Heart of Vengeance (Vigilante Book 1)

by Terry Mixon

  Breen looked as though he might explode. “This is outrageous! I will have your head.”

  He stormed off down the corridor and his guards followed him with apologetic shrugs.

  Once they were gone, Blaze looked at Brad. “Are you Brad Madrid?”

  At his nod, she continued. “My men will take possession of this ship until such time as I am prepared to make a ruling, so you’ll need to find alternate quarters. The ship will remain at this dock until I issue my final ruling. Do you have any questions?”

  He shook his head with a smile. “Not really. My pilot and I will get our personal belongings and leave the ship under your care.”

  “This may sound intrusive, but I’ll need to see the inside of your cases before you leave the ship,” she said apologetically. “Anything that is not part of your personal belongings must remain here until I issue a ruling.”

  “No objection from me. We’re already packed, so it should only take a few minutes for you to examine everything. If I might ask, how long does it normally take the Guild to make a ruling in cases like this?”

  She allowed him a small smile. “I’ve already begun reviewing the evidence, and there are many previous cases to provide precedent. I anticipate making a ruling within the next few days.”

  While nothing she said provided any clue as to how she might rule, her smile told him that he was on fairly safe ground. He only hoped he wasn’t reading this entirely wrong.

  The next day, Brad checked the fit of his new suit in the mirror. The quarters he’d rented while the Arbiter Guild settled the ownership of the corvette were small, but hardly cramped by his spaceborn standards.

  In less than forty minutes, he was meeting the local representative of the Mercenary Guild, and even armed with Captain Jaeger’s glowing recommendation, he wanted to make the best first impression possible.

  Done going over his own clothes, he met Marshal in the hotel’s lobby. The pilot wore a light gray suit similar to Brad’s dark blue one. He bore his mono-blade on one hip and his pistol on the other, also just like Brad.

  At the sight of the weapons on Brad’s belt, Marshal grinned. “We seemed to have mastered at least one mercenary habit. Never go anywhere without your weapons.”

  Brad returned the grin with a subdued smile. “Indeed. I’m worried that I look a trifle…young for what they’re expecting. I’m only in my twenties.”

  “Skipper, the instant they look at your eyes, they’re going to raise whatever their estimate is by ten years,” Marshal said, his voice suddenly serious. “You’ve seen the elephant and it shows. Trust me.”

  “I hope you’re right. Let’s go.”

  Thirty minutes later, they stood in front of a set of offices that looked identical to every other set they’d passed. A small sign next to the door declared this one, however, to be the Ganymede Office of the Mercenaries Guild.

  A burly man in a black ship suit waited just outside. He extended his hand. “Mr. Madrid? I’m Guildsman Mike Randall. I’m here to escort you in.”

  Brad nodded. “Lead the way, Guildsman.”

  Upon entering the offices, Brad found the front room similar to other offices he’d seen over the years. There was the large desk with the multiple comsets manned by several young men and women, there were couches, and there was a door to the rest of the building.

  From there, it diverged quite heavily. Where another office would have potted plants, either grown in the hydroponics section of the domes or—in the more powerful firms—imported from Earth or Mars, this office had weapons and armor set up neatly on display racks.

  They ranged from swords and plate mail from Earth to modern combat armor and mono-blades. Each display had a small placard stating whose weapons they were, where they’d been made, and why they were on display.

  The holos and paintings that would have been inspirational posters or garden scenes in another office were battle scenes here, starships and the like.

  Brad was distracted from his survey of the rooms fascinating decor by Randall looking up from his quiet discussion with one of the receptionists. “The Factor is waiting for you, gentlemen. This way.”

  The security door at the other end of the reception room slid open before they reached it and Randall led them down a wood-paneled hallway. The Guildsman stopped next to a laminated metal door and touched an intercom key. “Ms. Kernsky, Mr. Madrid is here to see you.”

  “Send him in,” a melodious voice ordered from the speaker.

  Randall stepped back as the door slid open, and gestured Brad and Marshal in.

  Brad took a deep breath and entered the office of the woman who held his future in her hands.

  The impression of luxury given by the outer corridors increased when he entered the Factor’s office. Waist-high wood paneling surrounded the room, surmounted by a light brown laminate on the plaster walls, perfectly matching the wood. A plush maroon carpet covered the floor, supporting a large wood and stained-ceramic desk.

  Holding a place of pride above the desk was a large picture of a warship spewing flame from hull breaches, about to crash into an asteroid or moon. From the graininess of the image, Brad realized it was an actual still, recorded from a ship’s visual records.

  With an effort, Brad tore his eyes away from the picture to focus on the room’s mistress.

  As he did, the redheaded woman stood and extended her hand across the desk. “I’m Sara Kernsky, the senior Factor for the Mercenary Guild on Ganymede.”

  He crossed to the desk and took her hand, and then gestured to Marshal. “Brad Madrid. May I present my pilot, John Marshal?”

  Marshal took Kernsky’s hand and calmly bowed over it. “Enchanté, Miss Kernsky.”

  A small smile crossed the woman’s face as she gestured them to chairs set in front of her desk. “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

  Brad sat, crossing his hands on the table in front of him, waiting for her to speak.

  “I’ve looked at your application to the Mercenary Guild,” she said as she sat back down. “I also took the opportunity to speak with Captain Jaeger.

  “While he’s sent a few good men my way, I confess that he’s never recommended anyone as highly as he has you. As far as I can see, you might actually be as good as he indicated.

  “However, you are an enigma, Mr. Madrid. As far as I can tell, you have no past.”

  Brad met her gaze calmly. “I hesitate to divulge my past unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  The woman raised a hand, palm up. “It’s not. The Guild doesn’t insist on knowing everything about you, and I prefer to base my judgment on the firsthand accounts of men I trust rather than older data.”

  “And what does your judgment come to this time?”

  She snorted. “With the exception of a handful of men who’d already been in the Guild a long time, you’re one of the most qualified people who’s ever walked into this office to apply for assistance.

  “Don’t get overjoyed too quickly, however,” she warned. “There’s more to being a bonded member of the Guild and the leader of a company than ability.” She gestured to the picture above her desk. “Do you know what that is a picture of?”

  Brad blinked at the seeming tangent. “Not really.”

  “It’s the Cadre cruiser Black Skull. She was the Terror’s flagship at the time, the other of the bastard’s pair of stolen Fleet cruisers. She tore a swathe ten light-seconds wide through shipping. Wiped out a dozen merc companies.

  “In the end, the Guild activated its ‘overriding contract’ clause and set twelve of the larger companies after it, nearly forty warships.”

  The Factor turned to gaze at the still. “We caught up with him off Uranus, quite a bit off the beaten track. They’d just finished slaughtering the crew of a science vessel doing a mineral survey. We hit her with everything we had.”

  She shrugged eloquently. “The heaviest ship we had was a destroyer. She was a cruiser, but there were forty of us. We lost twenty-six ships outright and e
ight more would never fly again, but we crippled her engines and watched her ram into Miranda at six kilometers a second. The still is from the visual records of the frigate Midsummer—one of the ones that never flew again.”

  “We?” Brad asked.

  Kernsky turned back to face him. “I was Midsummer’s commanding officer, the most junior captain of four in the Red Wing Mercenary Company. When the battle was over, I was the senior officer and sole captain the Red Wings had left.

  “The payment for the overriding contract was far more than we would have earned from any other agreement, but it wasn’t enough to rebuild an entire squadron from scratch. We split the money between the survivors and went our separate ways.

  “The Red Wings weren’t the only company to die that day, but if the Guild calls us to do it again, every mercenary company will. Do you understand why, Mr. Madrid?”

  “Because it needed to be done and someone had to do it,” Brad said instantly. The demon of his anger might drive him but he would not let it control him. He was in this to stop the Cadre doing to others what they’d done to his family.

  Kernsky smiled at him. “Precisely. I’m provisionally accepting your application for Guild membership as a bonded company, pending the favorable ruling of the Arbiter Guild on your ownership of the corvette.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And if they don’t find in my favor?”

  “I happen to have friends in the Arbiter Guild,” she replied, her smile widening. “The word I’m getting is the review is little more than a formality. You have the weight of precedent on your side.

  “If they somehow find against you, I’m certain I could place you in a reputable company without any problem, so I feel comfortable welcoming you to the Mercenary Guild, Mr. Madrid. I’m looking forward to seeing what you do next.”

  Chapter Eight

  Brad woke refreshed, even though his evening had run a bit late, as Marshal had wanted to hit the night spots. He probably should’ve refused, but things had been so hectic since the attack on the Rain that he wanted to decompress himself.

  What he’d seen had given him more cause to worry about his pilot. The man’s drinking showed no sign of abating now that he had gainful employment. Brad had hoped part of the man’s intake was fueled by the uncertainty of his work situation.

  Apparently not.

  If Marshal didn’t cut back on his own, Brad was going to have to become less subtle in his hints. He’d rather not do that—he wasn’t even entirely sure how to—but he wasn’t going to have Marshal’s behavior put anyone in danger. On a ship, the pilot was always on call if trouble came calling, on duty or not.

  He pondered potential methods of getting that point across while he showered and dressed for the day. No easy solutions presented themselves, so he’d just have to work it out when the time came, as painful as that might end up being.

  A check of his wrist-comp indicated it was far too early to expect Marshal to be awake, even if the man hadn’t hooked up with the tall brunette he’d met just before Brad had excused himself the previous evening.

  Considering how well they’d been getting along, a night of solitude seemed unlikely.

  He ate breakfast at the hotel restaurant. It wasn’t anything to scream about, but he wasn’t going to complain. He made a mental note that someone in his new crew had to fill the role of cook in addition to other duties. Two people would be better.

  His wrist-comp signaled just as he was putting his dishes in a handy bin. It was his room forwarding a call. He accepted it and saw Kenna Blaze, her expression thunderous.

  “Good morning, Arbiter Blaze. What can I do for you?”

  “Did you return to the ship last night?”

  Brad frowned and shook his head. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Someone broke into it through an exterior maintenance airlock a few hours ago and assaulted my guards.”

  He straightened in alarm. “Are they all right? Is the ship all right?”

  She considered him for a long moment before her expression softened slightly. “My people will recover, though one of them is in the hospital. The other had just enough warning to signal for help from Ganymede Security before the intruders overwhelmed him.

  “As for the ship, I’m afraid there’s damage to the control consoles on the bridge. Someone unsuccessfully attempted to bypass the lockout I installed on the ship. Security probably drove them off before they could manage it.”

  Brad’s mind raced, but his suspect list was short and his anger flared. “It had to be Breen. I’m fairly confident the arbitration will work out in my favor. He’s the one that pushed things yesterday.”

  “I’ve already spoken with him and he vehemently denies involvement. It doesn’t matter what either of us suspect unless Ganymede Security turns up hard evidence.”

  He sighed, pushing his demon back down. Nothing was ever easy.

  “How does this change things?” he asked.

  “It moves things forward. The meeting to present your official claim is scheduled for two this afternoon in my office.”

  “Official claim? I thought I made that already.”

  A hint of a smile shadowed her lips. “The paperwork you filed is a preliminary claim. Astro Transport, Limited, have one filed with my office as well. Those becomes official when the two of you make your cases before me. Don’t be late.”

  “Once we make our claims, how long will it take you to reach a decision?” Brad asked.

  Her lips edged slightly higher. “Not very long at all, I’d imagine. I’ve been reviewing the data both parties provided as well as the records from the ship itself. Unless I hear something completely unexpected at the hearing, I anticipate rendering my decision at that time.”

  “I promise to be punctual, then.”

  “See that you are. If one of the parties isn’t present at the hearing, I’ll be forced to make a summary judgement for the party that is there, no matter if the evidence might normally indicate another outcome.”

  That put a fine point on it. “I’ll be early. Thank you for explaining the process. Would it be possible for me to examine the damage to the ship?”

  “Under escort, yes. I’ve placed additional people on the ship to deter any future acts. That means your access will be monitored and restricted. Still, the law allows for the claimants to see something like this, as it might materially affect their claim. If so, you can amend your paperwork at the hearing.”

  “Thank you. How do I make the inspection happen?” he asked politely.

  “I’ll notify the men at the dock to expect you. Present your ID and they’ll escort you inside.”

  Once the call was done, he headed straight for the dock, controlling his anger as best as he could. His demon wanted to confront Breen about it, but that would hardly improve matters. He had no proof at all that pointed at the man.

  In fact, a fight might complicate the arbitration. Brad had too much at stake to allow his anger to get the better of him. Better to make them pay by winning.

  It only took stepping onto the dock to see that Arbiter Blaze was taking this situation seriously. Four men in unfamiliar uniforms stood outside the ship’s lock. None of them was smaller than a gorilla and all were heavily armed.

  Okay, the gorilla comparison was stretching things a bit, but they were some of the largest examples of humanity Brad had seen recently. Or ever.

  The men wore dark uniforms with a number of patches on their sleeves and chests. The largest was a coiled python on the top of the left sleeve.

  Mercenaries, Brad assumed. He wondered which company they belonged to. He made a mental note to add uniform design to his always-growing list of things to do.

  Their guards’ attention settled on him as he walked forward. One stepped up to meet him. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m Brad Madrid,” he said calmly. “You should be expecting me.”

  “Identification, please.”

  Brad presented his wrist-comp. The only ID it showe
d publicly was his Mercenary Guild license, but that should be more than enough.

  The man scanned it with a portable reader and closely examined his screen. He then looked Brad up and down once more.

  “You can go in,” the man said with apparent reluctance. “Two of my people will be with you at all times and you can’t take anything.”

  “That’s fine. I just need to verify the damage.”

  The man jerked his head and one of the others opened the airlock. That man and one of his fellows followed Brad inside.

  It only took a minute to get to the bridge. It looked as if someone had taken a sledge to the helm. No one would be flying this ship anywhere without rerouting or rebuilding the controls.

  Well, this was going to add to the refit bill for sure. Nothing he could do about it, though. It seemed more like vandalism than an attempt to steal the ship.

  That thought made him pause and control his anger again. He turned to the merc at his shoulder. “I’m going to go through the pieces.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that console isn’t salvageable.”

  “Probably not, but the damage seems a little excessive. I want to check something else before I go.”

  “Knock yourself out.” He leaned against the communications console and watched with a bored expression.

  Brad started identifying the parts of the console one by one, the process of laying it all out almost meditative for him. It was occasionally harder seeing inside the larger pieces, but he managed to figure it all out. In less than ten minutes, he’d decided the break-in hadn’t been to steal the ship after all.

  Someone had wanted the helm’s control unit. It was missing.

  What the hell had they hoped to gain by taking it? It was bizarre to expect Breen to break into a ship and steal something like that.

  Maybe it really hadn’t been the arrogant executive. Maybe the control unit had held some bit of information someone wanted to make certain never saw the light of day.

  That pointed a shaky finger at the dead pirates. Had someone associated with them wanted to make certain no one traced where they’d been?