Whatever you say, Tredd thought. To him it sounded like FIST wanted to add another piece to their arsenal. It started to sound almost like… ‘What if it was the Dawn Alliance Navy’s doing?’ Tredd asked.
‘That possibility cannot be completely discounted, but as far as we know, they don’t know any more than we do. Our intelligence indicates that they have interests in relation to the device, and are after it too. The bottom line is that whatever it takes, you must find to the device, secure it, and bring it back to us.’
‘I must, if I choose to take up your crazy mission,’ Tredd said, and held his breath to emphasise the point ‘And that, my stiff-suited friends, depends on how much you are going to pay.’
‘If I were you,’ the Mr Exxoc said, ‘I would not be worried about the compensation.’
Tredd looked at the man, his face a question mark. ‘What does that mean?’
Sarthon Exxoc turned to Lincoln Lyford, who looked somewhat restless. ‘Go ahead, tell him.’
‘Well,’ the pencil-neck started, looking down, his hands moving about the screen in front of him, ‘the monetary compensation for delivering the device to us in a functional condition is fixed at five million teradollars.’
Holy goddess of Efia. With five million, he could easily leave Spit City and set himself up for a new life on a nice distant planet with abundant beaches. He reconsidered the idea of abandoning the mission, because while he would get out of the city, he’d still be penniless and outside the welfare system. On the other hand, with the reward he could pay off his debts and set himself up for a good life. The job suddenly sounded interesting, but something nagged in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was that it all felt too good to be true. The story the suits were selling him was too weird, too vague, like something from a poorly written on-demand flick.
‘What do you say?’ the pencil-neck asked, tapping his fingers on the table.
‘We are ready to respond to any questions you might have,’ the bearded man added. ‘You will also receive a full briefing, should you choose to accept.’
Tredd leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘Last time I got a fraction of what you promised. Barely covered my expenses—’
‘This is different,’ the pencil-neck said. ‘Fixed compensation means there will be no reductions. In addition, we will provide you with a ship, and cover your out-of-pocket expenses, such as fuel or crew.’
This can’t be real. Tredd squinted his eyes. ‘What’s the catch?’
‘There’s no catch.’ The pencil-neck shrugged.
‘I mean,’ Tredd said, leaning forward, ‘why do you want me, specifically me, when you have hundreds of operatives who are likely to cost way less than five million?’
‘Good question,’ Mr Exxoc said with a slow nod. ‘We selected you not only because of your experience as a bounty hunter in our service, but also your tour of service as a captain of a battleship. That experience will come in handy – and while our operatives are well trained and yes, they are cheaper than you, they don’t necessarily possess the same kind of… the word escapes me, but let’s say, on this one, your lack of respect for the authority will be an asset.’
Tredd was thinking of showing some lack of respect to this man, but bit his lip and stared at the three with a blank face. ‘And how would that be, sir?’
Sarthon Exxoc chuckled – the first flicker of emotion on that stony face. ‘You are a man of humour after all. On a serious note, you will be going against the Dawn Alliance Navy. Our intelligence has it that they are seeking the device as well. They wish to use it to build a new type of weapon, capable of destroying stars, to increase their rule over the galaxy. Make no mistake, I want to emphasise that the navy must not get the device.’
So there was a catch after all. Going against the Dawn Alliance meant that living as a free man had just gotten closer to impossible. Tredd bit his teeth together.
‘I understand what you must be thinking. This is highly sensitive mission for FIST as well. Our operational scope extends far beyond chasing after petty criminals in Spit City, but we do operate under the rule of the Dawn Alliance. Hence we have had to make a few arrangements… In this mission, you will not be associated with FIST in any way – should anything happen, we will deny your existence.’
‘Somehow that doesn’t make it sound like a very good deal,’ Tredd said, as the deal turned from sweet to bittersweet, but still so damned desirable.
‘There is one factor we have not mentioned. The device is likely to be in safekeeping in the Yedda system, which is unfortunately quite far from Spit City. If our sources are correct, the person in charge of protecting the device until the day of its activation is your old friend, Tommy Huckey.’
Tredd swallowed audibly. He had not heard that name for a long time. It brought back memories. He remembered when they had been just children and Tommy had swindled his way to beat Tredd in a hover-bike race. He remembered how they had become friends. He remembered how as teenagers they had stolen crafts… I should never have trusted him, he thought.
He squinted. ‘How do you know this?’
‘Before letting Daler Tait go, we downloaded his brain. While he knew next to nothing about the device itself, the data strengthened the association between the device and Mr Huckey. Further, after an advanced statistical scenario analysis of his brain dump and our existing intel, the likeliest scenario by far is that the device is with Mr Huckey in Yedda.’
Tredd’s face became determined. This was his chance to get the back-stabber.
‘We thought you might want to pay your old friend a visit,’ the pencil-neck said with an annoying smile.
They were right when they said they knew everything about him. The way they pulled all the right strings annoyed him. The only two things they didn’t talk about were his ability to enter a time-lapse and the only person he had ever loved. ‘You do know it all, don’t you? May I ask you a question?’
‘Of course,’ Sarthon said calmly. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Jill Faith,’ he said. She had once been the most beautiful girl in his universe. It might have been because of her long, curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and dazzling smile, or just plainly the fact that in his teens he had not known too many girls. ‘What became of her?’
There was a moment of silence. Sarthon looked down at his hands, Hugo eyed the door behind Tredd and Linc rolled a pencil between his fingers.
Sarthon raised his head. ‘Yes, your childhood sweetheart… We know you were close.’
Tredd waited, but the men said nothing else. ‘Do you have anything more, like where she is now or what she does?’
‘No.’
‘Anything?’ Tredd opened his arms.
‘No, sorry,’ Sarthon said, without seeming sorry at all.
Tredd drooped his head. Of course, after almost twenty years, FIST sends me after Tommy. Why not Jill? He had almost given up all hope of ever seeing her again. So much time had passed. She was probably happily married, living in some faraway paradise, running with her beautiful blonde children on the beach, tussling their hair, and pulling them against her breast for a great big hug, smiling the smile of his dreams. If I could find her, somehow…
Thinking of Jill, Tredd had almost forgotten the three men sitting opposite him. The thought of her had made it all clear. If there ever was a chance, he was going to take it. He raised his head up and said, ‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’ The boss raised an eyebrow.
‘I will take on the mission,’ he said with a new-found determination in his voice. If he was to be their saviour, he would act like one. ‘I agree with what you have said, but I have my own list of conditions: for starters, I get to pick the crew. You will provide the weapons I require, and you will let me access your database. That’s for starters, I might have more.’
‘I think we will be able to reach an agreement,’ Sarthon Exxoc said. ‘Welcome to FIST, Mr Bounty.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘THIS IS IT?’ Tr
edd asked.
The bearded FIST officer, Hugo Rembon, stood beside him in one of the hangar floors of the Spit City spaceport building. The spaceport was the only gateway in and out of Spit City, and catered for millions of space travellers every year. The little moon was already completely covered with skyscrapers, and new investments were drying, but only slowly, as the city’s decadence still drew significant numbers of visitors and migrants. Many also left, and they all went through this gigantic terminal building.
In front of Tredd rested a Rutger-class cargo ship, a bulky piece of brown metal patched with grey synthetic implements. It had seen better days; there were burnt black spots and dents around the cargo bay – obviously the ship had been shot at – and the surface swirled with scratches, dirt and peeling paint. But for Tredd, the worst part was the plain fact that it was a cargo ship.
‘This is it. Take care of her, she’s been a trusty lady.’
‘Does she sing?’ Tredd knocked on the hull and it responded with a dull thump.
‘Well, she does, but if you want my advice, I’d invest in a good mechanic.’
Tredd had heard stories of ships falling apart. Their hulls exploding just because of the air pressure inside, scattering everything out into space, or life support systems failing due to a clog in the fuel system, or a quantum pinch engine throwing the whole ship into nothingness – or who knew, perhaps those disappeared travellers had gone to another plane of existence.
‘Why don’t you get me something more functional, even something like the Firaga over there?’ Tredd asked, pointing at the small, shiny and streamlined red ship in the next bay.
‘FIST wants this to stay hidden, and so do you – a standard cargo ship is the perfect low-profile transport. The Rutger is functional, to both your cover story and your real mission. We have uploaded a waybill for a few crates of Un-mud from Yedda.’
Tredd raised an eyebrow. ‘Un-mud?’
‘That’s right,’ Hugo said, and started walking around the ship. ‘Apparently demand for it is soaring. A small Andron colony draws out mud on the planet Un in the Yedda system and packs it into beautiful small containers.’
Tredd followed him. ‘What do you do with it?’
‘I wouldn’t touch the ooze, but I hear it’s very popular among the blue-skinned folks… Anyway, my point is that it doesn’t matter; it’s only a cover. You’re not picking up any mud, only the device.’ Hugo stopped at the starboard wing. ‘An unassuming cargo ship is the best tool for the job – you are not going to an outright war. But in case you need self-defence, this does have light concentration cannons… See, there.’
Two small cannons protruded below the short wings, which were there to stabilise the ship in the atmosphere. They were weapons, but closer to peashooters than anything else. If he found himself up against any formidable foes, they would be useless.
‘And over the fuselage you can see the shield element,’ Hugo said pointing at a dark grey slab infused with black spheres above the ship. He continued with something that almost resembled enthusiasm, ‘If I remember correctly, it has a capacity of six units.’
The military warships Tredd used to fly had their shield capacity measured in thousands of units, but any ship with a shield was better than a completely unprotected carrier. With a proper shield the Rutger could have been described as a turtle of the skies. Its propulsion capability was limited, and many of them never ventured out of their designated solar systems. By default, they were not even equipped for faster than light travel, a feat most often accomplished by pinching two three-dimensionally distant spaces together on a quantum dimension and entering through ‘the pinch’. Pinching space required expensive apparatus, commonly known as a quantum pinch engine, the single most expensive unit in a modern ship. It also required a lot of energy and hence a completely different and exponentially more expensive energy storage.
‘Yedda’s pretty far,’ Tredd said as they started back towards the tail of the ship. ‘I assume this model is equipped with a quantum pinch capability?’
‘It sure is, but the pinch engine is the older version – you might know it as a double drive. You can pinch two times before a recharge even if you have power left. It has a reasonable capacity and an energy unit to match, so pinching to Yedda and back should be a snap. Anyway, you will never be more than a million kilometres from a service station, so recharging won’t become an issue.’
Double drive was not ideal, as it restricted his route options, but it was better than nothing. It was an interstellar cargo ship, nonetheless, and he only needed to get to Yedda and back. Unless there was trouble on the route.
‘Shall we go in and have a look?’ Hugo asked.
Tredd nodded and followed Hugo up the clanking ramp into the ship’s cargo bay. Hugo explained that the cargo space had a volume of more than two thousand cubic metres, which might come in handy. Behind the cargo bay, the engine room filled most of decks one and two, and above it deck three held quarters for the crew and a few spartan cabins for passengers. The captain’s quarters held nothing in terms of luxury, only a little more space than the crew’s. A narrow corridor ran between the lodgings and the staircases on both ends. Climbing up to deck four, they entered the galley.
‘It’s stocked full, in case you are wondering,’ Hugo said, and pulled open a cabinet full of coded containers. ‘See? The infirmary, behind you at the back the corridor, is stocked up too should you need any patching.’
Tredd looked around the utilitarian galley, which had its walls filled with movable shelves and cupboards of brushed metal. At the centre, below the bright lights, was a table with eight metal chairs. Practical as always, but this one was clean and spacious, too. He squinted his eyes at the reflection of the lights on the tabletop.
‘Computer, dim the lights please,’ he said, and the lights dimmed.
‘The cleaners always leave the brightness at full,’ Hugo said with a chuckle. ‘The cockpit is this way.’
A narrow corridor connected the galley to the cockpit. Exposed cables ran between the metallic mesh on the walls and the floor clanked when they went up a few steps. The cockpit layout was standard: two seats of worn crimson leather, controls that were polished from many years of use, and a tight array of screens and connector cables which almost blocked the actual view outside.
‘It’s in good shape,’ Hugo said, and rested his hand on Tredd’s shoulder. ‘For its age, that is. What do you think?’
‘Unless you can find a better one, it’ll have to do.’
Hugo flashed a smile so quick it was gone before Tredd could even wonder what it meant. ‘I think this is pretty good—anything else you need?’
‘I need a crew, supplies, all that stuff – you don’t have any of that prepared, do you?’
‘Come,’ Hugo said, and left the cockpit. ‘You may equip the ship as you see fit. To that end, we have included your account on our line of credit. Well, technically you will not be directly connected to the FIST account, but one that is under another entity, again making sure it cannot be traced back to FIST. In fact, the scheme is quite interesting…’
Tredd lost interest when Hugo started elaborating on the details of how they avoided the bank accounts being tracked in the peer-to-peer network. He wasn’t sure why this guy was telling their secrets to him.
They entered the cargo space, this time on level four. Tredd looked down over the railing. ‘So it means I have a good line of credit?’
‘It will be sufficient,’ Hugo said as they started walking down the stairs. ‘Let’s say, from your point of view, there is no limit.’
‘No limit?’ Tredd asked. With unlimited credit I could buy heaps of Dawn Alliance-issued bonds and siphon off the interest. If the capital were large enough, it wouldn’t take long until—
‘There is a contextual limit,’ Hugo said, like he had read Tredd’s mind. ‘The algorithms will pick up an anomaly, so just use it for what it’s meant for, and you won’t have any trouble. Same with the shi
p: you take off with it and it will be shut off.’
They were almost at the bottom of the cargo space, and Tredd could see the hustle and bustle of the terminal through the open loading ramp. ‘Fine. What about the intelligence data, will I get access to your database?’
‘Ah yes, the clearance has already been set for your account,’ Hugo said, looking somewhat uncomfortable as they walked past the row of empty crates fixed on the cargo bay floor. ‘It’s until level eight.’
‘Eight? You can find more interesting information on the public side of the Dawn Network!’
‘Perhaps.’
This meant that Tredd wasn’t going to have access to any confidential data that FIST had access to – including the databases for citizens of Eura. He’d hoped he could find out if they had anything about Jill, because as far as he knew, she had completely disappeared – all the sources he had tried were blank.
As Tredd and Hugo walked back down through the clanking cargo ramp, a young lady hailed them. She had black hair, distinctive upturned eyes, and miniature ears on a head like a balloon atop a petite body, a definite Jindalar. She wore a black outfit, with metal buckles running from neck to toe. As they walked up to her, Tredd saw that she was young, and that there was an ornate tattoo crawling out from under her collar.
‘Greetings, Captain. You wouldn’t be looking for a pilot, would you?’ she asked.
Tredd eyed the young lady. ‘I am. I’m looking to hire an entire crew. Do you happen know someone looking for a job?’
‘You’re looking at her,’ she said pointing at herself with both hands, bracelets and buckles clattering.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tredd said, and pursed his lips. ‘I’ve already got my mind set on a pilot.’
Starcrasher (Shades Space Opera Book 1) Page 3