed pilot.

“You’re actually a pretty good combat pilot,” said Ruby without any irony or snark. “Who’d have thought it?”

“Well, you kept missing, so I thought it best if I stepped up and carried the can…” replied Hallam, hamming up his response accordingly.

Ruby smiled then grabbed a packet of purple gum from her pocket, popping a couple of sticks into her mouth. “I guess I can tolerate you as a member of the Wolf Squadron for a little longer,” Ruby added before starting to chew the gum. A pungent, artificial fruit smell filled the air around them. However, Hallam was more taken aback by the renegade’s unexpected and surprisingly convivial comment.

Is this her way of extending an olive branch? Hallam wondered as the pilot continued to stare at him, chewing noisily. Or is she just trying to get me to lower my guard before punching me in the balls? There was only one way to find out, he realized.

“That’s good to hear,” said Hallam, as a purple bubble momentarily obscured Ruby’s face before it burst with a satisfying pop. “I’ve chosen my side, and where I belong.”

Ruby nodded and, surprisingly, didn’t follow up with a cutting comment, straight-up insult, or – much to Hallam’s relief – a punch to his balls. Hallam rubbed his tired face, feeling that it wouldn’t be right to let the conversation fizzle out without offering an olive branch of his own.

“I guess this makes you the only renegade to have ever shot down a member of the Blackfire Squadron, right?” Hallam said, offering a little shrug and adding, “Not bad…”

Ruby sniffed and continued to regard Hallam for a few seconds before she then offered up the pack of gum. Hallam glared down at it, as if Ruby had just offered him a snotty tissue to eat, before glancing across to Dakota. She was silently urging him on with her eyes, as if they were both at high school, and she was encouraging him to ask someone out.

Hallam sighed and slid a stick of gum out of the packet, slipping it into his mouth. The intense, fake-fruit taste assaulted his palate like a scotch bonnet chili pepper, and it took all his restraint not to gag.

“This is good,” said Hallam, pointing to his mouth, though from the snickering expressions on the faces of both Ruby and Dakota, he imagined he must have looked like someone who was chewing nettle leaves.

Ruby finally caved and laughed out loud before slapping Hallam on the shoulder. “You’re not such a huge asshole after all,” she said brightly.

Hallam scowled but decided to take this as a compliment. Then they were all distracted by the appearance of Dr. Rand, walking across the deck toward them. Ruby and Dakota both spun around to face her, and as soon as their backs were turned, Hallam spat the disgusting purple goop out of his mouth. It splatted onto the boot of one of the maintenance workers and stuck there like a brightly-colored limpet on the hull of a boat. Luckily, the man didn’t spot it, and Hallam was quick to make himself appear innocent.

“Well, well, the Wolf Squadron, all back together again,” said Dr. Rand, offering each of them a warm smile. “Just as it should be.”

Dakota removed her backpack and rummaged around inside it, plucking out the data storage device and offering it to Dr. Rand.

“I hope whatever is on this thing is worth all the trouble,” said Dakota. “Because I think our chances of getting within one hundred thousand miles of Fortuna again are pretty slim.”

Dr. Rand took the device, pressed a button on the end, then slipped it into her breast pocket. “It won’t take long to find out,” she said, slipping her palm computer out of another pocket.

“That’s all there is to it?” said Hallam, frowning at the little computer in Dr. Rand’s hand. “You can unlock the data just like that?” he added with a snap of his fingers. He was half-expecting Dr. Rand to have built a thirty-foot-high supercomputer somewhere on the base in order to crack the device.

“I’m sorry if you were expecting something more dramatic, Mr. Knight,” replied Dr. Rand, flicking her eyes over the top of the computer screen as she spoke.

Hallam laughed. “No, I think I’ve had enough drama in my life, at least for one night.”

Dr. Rand didn’t answer and continued to work on the palm computer, while the device in her pocket flashed chaotically. Then she stopped and let out a surprised huff.

“Have you found something?” asked Dakota. If they had been sitting down, they’d have all been on the edge of their seats.

“Indeed I have,” said Dr. Rand, the tone of her voice conveying a suitable level of mystery and intrigue. “It seems that Damien Doyle has been keeping a rather large secret,” Dr. Rand continued. “A planet-sized secret, in fact…”

Dr. Rand let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, but the suspense was already too much for Hallam to bear. “Come on, Doc, out with it!” he said, throwing his arms out wide.

Dr. Rand raised her eyebrows and sighed. “For someone who isn’t looking for additional drama, you are certainly acting dramatically, Mr. Knight,” she said, peering down at the screen again. “Some time ago, Damien Doyle explored several other star systems, accessed via bridges engineered from his Consortium planet, Vesta,” she went on, leaving Hallam reeling from her stinging comeback. “However, the planets he discovered were all supposedly uninhabitable.”

“That’s news to me,” said Dakota. “I’ve never heard of there being other bridges from Vesta, or other star systems.”

“It would be news to most people,” replied Dr. Rand. “I learned of this expedition shortly after I escaped Doyle’s assassination attempt. However, it seems that Doyle was able to deceive even me.”

“So there is a habitable planet out there after all?” asked Hallam, beginning to see where Dr. Rand was leading. The scientist nodded. “And that’s where he’s hiding this alien probe?” Hallam added, as usual having to work hard to extract the finer details from the scientist.

Dr. Rand nodded again. “It’s somewhat ironic that we built our hideouts on moons orbiting rogue planets,” she said wistfully. “Because Damien Doyle himself is keeping the greatest secret in human history locked away on a rogue world of another kind. A planet set apart from all the others by a veil of secrecy.”

“You never did say how you escaped Doyle,” said Hallam. The mention of Doyle’s attempted assassination of Dr. Rand reminded him that the scientist had never explained how she had gotten free. Nor had she explained how she managed to gather the armada of super-freighters that she’d used to create her bases.

“No, I didn’t,” replied Dr. Rand. Hallam waited for her to continue, but it soon became apparent that this was the extent of the scientist’s response.

“Come on, Doc, just a hint!” said Hallam. Like Ruby, he was on a high from the victory and felt like pushing his luck.

“Let’s just say that there are other members of the galaxy’s ultra-rich elite that are more useful than Damien Doyle, and leave it at that,” replied Dr. Rand.

Hallam shrugged and nodded. The scientist’s answer was characteristically mysterious, but he was grateful for an answer at all, no matter how vague.

Ruby Rivas had been blowing a huge purple bubble while Dr. Rand and Hallam had been talking, and it popped like a firecracker going off.

“So when do we head out to this rogue world?” Ruby said as startled eyes all turned to her.

Dr. Rand smiled. “Get some rest first, Miss Rivas,” she said, looking at Dakota and gently touching her fingers to her bandaged head. “We’ll discuss the plan in the morning.”

Ruby blew out another bubble, let it burst, and then nodded before turning to Hallam and Dakota. “I’ll see you twerps in the bar in sixty,” she said, as if their ordeal had been nothing more exhausting than a friendly weekend sports match.

Ruby then strode away, accompanied by Dr. Rand, the excitable pilot wasting no time in regaling the scientist with tales of her derring-do.

“Are you ready for this?” said Dakota, glancing up at Hallam. “Another wild and crazy ride into the unknown, I mean?”

Hallam shrugged and smiled. “I’ve honestly got nothing better to do, so what the hell.” Then he became more serious, and added, “Besides, you’ve made me realize how important this all is. This is the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Dakota smiled before pointing to the medic who was still loitering close by, waiting to attend to her wound. “Give me chance to get cleaned up, and allow Florence Nightingale to stop me from bleeding out all over the deck, and I’ll see you in the bar in an hour, okay?”

“You’re buying, remember?” said Hallam, but he’d only managed a couple of steps toward the exit before Dakota protested.

“What the hell? How come!” Dakota cried as the medic again set to work on her injuries.

“I won the bet, of course,” said Hallam, though Dakota’s confused frown prompted him to elaborate. “I made it back to the fighter first.”

Dakota shook her head, eliciting an annoyed tut from the medic. “Fine, I admit it. You did win that one,” she replied before her eyebrow raised up a fraction. “Though you do know everything here is free, right?”

“Really?” said Hallam with mock surprise. “I guess I’m still learning this renegade stuff.”

Dakota smiled again. “I think you’re doing just fine, Hallam Knight,” she said warmly. “In fact, I couldn’t want for a better partner.”

“So does that mean you’ll stop whipping my ass with a wet towel in the showers?” Hallam asked, feeling the need to crack a joke before the tone of the conversation made him choke up.

“Not a chance in hell,” Dakota replied.

“I didn’t think so,” said Hallam, turning and walking back into the renegade hideout that had oddly become his home.

He was tired, battered, and bruised, and still a little daunted by the scale of the task that lay ahead. However, he’d finally come to terms with who he was. And more than this, for the first time in as long as he could remember, Hallam Knight actually liked himself.

He’d been tossed headfirst into a fight to save humanity and come up swimming. However, he also knew that the fight was a long way from being over yet. Their next mission would truly take them into the unknown, and the prospect of this should have terrified him, but it didn’t. He was a Darkspace Renegade, and a member of the Wolf Squadron. And with Dakota Wulfrun at his side, he truly believed that they could do anything.

FROM THE PUBLISHER

Thank you for reading Wolf Squadron, book two 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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