by J. N. Chaney
Any second now, I’d come across Ollie’s door. With each step, however, my mind drifted back to the moon, and I imagined myself staring down the barrel of a stranger’s gun yet again. He'd known exactly what he wanted, and he'd set me up. I was sure of it.
When I finally reached the door to the back of Ollie's shop, I paused and glanced both ways down the alley.
Empty.
I tried the knob, and much to my surprise, it was unlocked.
As I slipped into his back workshop, I scanned the space quickly before shutting the door behind me. I was alone except for the piles of metal and garbage Ollie had salvaged from the various dumps on the station. Twisted steel and debris had been piled high on every surface, all of it scrap and spare parts that would one day become exotic art for rich foreigners who didn't know better.
I set my palm on my revolver and quietly inched toward the open door frame that led into the hallway. The corridor would take me to the main shop, and since he wasn’t back here, he was probably tending to a customer.
Provided he wasn’t already dead, of course.
As I tried to get a glimpse of the hallway, I heard a shuffle through the doorframe and paused. I instinctively drew my gun, and I couldn't deny the situation had set me on edge. Seeing how I’d just had bullets flying past my ears, it was fair to be a little jumpy.
Footsteps thumped down the hallway, and I aimed toward the entrance into the workroom as I waited, silent as a ghost.
Ollie walked into the back room with his eyes glued to the data pad in his hand, and even as I relaxed, he didn't seem to notice me. He shuffled over to his workbench and shoved aside a pile of metal as he sat on the stool. With a long sigh, he set the pad on the bench and leaned against the table.
Only then did he finally look up, and his eyes landed on me.
My agent flinched and set a hand on his heart in surprise. He shut his eyes and slowly shook his head, like he couldn’t believe I’d do a thing like that to him, before he sucked in a breath of relief.
“Godsdammit, Jace,” he muttered.
“Keep your back door locked if you don't want surprises.” I holstered my gun and crossed my arms as I stood at the other end of the workshop from him. “What was with your cryptic message and the radio silence? I thought I’d find you dead in your own shop.”
“That’s quite an imagination you’ve got,” said Ollie.
“Given what I’ve been through, I’d say it’s fair,” I returned. “What did you find out? Why the hell would you leave an ominous message and then ghost?”
“I’ve been busy, Jace,” he said, pointing in the vague direction of his shop. “I’ve had an entire tour group from the Union in my store. Do you have an idea how difficult it is to help a dozen high-ranking Union officials, all at the same time?”
“Can’t say that I do,” I said, my shoulders tense as I once again scanned the piles of metal around me.
“What the hell is going on?” asked Ollie. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this on edge, Jace.”
I scoffed. “On edge doesn't even begin to describe it. The job was a setup, Ollie.” I began to pace the back length of the room, too restless to stand still. “I barely got out of there with my life. There was no artifact to pick up, and there certainly wasn't any pay.”
“That doesn't make sense.” He picked up his data pad again and tapped the surface as his brows knit with confusion. “Everything checked out for that job,” he said. “The client seemed legit. He's a real person, and he's placed jobs before, Jace. Paid jobs. Always followed through on his promises.”
“Then someone hijacked his account,” I said, still pacing. “Because the guy who came after me wasn't some rich old fart who had others do his jobs for him, Ollie. That was a trained hitman, and he wanted me dead.”
“A hitman?” asked Ollie, his eyes wide with shock.
“Judging from the way he shot first and asked questions never, I’d say yes. A hitman.”
Ollie chewed the inside of his cheek, his eyes glossing over as he stared at the floor, deep in thought. “Describe him.”
“Salt-and-pepper hair. Strong build. Endless supply of guns and ammo. Quick to pull the trigger. The sort of guy to never ask questions.”
“Did he say anything?”
“The guy knew my name, Ollie.”
He paused, his eyes dropping slightly. “Damn.”
“Yeah,” I quipped back. “That about sums it up.”
My agent leaned one elbow on the workbench and rubbed his face in resignation, as if he had pieced something together.
“What?” I asked, pausing mid-stride as I stared him down. “This has to do with your message, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” admitted Ollie as he ran his hand through his hair. “I might know who you met, Jace. The man you described sounds a lot like Colt Lockwood.”
My blood ran cold at the name. Colt was a famous Renegade. He had been in this job longer than I'd been alive. Even some of his aliases were famous outlaws in the Deadlands, Union, and in the Sarkonian Empire.
Every Renegade alive knew about this guy, and most of them wanted to become like him someday.
“But why would Colt Lockwood want me dead?” I asked.
“I can only guess, Jace,” said Ollie with a frustrated shrug. “Here, look at this image. I managed to get a recent shot of him from a security feed at the edge of Union space. It’s from last week.”
Ollie handed me his data pad, and I stared down at the screen to find the same man who had stood in the hallway, scoping the doors along the wall. In the still from the security footage, Colt stood in a bar with his gun aimed at the bartender. Around him, people dove out of the way as the bartender raised his hands in surrender.
“Colt shot that guy in cold blood,” said Ollie with a nod to the data pad. “Mistaken identity. Didn’t bat an eye. Colt’s a coldhearted bastard, Jace. You’re saying this is the guy who came after you?”
“That’s him,” I confirmed. I rubbed my eyes and handed the pad back to him. “Is this why you called me? You found out Colt was after me?”
“Sort of,” admitted Ollie as he set the pad down on the workbench. “One of my local contacts gave me a warning about the person snooping on the Zacharias Decker job. They said it was one of Colt's lesser-known aliases doing the digging, but it took a while to figure that out. This guy has more identities than I have sculptures, Jace.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered.
“His alias was used to override my lock on the Decker job,” continued Ollie. “Now he knows who the last person to see Zacharias Decker alive was.”
“Me,” I finished.
“Exactly,” said Ollie with a nod. “I didn't think Colt would come after you, to be honest, or else I would’ve warned you in my message. I was just going to tell you he’d been the one snooping. I thought he was just checking on the status of the job. That he and Decker had probably crossed paths. And that maybe he was one of the folks dancing on the man’s grave, so to speak.”
I frowned, waiting for Ollie to get to the point. “I take it that’s not the case?”
“Not quite,” he admitted. “Two hours ago, my contact got back to me with some bad news. Apparently, Colt and Decker go way back. They were friends, I guess you could say, but it's not clear how they met or why they know each other. All we know is that Colt has gotten Decker out of a few scrapes in the past, and it seemed like maybe he was trying to do the same thing this time.”
That made me sit up. “Oh, so you can answer your contact, but not me?”
Ollie spread his hands in a sign of peace. “Sorry, Jace. The matter was urgent. Besides, I knew you’d come and find me. Wagered you’d want to know that Colt was working on getting rid of the bounty on Decker’s head.”
“But I got to Decker first,” I said.
“It looks like it,” replied Ollie with a tilt of his head.
I sat with that for a minute as I slowly pieced it all together. There was a lot
that could be happening right now, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear—Colt Lockwood was gunning for me.
Whether he and Decker were friends, enemies, or business partners, Colt had bailed Decker out more than once. This time, he’d failed. I’d been faster, and me getting to Decker first had probably cost the man his life. There was no telling if the Carson kids would’ve had a chance to kill him if they hadn’t lucked into a clear shot of him on my ship.
I didn’t have many facts, and that meant I didn’t have much to go on. I did know, however, that Colt Lockwood, possibly the greatest Renegade alive, had tried to kill me. He knew my name, and he wanted me dead.
The only possible reason, as of this moment, was because I’d been the last person to see Zacharias Decker alive.
“You're in deep trouble, Jace,” said Ollie. “And you weren't even paid well for it.”
“No kidding,” I said, kicking the corner of the table as I resumed my pacing along the far wall. “What do you know about Colt?”
“Not much,” admitted Ollie. “I’ve seen encounters with Colt go south before, from a distance of course. Heard about it through the Renegade net, a bunch of whispers and rumors. It's never good.”
“Terrific,” I said.
“The guy's relentless,” continued Ollie, as if I hadn't said anything. “He has the sort of connections to give even Fratley Oxanos a run for his money. He's not quite as influential as Fratley is, but he’s pretty damn close.”
“Even better,” I said, fighting not to bite Ollie’s head off.
For a moment, I just paced the far wall of Ollie's workshop, letting the silence sit between us as I processed everything he was telling me. Back in the ghost town, Colt hadn't wanted to talk. He’d only said enough to make it clear he knew my name. That he knew me.
He’d been playing with his food. Dragging out the moment.
My best guess was that if he’d found me once, he could do it again.
The man had set up the entire encounter, I was sure of it. Either that, or he’d killed the drop-off agent and taken his place. Both options were viable, but with Colt Lockwood, I could only assume the worst.
He had probably waited to attack until the Renegade Star landed, until he thought he had me in a vulnerable position with no possible means of escape.
The fact was he had wanted to kill me without saying much of anything, and that meant this guy was all business.
This was bad. I'd had rogue Union operatives after me and even had the Sarkonian Empire on my tail before. But this? This was Renegade against Renegade.
Even worse, I was going up against one of the best in the industry. I was going up against a legend with money, connections, and a thirst for revenge.
“What are you going to do, Jace?” asked Ollie, rubbing his jaw as he watched me.
“I'm going to drink,” I decided, heading for the door. “I'm going to drink a lot of the finest whiskey I can get my hands on, and then I'm going to come up with a plan.”
Because, come hell or high water, I would never go down without a fight—no matter who aimed their gun at my head.
Colt Lockwood had the advantage, here, but I’d do everything in my power to give him a run for his money.
If I had to find a way to kill a living legend, then godsdammit, so be it.
10
With my boots resting on the edge of the control panel on the Renegade Star, I leaned back in the pilot’s chair, glancing at a half-empty bottle of booze on my dash. The label said O’Connell Fireball Whiskey. Each drink burned, but the warm aftertaste sat longer in my belly than any of the other cheap brands.
I took a long swig straight from the bottle. This seemed like the sort of occasion to splurge.
On principle, I didn’t usually drink on the bridge, unless I was in dock or riding through a long slip tunnel. Booze and flying rarely blended well, and the boundaries I kept on my ship made me sharper. More focused. More capable of dealing with whatever came my way.
With Colt Lockwood after me, though, I decided a few shots of some decent whiskey would do me some good. This was easily the worst trouble I'd been in yet—and that included cheating the Sarkonian Empire out of a stolen Union data cache.
I sighed and leaned my head back against the headrest, closing my eyes as my mind drifted.
Ollie was safe. No Renegade would go after an RBO agent, especially someone like Colt. It would mean getting blacklisted forever from the Renegade net, and it would make people think he’d gone off the rails. Everyone would wonder if they were next, and they might even go after him. No one touched an RBO agent. Ever. Under any circumstances.
But that didn’t mean any of their Renegades were safe. The network was operated largely by the agents, and they chose to look after themselves. I knew Ollie would always have my back, and for that I was grateful, but he couldn’t shield me forever.
Even if he did torture or kill Ollie, it wouldn't do much anyway. I didn’t give Ollie details on my whereabouts, and he had nothing to tell Colt that the man couldn’t find out on his own. There were always docking logs and flight records. Someone would have seen my ship. One way or another, a man like Colt knew how to locate their mark. I should know.
If only going after a fellow Renegade netted the same consequences as going after an agent. Too bad we didn’t look after our own the same way they did.
We each took our own paths, finished our own jobs, and destroyed the people who got in our way. There was no Renegade brotherhood, and there never would be.
I stared out the side window at the tourist docking station beyond the Star, debating my next move.
Most people would’ve gone into hiding the second they discovered Colt Lockwood was after them. They would have bought a cheap apartment on a remote world and ghosted every contact they had. Pay physical credits for everything. No digital fingerprint. Change their identity.
But hiding wasn't my way.
I wasn’t sure how I’d get out of this mess, but one thing was for certain: there was always an out. It was the only thing that had kept me alive all these years. That, and the fact I was a decent shot when the moment called for it.
In a weird, messed up way, it was a little flattering for Colt Lockwood to come after me himself. Most of the time in situations like these, most would send assassins to finish the job for them so they didn’t have to dirty their own hands or risk their own lives. Hell, half the jobs on the Renegade net were for hits like this.
But Colt wasn’t the type to have someone else do the job. He’d fire that bullet himself.
But I had a stubborn will to survive… and a bit of luck. That had been my whole career. My whole life, really. And it had kept me breathing.
I’d need more than that if I was going to go up against one of the best Renegades alive, though. I needed to up my game.
That was when an idea struck me, but I didn't know if I liked it.
A cloaking device like the one I’d asked Fratley to dig up all those months ago. I wondered if the old psychopath had found one yet.
I might have one. Eventually. You're on the list, Jace, he'd always promised. I could still hear his voice, slick as ever, assuring me that my turn was coming.
Time and time and time again. Always the same non-answer. He had cycled through those three responses so often that I’d memorized them. Heard one every month since I’d paid off the Star.
The chances of him actually having a cloak were slim, and I knew relying on it would be a mistake. It was a pipedream, and getting a cloak involved the sort of illicit dealings that tested even Fratley’s expansive resources and connections, but it was worth another call, wasn’t it?
The ordeal with Colt made getting a cloak urgent. After all, it wasn't a matter of if, but when he found me. When that happened, I needed to be ready. I needed to have an advantage against someone with his connections, resources, and experience.
But this could, at the very least, give me a chance.
Based on the run-
in on the moon, it didn't seem like Colt had that capability. Otherwise, he would have done a better job at surprising me. Sigmond had been able to detect him, after all.
If Fratley knew I was desperate, he would milk me for every credit he could, then bury me under that debt and bleed me dry. And that was if he even had one.
“Captain, are you unwell?” asked Sigmond. “Since the job that killed Mr. Decker, you’ve been far less talkative. By fifty-two percent, as a matter of fact.”
“I’m fine. Just thinking.”
“I don’t believe you,” he remarked.
“Shut it, Siggy,” I said, going quiet for a moment. As the silence stretched, I cleared my throat and continued. “I need you to send word to Fratley. See if you can get him on a live transmission. I need to talk to him.”
“Right away, sir. Am I to assume you’re looking to upgrade your ship?”
“Might be,” I said. “You think you can handle a few new bells?”
“You can count on me, sir.”
I slumped back into my seat and rested my elbows on the armrests as I stared at the holo in front of me, waiting.
Usually with Fratley, I had to leave a message. He had his hand in just about every industry in the region. He was always busy.
“Mr. Oxanos is available, sir,” said Sigmond, taking me by surprise. “Patching him through now.”
Huh. I must have caught him on a good day.
Fratley’s face appeared on the holo, and he smiled broadly as he looked me over. “Jacey Hughes,” he said, tilting his head in surprise. “Ain’t you a sight?”
“Hey, Fratley,” I said, my tone even. “I’m calling about that cloak you promised me.”
“I didn't promise you shit, Jacey boy. I said I might have one. Eventually. If you stay in my good graces. You know what the word might means?”
“Am I in your good graces?” I asked with a grin. “I paid off the debt I owed.”
“That’s a fact,” he said, chuckling as he raised a bottle of red liquor. “My favorite kind of customer.”
“So, do you have one?”
“Patience.” Fratley looked off at something I couldn't see. “Ain’t got nothing today, but you keep your line free and start saving those credits. We’ll see about it soon.”