The Vigilante Chronicles Boxed Set 1

by Natalie Grey

  It had all the qualities they needed.

  “Do we send the message?” one of them asked eagerly.

  It had been a bad few weeks. Everyone was ready for a fight. They might not like being cannon-fodder, but none of them wanted to let this human bastard get away with what he’d done either.

  Fedden wanted nothing more than to throw out the challenge here and now, but he knew better than that.

  “Not yet,” he told them. It felt good to have people looking at him with respect and taking his orders. “First we get into position and then we send the message. I don’t want any chance of this going wrong. That ship is fast.”

  They nodded at the wisdom of that and filed out. Only Tagurn remained behind.

  “It’s going well,” Tagurn offered.

  “It wouldn’t be going at all without you.” Fedden nodded to him. He planned to give Tagurn half his share from this job. He knew better than to take the male for granted, since that was how captains got killed in their sleep. He frowned. “Why haven’t you tried to take over this whole thing for yourself?”

  Tagurn shrugged. “I like the fighting, but I don’t like the politics. You went out there shaking hands and smiling at people. You can do all that. Just give me plenty of enemies to fight and I’ll be happy.”

  “Oh, you’ll have no shortage of those,” Fedden assured him. He smiled now. “When this part is over, you know we’ll need to take that base from Crallus and his pet captains. And while you say you don’t want a ship, well…one of those nice shiny ones will be there for you if you ever change your mind.”

  Tagurn smiled fiercely and clasped his hand. “Looking forward to the fight. The ship…eh. Maybe someday, but for now I fight with you. I knew you’d be here someday.”

  “There’s a lot of people between us and our own syndicate,” Fedden warned.

  “That’s what makes it a good plan. You need worthy opponents or it’s no fun.”

  Fedden grinned. Tagurn’s bloodthirsty humor was infectious. Worthy opponents, yes—they needed those or they would get soft. He was treating this mission with the respect it deserved. The Shinigami was a worthy opponent indeed.

  But surely even that ship couldn’t withstand this fleet.

  20

  With the passcode algorithms extracted from the cargo ship and the true identity of the Shinigami masked, they were able to set down quite easily. One of the series of domes below retracted to reveal a landing pad. The dome slid back into place as they touched down and the room was carefully re-pressurized before they disembarked. The deck crew ascertained that there was no cargo to unload and took no further notice of them.

  Sloppy, Barnabas remarked to Shinigami. His lip curled, hidden under the hood he’d pulled up once more to disguise himself. It’s sloppy, and they should be ashamed of themselves.

  Knowing you, you’re not going to give them much time to feel ashamed before they’re dead. But the shield is incredibly good. We barely got around it.

  So they should just assume that no one ever would? Barnabas shook his head. Any system can be conned. The moment you put absolute trust in something like that you start the clock toward your execution.

  Not only that, it’s boring. I mean, they could have given us a real challenge, but no.

  Don’t tempt fate. Barnabas paused at the door to the main compound and looked over his shoulder at the ship. And remember the new rule: if someone tries to steal you, tell me.

  Yeah, yeah. I took care of it last time, if you remember.

  By the skin of your teeth. Tell me anyway.

  Fiiiiine.

  Barnabas shook his head as he emerged into the corridor, but he was smiling.

  He walked quickly. The landing pads were not close to the control center for the headquarters. It was a small concession to security, given that none of the personnel seemed to be instructed to request authorization or question visitors.

  The Boreir Group’s headquarters was on a rocky planet with an atmosphere that didn’t appear to have ever nurtured life. Shinigami detected absolutely nothing in the way of water or emissions that would suggest vegetation, and the Boreir Group factories were all enclosed within domes.

  However, the planet had a few good qualities. It was neither so cold and stormy that the domes were in danger nor so hot and dry that they had to worry about the safety of the munitions.

  Furthermore, with no notable deposits of valuable ores or land that made sense to settle, there wasn’t really a reason for anyone else to set down there. The planet didn’t seem to have any official name. With the shield system in place, the Boreir Group didn’t need to bother with the sort of trickery Shinigami had used for High Tortuga—confusing the records to make it seem like the place was dangerous.

  Again, Barnabas noted the stares and the sudden spike of fear as he made his way through the halls; people clearly recognized the hooded figure. He behaved as he had on the cargo ship, occasionally giving a slow nod, otherwise looking dismissively ahead and sweeping past people.

  He noted those with weapons. He could take any of them in a fight, but he preferred not even to leave the slightest chance of someone getting a hit by a stray shot.

  You’re taking note of patrol patterns, yes?

  Of course. Shinigami sounded almost offended. I’m trying to figure out how to direct them to other parts of the building so I can lock them away from you if necessary, but their internal communications seem to be largely individual. That’s risky to try to mimic.

  I’ll do my best to get it over with quickly, then. My goal is to have this finished before anyone even knows it started. If the whole operation keeps humming on without anyone realizing it will give us some latitude. Any progress on the factories?

  Getting the orders ready. I’m going to tell people that they’re shifting the production off-planet due to “threats.” Also, I have a plan for draining their money.

  Go on.

  Well, the people who work here are the descendants of the original workers. They get paid and all that, but there’s really no choice. If you stay, you get a pretty comfortable life. If you leave, you’re leaving your whole family—and I can’t imagine they’ll really let you go, so these people are trapped here.

  Yes. What’s your point?

  Well, with the factories being “moved” and these people not having any sort of training to do anything else…

  Yes?

  I’m thinking I’ll just give all of them extravagant pensions in a lump sum and get them off-planet before any of the executives realize what’s happened. They can go off and start their own businesses, set up homesteads—anything they want. Meanwhile, the people who were doing all the shady stuff don’t have that money to work with anymore.

  Shinigami, you’re a genius. Barnabas turned a corner and saw several guards waiting at the doors to the main building ahead. If you’ll excuse me, however, I have a feeling that events might be about to kick off.

  Aaaaaaand bringing up the security feeds. All right, Big B, kick some ass.

  Please tell me you’re not intending to call me that. It’s trying enough when Tabitha does it.

  Into every life some hardship must come. Go on, kick some ass.

  Barnabas sighed but his mouth twitched as he attempted to hide his smile. He stopped in front of the doors and waited as if he expected them to open.

  One of the guards held up a hand as Barnabas approached. “Excuse me, sir. We’ll need to see identification.”

  Finally…a competent guard.

  Only you would be happy about that.

  Barnabas turned his head slowly and stared at the guard, who nervously stood his ground. It seemed that intimidation was not going to work this time.

  He gave it one more shot. He had no real desire to kill the only competent person in this place. “Boreir is expecting me.” He and Shinigami had worked to help him change his voice appropriately to Torcellan registers and speech patterns. “For your own good, do not delay me with trivialities.
”

  “Trivialities.” I like it. I knew your stuck-up-ness would come in handy one of these days.

  Barnabas did not deign to answer that.

  The guard looked at his companions, all of whom seemed content to stand in terrified silence, neither backing him up nor arguing. Cowards, Barnabas thought.

  “I’m afraid I must insist,” the guard stated finally. He glared at his companions and nodded at Barnabas. “I regret this, sir, but we don’t have your visit on today’s schedule and surely you have your identification with—”

  Barnabas had launched into motion at “surely.” There were five guards, one off on his own next to the doors and the other four clustered together, including the one who was challenging him.

  He went for the lone guard closest to the door first. There was a control panel very near him and Barnabas wanted there to be no chance of a button getting pressed and an alert being sounded. The guard died quickly; Barnabas crushed his throat and let his body slide down the door.

  While he had to admit that he was eager to test more of Jean Dukes’ special ammunition, Barnabas was planning to do this without any guns. It was simply impossible to use guns and maintain stealth, and it was essential that this happen with a minimum of fuss.

  Unfortunately, not using guns meant people might have time to scream, so he had to be quick. Barnabas had already lashed out at the larger cluster of guards before the first guard’s body had hit the ground.

  His motions were fluid. The first of the remaining guards had only just begun to react when Barnabas caught him across the head with a fist. He staggered, and Barnabas took that moment to slam his foot into another guard’s throat.

  He grabbed the first guard and threw him toward the other two, both of whom automatically reached out to catch their friend.

  Automatically—and fatally. The guard who had challenged Barnabas had been reaching for his communications unit and might have managed to call for backup if he hadn’t been distracted. As it was, the guard’s life ended with a gurgle when Barnabas pulled a knife from his belt and plunged it into his throat. Three more strikes and one more plunge of the knife and all the guards were down.

  Barnabas stared at them for a moment, conflicted.

  Guilt later, Shinigami advised. Keep moving.

  Barnabas put his hood back up and swiped one of the guards’ badges to open the door. He was silent as he dragged the bodies inside, but as he continued toward the top tier offices he said finally, How do I know that they chose this life freely?

  Not everyone does, Shinigami admitted. But what was your other option? Go through this compound person by person, scan everyone’s thoughts, judge them, and give the ones who were blameless a chance to switch sides? You’d have been found by then, a lot of them would have died anyway, and Yennai would know we were here.

  Barnabas considered this.

  And any of them would have shot you without hesitation, Shinigami added. Freely chosen or not, blameless or not, they would have killed you if they could.

  You make a good point, my friend. Barnabas smiled slightly and felt his conscience ease. Often a vigilante could see despicable actions and judge them easily. Other times, like this, the process of Justice caught up with people who were not as despicable.

  He would be thinking of this for many days to come, but Shinigami had helped remind him of his purpose.

  Which way to Mustafee?

  Down seven levels. Heads up—his personal guards patrol these floors. And if you were worried about killing people who don’t deserve it, well, let’s just say you don’t have to worry from here on out. Mustafee had his rivals killed—and their families. And these are the people who did that for him.

  Barnabas stopped for a moment. His eyes began to turn red and his breath hissed.

  Well then, a great many people will be avenged today.

  Mustafee Boreir tipped his blue head back and fought for patience.

  “I don’t care!” He glowered at the screen, where one of his factory foremen wrung his hands anxiously.

  “Mistakes have risen as we extend the shifts,” the foreman argued. “We’ve had people killed. Munitions with problems have been produced and it’s time-consuming and cost-ineffective to take them apart and melt the components back down. Sometimes they explode in the shipping containers.”

  “You’re telling me that your workers are incompetent?” Mustafee kept his tone artificially pleasant.

  He was not pleased. When the Yennai Corporation had sent communications to its highest-level leaders to urge them to withdraw to the main base Mustafee had declined. After all, his headquarters was safer than any base, and whoever Yennai was at war with, they’d requested three times the usual production of munitions in order to fight them. So Mustafee had come back here to personally oversee the new production targets.

  Which his foremen were unwilling to meet, it appeared. It was a good thing he was here.

  “Let me make something very clear.” He leaned toward the screen slightly and smiled icily at the foreman. “We will be meeting the production targets and shipping on time. Those munitions will meet quality standards. If either of those things does not happen I will hold the relevant foremen personally responsible.” He tapped a channel on his wrist holo and met the foreman’s eyes as he spoke into it. “Ector, go and retrieve the families of every foreman in the factories. Bring them to the lower levels.” He smiled at the foreman, whose face had drained of blood. “Consider this motivation. You will—”

  He stopped. The call had cut off and there was a blade against his throat. When he looked up slowly, he found himself staring into a pair of glowing red eyes.

  “Rescind the order.” The voice was like something out of a nightmare. Blood stained the teeth and dripped down the creature’s chin. Who was this? Pale-skinned like a Torcellan, with white-blond hair, and yet…

  Mustafee reacted without even thinking about it. His hand tapped the wrist unit once more. “Ector, hold on that for now.”

  “Yes, sir,” the voice came back.

  “Good.” The creature had changed its voice and withdrew the knife. It no longer forced itself like a nightmare into Mustafee’s very thoughts.

  It was no less terrifying, though.

  “Now,” the alien told him, “you and I will discuss your judgment.”

  Mustafee did the only thing he could think of. He drew in his breath, slammed his hand down on the panic button on his desk, and screamed at the top of his lungs for the guards.

  21

  Klaxons went off with a wail and Barnabas took a moment to sigh. He did the stupid thing, he complained to Shinigami.

  He’s used to having an army to save his ass. Of course he did the stupid thing.

  Good point. I don’t know why I was even hoping he’d handle this on his own.

  Luckily I intercepted the second signal he tried to send. He’s locked out of his panic room. Man, the look on his face is great right now.

  Barnabas turned his head toward the door, where he could hear the pounding of boots from the second guard barracks, and then looked back at Mustafee, who was flailing uselessly at the panic room button as if the eighty-third time would be lucky.

  Barnabas drew his Jean Dukes Specials. “When I have dealt with this, you and I are going to have a chat.”

  Mustafee’s response—whatever it might have been—was lost as the door burst open and a team of guards poured into the room.

  “Don’t move!” their commander yelled. “Hands away from your weapons!”

  “No,” Barnabas stated simply.

  The guards paused and looked at one another.

  “What?” the commander asked. He was a Brakalon, and so large that he barely fit into his uniform.

  “I said no,” Barnabas repeated. “I will have to decline your request. You see, I am here to judge Mr. Boreir according to the laws I serve and I cannot let anyone stand in the way of that, including you.”

  Shinigami snickered throughou
t the exchange. No one must have ever talked back to him. He looks like a fish. Open mouth, close mouth, open mouth, close mouth, open mouth… Oh, here we go—he’s come up with something to say.

  “Hands away from your weapons!” the Brakalon demanded again, as though saying it a second time was going to make a difference. “Don’t move!”

  Barnabas and Shinigami sighed in unison.

  The guard commander was summarily blown backward across the small room, his body hitting the back wall with a crunch.

  Ew, Shinigami commented as Barnabas leapt to one side of the group. Let’s not do that anymore.

  No, let’s. I personally like this ammo. Barnabas spun and his hand flashed, crushing the side of one guard’s skull as his foot came up to slam into another’s chest. The first guard crumpled and the second staggered back into the crowd of his friends, most of whom shot out of pure instinct and riddled the guard’s body with holes. Unbelievable. A munitions dealer’s personal guard and their first instinct is to shoot when they get nervous?

  Yeah, you’d really think they would have whittled their numbers down by now. Heads up, one of them has a grenade launcher.

  They wouldn’t be stupid enough to—

  Did you not see what just happened? They totally would.

  Good point. Barnabas picked up Mustafee’s hardwood-and-metal desk and launched it at a guard who was fumbling with a grenade. There was a series of yells and a boom as Barnabas ducked behind Mustafee’s chair.

  He went to examine the fallout as the guards who were still alive struggled to get up. Their hands were over their ears, and most of them still weren’t able to focus. Without Barnabas’ various upgrades, he figured he would have been in a similar situation.

  Thankfully, the desk had absorbed the majority of the impact. Only a few pieces had broken off, and behind it…

  Eewwwwww.

  Okay, this one I’ll give you.

  Barnabas looked around and counted. Only three of the original sixteen guards were still anywhere close to mobile. He knelt by the first.