Origins: The Complete Series

by J. N. Chaney

  If I’d learned one thing in this business, it was to listen when my gut told me something was off, even if it didn’t make a lick of sense.

  With my head resting against the armrest of the couch, I stared up at the ceiling above me. The Carson kids bothered me the most, and I hated that I cared. If I had to guess, those three would be dead within the week.

  Hell, if anyone else but me had intercepted them after they’d killed Decker, they would be dead already.

  Expensive guns and fancy clothes didn’t save your hide in a fight. The kids had been grieving, angry, and vengeful. Only Edwin had kept his head on straight, and even then, he had given up too easily back at the station when I’d held him at gunpoint. I’d been outnumbered, and he was close enough to disarm me or at least divert the gun.

  He’d admitted it himself, though. He was a shit fighter, and yet he was their leader. It seemed like a bad combination, and I doubted it would end well for any of them. They weren't experienced enough to be professionals, and without the guidance from their father, they were goners. Edwin was smart, but from what I’d gathered, even he wasn’t quite smart enough to survive in the Deadlands on his own.

  I reached again for the mostly empty bottle and missed a few times before I snagged it. I lifted it to my mouth and took another sip, careful to crane my neck so that it didn't spill.

  Maybe I didn’t live a glamourous life, but I didn't regret becoming a Renegade. It fit me just fine, and I loved the freedom.

  But godsdamn, did it sometimes take me places I’d rather not be.

  I wasn’t asking to be free of trouble. I knew the risks of the job and I understood the cost of my freedom. But I liked to think I knew how to minimize how many enemies I made. Maybe I wasn’t as good at this as I thought.

  “Sir,” said Sigmond, interrupting my drunken thoughts. “The ship is refueled.”

  “Good,” I said, slurring a little. “Did Ollie give you any word on another job yet?”

  “Yes, sir. He said to call when you're free.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I'm not exactly busy, Siggy,” I said, lifting the bottle in the air.

  “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, Captain,” said Sigmond. “I did not wish to interrupt.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say that was attitude you’re giving me.”

  “Perish the thought, sir. Shall I connect you to Mr. Trinidad?”

  “Do it.”

  “Very good, sir,” said the AI. “Stand by a moment.”

  “That works for me, Sig—”

  “Jace,” said Ollie through my earpiece, a little too loud and shrill for my liking.

  I winced at the sound but tried to keep the irritation out of my tone even as a headache toyed with attacking my skull. “What have you got for me, Ollie?”

  “I found a job that a few other Renegades have been asking about,” said my agent. “It's an application-only gig, and the two Renegades who have applied so far have been denied. Apparently, this client wants experience.”

  That sounded interesting—and lucrative.

  I swung my legs over the sofa and sat up, my feet on the floor and my elbows on my knees as I listened to him speak. The world spun for a moment with the sudden movement, and I closed my eyes to ride out the drunken spins. “Is the client anybody we know?”

  “No, I've never worked with this guy,” answered Ollie, kindly ignoring the obvious lurch in my voice. “It's some rich man who owns one of the smaller Deadlands planets. It's just a delivery job for a very rare artifact. He says he's concerned about its safety, and he's being choosy with who goes, but he wants someone with experience handling older pieces. Delicacy in handling. You know how these people are. Doesn’t wanna give it over to some rookie.”

  I’d handled artifacts a few dozen times, so I was certainly no stranger to that type of work. “What’s the pay?”

  “Jace, you’re going to like this number. Check your data pad.”

  I pulled out my pad and watched the screen as Ollie sent over an encrypted file. I opened it to see a number that just about sobered me right up. Thirty thousand credits.

  “Damn,” I let out. “That’ll do just fine. That compensates for the Decker job and then some.”

  “Want to apply?” asked Ollie. “See what happens?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  I wasn’t worried. I’d never been much for modesty, and with my experience delivering artifacts over the last few years, a denial on this would surprise me.

  After all, I had all the experience this guy was asking for from my previous jobs carting around artifacts for the bored and rich.

  Though I wanted to make up my losses on the last job, I had to confess that I mostly needed something to keep me busy. Drinking for three days was already starting to sound mind-numbingly dull. I’d given time off a shot, and it had already bored me. Screw a vacation. I wanted well-paying work and a trip through the stars.

  “We should hear back soon,” said Ollie. “The replies have been quick.”

  “Alright,” I answered. “Keep me posted. Call me as soon as you hear something.”

  “You got it, Jace,” answered my agent. “Enjoy the bourbon.”

  “Way ahead of you.”

  He chuckled. “I can tell.”

  As the transmission cut out, I set the bottle on the floor. I rubbed my face, the buzz still going strong even as I pushed myself to my feet. I wasn't quite to the point of stumbling, but the floor did seem a little rocky.

  While I waited to hear back on the job, I wanted to go look at my new toy.

  By the grace of the gods—and the handrail on the stairwell—I made my way down to the cargo bay, past the now-cleaned spot that had once held a chair and Decker’s corpse. I could still smell the cleaning solution that had bleached his blood from my floor, and the fumes burrowed into my drunken brain like an irritating song. A hint of nausea burned in my throat at the sickly smell, but I kept it at bay.

  I took my time crossing the cargo hold until I got to the locker where I had stored Hunter's sniper rifle. I pulled it out and pressed my back against the other lockers, examining the gun to see if there was something I had missed the first time around.

  The rifle was top of the line and had to be expensive. I aimed it toward the far wall and squinted through the scope as I nestled the butt of the gun against my shoulder. Even drunk I could see the rivets along the far wall as if I were standing right in front of them.

  This wasn’t just a sniper rifle. It was a work of godsdamn art.

  I tilted it every which way, examining it from every angle, but it was perfect. No dents. No stains. Perfect condition. A gun this fine could fetch me a decent price if I found the right dealer, and I knew of at least two that would take it no questions asked.

  I debated pawning it, mainly because I knew it would piss off Hunter if he ever found out about it. Out in space, however, it was smarter to keep as much firepower on hand as possible.

  For now, it would stay in the locker.

  There had to be some clue hidden in all of this that would snap everything into focus for me. I just had to find it.

  “Who do you think it is, Siggy?” I asked, lifting the sniper rifle again and aiming it toward the stairwell. It fit so perfectly into my hands that it almost seemed like it had been made for me.

  “Who, sir?” asked the AI.

  “The people trying to get info on the Decker job,” I replied. “I need to figure out who that is and what they want.”

  “There are many possibilities, sir,” answered the AI. “I believe the most logical theory is that it was one of Decker’s enemies. Based on our research on the gal-net, it seems as though he had several. A few cursory searches show that no one is mourning him. There have even been a few celebrations, all publicly declared, with hundreds of attendees each.”

  I shook my head, not quite believing what I was hearing. “Imagine that, Siggy. Being such a horrible human that people throw a party when y
ou die.”

  “He certainly made questionable choices, Captain.”

  Sigmond was right, of course, and I sat with the gravity of it all. This guy was such a scumbag that people were organizing festivals when they heard that someone had finally taken him out.

  That was the sort of thing that happened when infamous people died—not nobodies from a worthless space station. Zacharias Decker had been somebody, and he had died on my watch. My grip on the rifle tightened at the thought.

  Maybe my skepticism had just been cynicism. Gods knew it wouldn’t have been the first time—or the last.

  Maybe the kids had the right idea after all.

  “Sir,” said Sigmond. “Mr. Trinidad is calling you. Shall I patch him through?”

  “Yeah, Siggy,” I said as I put the sniper rifle away. “Go ahead.”

  “Good news, Jace,” said Ollie through the earpiece. “The job was approved. It looks like your reputation is starting to spread.”

  “I believe you called it ‘renown,’ Ollie.”

  He laughed. “Well, whatever it is, all this hard work of yours is paying off.”

  “That's good,” I said, and I couldn't deny the surge of relief I felt at getting another gig so soon.

  Having a solid reputation with Deadlands socialites was key to a lifelong career as a Renegade—as long as it didn't get me any heat from the Union.

  “I'm going to send over the coordinates,” said Ollie. “Good luck, Jace. Hopefully no twenty-something kids intercept you this time.”

  “You’re an ass, Ollie.”

  “Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Now go make us some money, Jace.”

  7

  I stood in the cockpit, my eyes narrowed in suspicion as I studied the holo’s display of the dusty moon we’d landed on. Arms crossed, back straight, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about this was all a little over the top.

  Per the notes from my picky new client, I’d landed the Star on a moon orbiting some trading planet about a day’s trek from Taurus Station. The grey rock was dry and barren, in a system where there wasn't much out here at all.

  According to the light research I’d done on the gal-net, this place was a terraformed moon that once had a decent supply of precious metals in its core. A mining colony had been built here for a brief resource-gathering operation, but it was abandoned decades ago when they’d dug up all there was to dig.

  It was also, for some strange reason, my pickup spot.

  Dilapidated buildings were about the only thing that remained in what could only be described as a ghost town. On the holo, a long stretch of dusty road led through roughly four dozen collapsed buildings that were once the hub of the town. A town hall of sorts sat in a courtyard in the middle of the wide road, surrounded on all sides by the dusty path and crumbling buildings. Broken planks and shards of glass littered the main road from decades of neglect and rot. Roofs had caved in over time, their broken beams sticking out of the top of the remaining structures like bones in a carcass.

  The place had been empty for ages, but that didn’t mean there was no one here.

  “Air quality?” I asked.

  “Satisfactory,” answered Sigmond. “Not ideal, and there do appear to be some lingering contaminants in the air from the mining operation. However, it’s not dangerous to breathe for a short period.”

  “I don’t plan to stay long,” I pointed out. Good news—I wouldn’t need a suit. Always a plus. “Do another scan, Siggy. Tell me what else is out here.”

  “Initiating,” said the AI. “My scans show that there are four other ships nearby, but their trajectories show them passing the moon and angling toward the planet—a shipping port. There doesn't seem to be any ship on the moon itself besides the Renegade Star.”

  No ships meant no people—probably. Nothing out here but gray rock and dust.

  “Let’s get this artifact, then,” I said.

  I cast one last look back at the holo, at the ruins and caved-in buildings littered across the remnants of the mining town. This place had been built in a rush and left in a hurry, so there wasn't more than one structurally sound building remaining.

  The only structure still standing was the town hall in the middle of it all. According to the job details, that was where I was supposed to do the pickup.

  I made my way through the Star and down to the cargo bay as Sigmond opened the gate. A cold draft rolled over me as the seal on the doors broke, and an uncomfortable chill snaked down my spine. The hair on my arms stood on end, but I shrugged it off and stepped out onto the moon.

  I'd just have to make this quick.

  As I planted my boot in the gray dust, I studied the long trek ahead of me. Landing in front of the building we needed would’ve been preferred, but I didn't want to bring the Star down on one of the decaying structures. A quick walk was worth protecting my ship’s hull from whatever damage might come to it if a two-ton beam smacked against the side.

  I made my way toward the town hall and cast sidelong glances at the dark, destroyed buildings along the main road. I felt exposed as I passed the caved-in structures stained with time and covered in the gray dust from the moon's surface. The doors were all long gone, and a few times, I thought I saw a jet-black shadow dart through the lingering darkness in a few of the buildings.

  Just tricks of the mind. Shadows couldn’t hurt me, but better safe than sorry.

  I set my hand on my pistol, just in case.

  “Still don't see anything?” I asked Sigmond through the comm in my ear.

  “Negative, sir. We're still alone on the moon. I'll notify you immediately if the situation changes.”

  “Good,” I said.

  When I reached the halfway mark between the Star and the town hall, I glanced up at the open black above me. The planet we were orbiting swirled with clouds, and patches of ocean appeared now and then through gaps in its storms. Beyond the blue and white sphere, the empty expanse of space stretched on in every direction.

  This was where I belonged, not trapped on station drinking whiskey. The nothing scared the shit out of some. The idea of floating through the Big Empty sent fear clear to their toes. But to me, that was freedom, and it called to me.

  As I reached the front door of the lone surviving building, I walked along the edges of the rotting steps.

  I grimaced. I was all for secrecy on clandestine missions, but this was ridiculous. The client could have picked a drop-off point that at least had functional stairs.

  Whatever. As long as he paid me, I didn’t really care what hoops I had to jump through.

  The front door creaked on rusty hinges as I walked in. I paused at the entrance to scope the interior, while dust swirled in a beam of light through a back window. Dirt coated everything. Chairs lay on their sides, toppled and tossed across the otherwise empty floor. A few overturned desks sat along the walls, and I figured this must have been a reception area of some sort for the miners. Maybe they got their paychecks here, or paid fines. This place had probably been looted after it was abandoned, and not much had been left behind.

  These makeshift towns never had much to begin with.

  The floor creaked as I walked in, and the steady groans of the aging wood just left me more on edge. My hand hovered on the doorknob as I debated the best course of action. If I left the door open, I’d have a clear path of escape if I needed it—but I might also alert others to where I’d gone, should someone show up looking for trouble.

  Shoulders tense, I rested my hand on the pistol in the holster at my side and continued through the main entry. A lone hallway cut to the left, and I took it in my search for the back room where the artifact had supposedly been left for me to find.

  I scanned each room as I passed. Most of the doors sat ajar, if they were still on their hinges at all, and many of the rooms were bare of any furniture. Silence weighed on the air like the calm before a storm, and I paused at a corner in the hallway. I peered around it, only to find more doors.


  The place seemed to go on forever and I just wanted to grab the package and get gone.

  Every door sat open except for one at the very end of the corridor. I studied it, wondering if this could be the room I was looking for.

  “I think I found our spot, Siggy,” I said into my comm.

  “Excellent news, sir,” replied the AI. “No incoming ships detected thus far.”

  Good.

  My notes on the job had indicated that the item I needed to pick up would be left by the drop-off agent in a back room, sitting on the desk.

  Even though I didn’t know what I was picking up, the job was still simple enough. I just had to find the only thing of value on the moon.

  Not willing to let my guard down this close to success, I drew my pistol and rounded the corner. The floor creaked again beneath me as I peered into the next open room.

  Empty. I continued, slow and steady, down the hall. The next room was bare just like the rest.

  As I approached the closed door, I set my thumb against my pistol’s hammer, waiting for an excuse to cock it and fire. I could feel the rising tension settle into my back, square between my shoulder blades, but I pushed on.

  Quietly, I pushed the door open. It gave with the subtle touch, not even fully closed, and I shoved it open.

  I immediately trained my gun on the room, half expecting someone to be waiting for me, just begging for me to put a bullet in them.

  But the room was empty.

  Same as everywhere else on the gods-forsaken moon, there was dust on every surface. Two toppled chairs in the corner caught my attention, but aside from that, the only other thing in the room was the large wooden desk at the far end by a broken window.

  And there was nothing on top of it. Dust layered the surface, perfect and undisturbed. Not only was nothing here, but no one had even been here yet to drop anything off.

  “Godsdammit,” I muttered, holstering my weapon.

  “Another ship is approaching, sir,” interjected Sigmond to the comm in my ear. “Shall I close the gate and start the engines?”