Kaine's Retribution

by D. M. Pruden

  Shit-hole was the more accurate term for Molly’s bar.

  The only redeeming feature was that it was within stumbling distance of home—and the fact that they accepted his credit most of the time.

  Moira, the proprietor, was the first to notice his entry. “Well, ain’t you a sight? We all thought you was dead.”

  Hayden glanced at the familiar faces that interrupted their drinking to acknowledge him. They were the ones who didn’t owe him money. The few who kept their heads down told him everything about the likelihood of getting paid today.

  He removed his goggles and pulled the habiq from his head in a cascade of dust and sand. The burnoose-like hood was caked with the fine, wind-blown clay that coated everything on the godforsaken moon.

  With a big grin, he sidled up to the bar. “You know how it is. Wherever I go, I bring joy. I’ve just been sharing it with other people lately.”

  “Kaine,” she said, “you’re so full of shit, your eyes should be brown.”

  They shared a laugh before he ordered his favourite drink. Returning, she placed it in front of him and fixed him with a no-nonsense gaze.

  “So, where’ve you been? We heard rumours that some strange things are going on out there in the void. Ships and crews disappearing again...” she lowered her voice, “...like in the old days.”

  Ten years on, and people couldn’t shake their fear.

  “Are those stories circulating again? I didn’t see a thing, and I spend more time out there than most of the clowns spreading rumours.”

  He punctuated his reply with a disarming smile. How could he tell her, or anyone, that he knew for a fact the invaders were all dead? It would mean admitting he was there when everything went to shit. They might even piece together that he was responsible for their isolation.

  “I didn’t hear anything. Been too busy scavenging wrecks.”

  She leaned forward, her grip still tight on his glass. “When will you be able to pay your tab?”

  He offered up his best boyish grin. “After I find something worth selling.”

  Moira’s expression remained hard.

  “Soon,” he said more soberly.

  With an unconvinced grunt, she released her grasp and went to intervene in an argument before it devolved into a fight.

  Sighing, he picked up his drink and downed half of it in one gulp. He couldn’t blame her for her surliness. The locals were already living hand-to-mouth since before they had to hide from Malliac hunting parties.

  A heavy-handed slap on the back roused him from his musings. “Hayden, my good man, can you spot a friend for a libation?”

  A large, scruffy man sat down. His few remaining teeth were ochre, and his halitosis was almost overwhelming. Accumulated grime was ground in the skin of his huge hands. Judging by his stench, the man had not bathed in months.

  “Malcolm,” said Kaine, barely concealing his disgust. “I’m tapped out until you pay me for that last load of deck plating I delivered.”

  “Uh, yeah, about that...” Malcolm’s ugly face contorted grotesquely in an unfamiliar attempt to appear contrite. “The bailiff confiscated everything. Told me some bullshit story about back taxes being owed...”

  “He cleaned you out?”

  “The entire warehouse.”

  “What about your cash?”

  He shook his head. “They got everything.”

  “Can’t you give me at least a portion? I need parts for my ship, or I’m grounded.”

  “Sorry, man.”

  Shaking his head, he looked about the bar at the other patrons. It was an all too familiar story. Since the collapse of the net and Mu Arae’s isolation from the Confederacy, local attempts to reestablish governance had cropped up all over. Petty dictators vied to carve fiefdoms out of their former administrative districts. Most people circumvented taxation by resorting to barter. It had been an effective tactic. He took another sip and wondered what the situation was like in systems that had military assets when the network went down.

  Ricote was one of three habitable moons and the remains of the former colony. With the planet Dulcinea destroyed, survivors had to choose between living under the dictates of petty local administrators or hiding amidst the wrecked starships and asteroids that littered the system.

  Upon realizing he was not going to benefit from Hayden’s charitable nature, Malcolm wandered off to try his luck elsewhere.

  Hayden cursed under his breath. The only reason he was broke was because he spent too much money in places like this. Until recently, business had been good. With a little self-discipline over the past ten years, he would now be rich, or at least significantly better off.

  He was not wired like that. The closest brush he ever came to being a responsible adult happened after graduation from the academy—and that had landed him here.

  Maybe if Stella was still with him...

  Scowling, he downed the last of his drink. The offensive hooch scorched a path down his throat.

  Hayden fished in his pocket in search of something to pay for a refill. Moira’s generosity went only so far. Finding nothing but sand, he smiled wryly.

  Staying sober would not be a challenge; it would just make starving to death less bearable.

  He needed to find cash. It was the only thing that would acquire the part to make his salvage ship space worthy again, not that it ever truly was.

  His wandering eye caught sight of Derry getting drunk in the corner with his entourage. Indisputably the wealthiest scavenger in the sector, the man had a warehouse filled with enough parts to build two new ships, and he wouldn’t deal with anyone whom he deemed competition. There was a finite number of wrecks left by the Malliac, most of which had already been located and stripped bare.

  Hayden had proven himself an exceptional scavenger. With his intimate knowledge of starships, he was able to locate valuable small parts overlooked by others. His time helping Cora, the engineer aboard Scimitar, had taught him how to make the most out of every bit of hardware. Her preternatural skills had kept the out-of-date starship operational when other engineers would give up on it.

  He lifted his empty glass to his mouth as he thought of her. There was no reason to believe she, Pavlovich, or any of the crew had survived the final battle with the aliens. Even if they had, Scimitar plunged into a black hole to disappear forever.

  They were gone, and he was trapped in the asshole system of the empire. At least he was alive, a condition that would be under threat if he could not resume his new livelihood.

  Waving his farewell to Moira, he strode toward the door.

  “Oy, Kaine.”

  Wincing, he stopped and turned. “Hey, Derry, I see business is good.”

  “Me and my lads are celebrating. We found a pristine, excelsior-class courier ship hidden in the asteroid field; untouched. I’m feeling generous. Let me buy you a drink.”

  As Derry’s booming laughter echoed about the bar, it was apparent that even inebriated, the man’s generosity would not extend beyond an offer of cheap booze.

  Even hammered, he would never be persuaded to make a deal for the needed part, no matter how onerous the terms Hayden might agree to. Another, more imaginative way was required. He joined the partying group and gratefully accepted the cup of grog presented to him.

  As the evening wore on and his nemesis slurred his stories to drunken companions, an idea formed. And the beauty of it was that Derry would never realize how generous he was about to become.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  How Low Can You Go?

  HE DIDN’T NEED to do much. Just refrain from drinking.

  Mustering all his self-discipline, Hayden accepted one drink then nursed it late into the night. The temptation to down it and grab another, and then several more, was almost overpowering. It felt like another person inside of him was trying to hijack his mind. Having listened to that voice far too often in his past, he was determined to stay the course.

  For five hours, he pretended to listen t
o bawdy stories and insulting jibes from Derry and his entire crew. He was not the only one they treated poorly. Everyone who wished to be in their orbit endured it as the price of inclusion. Normally, his host didn’t give Hayden the time of day; they had a visceral dislike for each other that went beyond being competitors. Today was different. He wanted to rub Hayden’s nose in his success. Given the choice between scavenging for what he needed versus dealing with Derry, his preference would be the former.

  But that option was unavailable.

  Besides, if everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t need to deal with the man at all.

  As the group became heavily inebriated with the passage of time, he reflected on his own situation. There was a time that his honour meant something to him—when following a code of conduct came naturally. Yes, he got into a lot of trouble in his youth, but it had been harmless, immature fun, for the most part. He only ever broke rules; never laws.

  What he planned tonight would disappoint Iris and enrage his father. His circumstances were different now. She was dead, and Walden Kaine was thousands of light years away.

  He was on his own and desperate enough that he resisted the liquid temptation in his cup.

  The party wound down as midnight approached. Derry and most of the others were passed out and snoring quietly. Only half a dozen remained on their feet.

  Hayden slipped out unnoticed, and once outside, he checked his chronometer. He had a little more than an hour before Moira would rouse the sleeping drunks so she could close up.

  Setting off at a jog, he made his way to the warehouse. It was easy to find in the dark, being the most brightly lit structure on the outskirts of town.

  Derry had acted carefree this evening, but he was no fool. One of his men did not attend the celebration, so Hayden had a good idea who was on guard duty.

  His suspicions were proven correct when, lurking in the shadows, he spotted the fellow on his circuit. Observing for a few minutes told Hayden how long he had.

  When all was clear, he dashed to the perimeter fence. His cutting laser took care of the simple lock and chain that held the gate closed. With one eye on the spot he expected the guard to approach, he scurried to the building. He wondered why Derry made things so easy. Perhaps it was because anyone who had interest in the contents of Derry’s warehouse was known to him.

  He realized how flawed his plan was—if it could even be called that. He was making things up as he went. It was crazy and stupid to be doing this. The frontier justice he faced if caught was understood. There was no constable in town, and no gaol, but the new graves of two would-be thieves made clear the potential consequences if he was discovered. Everything rode on his ability to quietly abscond with the part, repair his ship, and be off on a salvage mission before anyone suspected what was missing. It would take weeks to search for one specific item without knowing what to look for.

  As he repeated the plan to himself, it sounded stupid, but he was already inside the door, so there was little point to backing out.

  Perhaps he might come up with a less risky course of action if he was drunk. Inebriated and lazy, he would probably make an offer to Derry and hope he was intoxicated enough to accept a reasonable deal. But if Hayden revealed that he was grounded, the terms might not be anything he could live with, no matter how much booze the other man consumed. As things stood, nobody was aware of his need, so he hoped no one would suspect him of thievery.

  He pulled out a small penlight and shone it around. The interior of the warehouse was enormous. Rows of neatly arranged shelves rose twenty metres to the ceiling.

  He’d been in the building before and observed how Derry ran things. He was an organized businessman who knew the value of ensuring his inventory was easily located when someone wished to buy.

  After a furtive check of the door, Hayden crept through the dark to where he knew his prize was kept.

  A large, disorganized pile of salvaged components lay in the far corner—the recovered booty that had inspired Derry’s generosity. It had been hurriedly dumped there so the rare opportunity to drink on their boss’s coin could be enjoyed to the fullest. Nothing had been cleaned, and the stench of volatile fluids leaking to the floor filled Hayden’s nostrils. If he had the time, he could try to find the required part in that mess. Derry would never realize it was missing, but it would take too long to locate, if one was even there.

  Finding the FTCV on Derry’s ordered shelves took little time. As he held his prize, Hayden found it difficult to believe that something so small could cause so much grief for him.

  The squeaking hinges of the door stopped his blood cold.

  Extinguishing his torch, he squatted and pressed against the shelf to listen. Furtive footfalls made their way toward him, and a beam of light pierced the darkness. For the moment, the shelving concealed him, but for how long, he didn’t know.

  His foolish plan was unravelling. He could make a dash for the door when the man went around a corner, but he would likely be seen. Even if his face was not identified, he was known well enough that it wouldn’t take much speculation to put him on the list of suspects.

  Hayden crept toward the door, staying pressed close to the shelves. Risking a peek, he saw the guard unlock an office door, and the enormity of his folly struck him like a blow to the head.

  Derry had security cameras! There was no need for an elaborate alarm system. Anyone could be identified the minute they entered the door.

  Shit!

  Something clicked in his mind, and he brought his breathing under control. This was like one of the military exercises he’d participated in at the academy. The objective was clear. He needed to get into that office and destroy the security record before anyone had a chance to review it.

  He shoved his contraband in a pocket and dashed across the open space. His only advantage now was his military training.

  He peeked through the partially opened doorway. The watchman sat at a terminal, his back exposed.

  Hayden wrapped his habiq around his head to conceal his face. Striking while his resolve was still strong, he burst through the door and charged. Before the man could turn, he was in a choke-hold. The injury to Hayden’s left elbow screamed, but he was running on adrenaline and pushed the pain back. Adjusting his grip to compensate for his damaged tendons, he applied pressure until the struggling man fell limp.

  Searching the fellow, he found his belt and used it to bind his arms behind his back. He tied the habiq over the man’s face in case he regained consciousness, then gently laid him on the floor.

  Sitting at the terminal, he quickly determined the guard had not yet logged in. Hayden could tell at a glance that he was not going to be able to hack his way in.

  Panic twisted his gut as he realized everything was going to hell. The only way he was going to prevent the security AI from identifying him was to destroy it. That was easier said than done. He was familiar with the computer system. Derry had salvaged it from a military wreck. The biocircuitry was protected by an impervious, carbon-fibre composite casing intended to withstand the vacuum of space. The design was an old one but effective enough to deny him access to the memory wafers.

  He wracked his mind, trying to recall something about these computers he had learned in his military history classes. They had only been deployed for five years before a fatal flaw was discovered. While the casing could survive anything short of a nuclear explosion, the organically based circuitry was vulnerable to temperatures that fell far below that of atomics. All he had to do was heat the box to around six hundred degrees and the bio-gel inside and whatever was stored on it would be destroyed.

  Hayden lifted the guard from the floor and hoisted him over his shoulder in a rescue carry. Outside the building, he laid the man on the ground then returned to the office.

  Not wishing to waste precious time, he ripped the processing module out of its cradle, further aggravating his injured arm. After hauling the unit into the warehouse, he tossed it on the p
ile of salvaged parts.

  Searching, he found the source of the previously discovered offensive smell. A viscous red gel dripped from one of the recovered engine components and had formed a two-metre-wide puddle. In a hurry to dump their prize and go drinking, Derry’s men had left a convenient solution to Hayden’s problem.

  His laser cutting tool in hand, he knelt beside the pool. Extending his arm, he triggered it, and the red liquid exploded into a pillar of flame. Kaine staggered back, shielding his face from the intense heat that seemed to emerge from the depths of hell. Everything close ignited, and the blaze quickly spread. Within less than a minute, the inferno would engulf the rest of the structure.

  On reaching the door, he risked a quick look back to watch a column of flames rise and lick at the ceiling.

  He dragged the unconscious guard past the perimeter fence until the heat of the fire was no longer intense. After checking that the man still breathed, he removed the belt from his wrists and retrieved his habiq.

  He wanted to try to wake him, to give him a chance to escape and call for help. Looking back at the conflagration, he decided it would soon draw a crowd and firefighters from the town. The guard would not be alone for long.

  He fled into the night. The burning building would provide light for most of his way home.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  An Offer You Can't Refuse

  “SHIT!”

  Warm blood trickled between his fingers as he applied pressure to staunch the flow from the reopened wound.

  Hayden crawled out from under the belly of his ship. He squinted in the brilliant sunshine until his vision adjusted. It was already noon, and his repairs were no further along, despite rising before dawn.

  His time was running out. Before long, Derry would put things together and conclude what Hayden had done.

  His thoughts turned to that evening. He recalled looking back for an avenging angel on his heels as he ran home. Instead, all he saw was the glowing sky from the fire, like a giant flare pointing to his crime.