Mercenary

by Dave Barsby

  When it does actually hit me, I pass out.

  Thunder on my face, an earthquake in my bones. I try to open my eyes. A thin shaft of light filters through the slits. The light dims a little. Someone kneeing over me, their hands striking my cheeks, shaking my body.

  “Frrrr…shhhhpfffff…nnnnhhh,” I say, all form and sense escaping me.

  “Wake up!” the person shouts desperately.

  “Gggggg…”

  “Where is the Princess?” I hear distantly. The light is dimming. “You covered her. Where?”

  “Pppplahhhhhggggggnnnnn…”

  Far off, so far it seems like a recording played in a distant hall, I hear another voice. “Keep struggling, Princess! Kick off that cloak! We’ll find you!”

  The voices fade, the light becomes dark, the earthquake subsides, the thunder rolls into the distance and I am returned to a state of blissful limbo.

  21. TWO MONTHS EARLY

  When I groggily wake, the Diablo IV is in flight. I am lying on a make-shift bed in Food Locker #4, my left foot hastily bandaged. Larisa is kneeling next to me. She smiles.

  “I thought I heard you stirring,” she says softly. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” I croak. “In pain.”

  She stands, presses the intercom button. “The patient is awake,” she says. She kneels back down beside me, helps me sit up. I rest my back on the cold, hard metal, my head a little fuzzy. Larisa proffers a bottle of water to me, and I take a few careful sips. My mouth burns at first, but it slowly soothes my dry throat.

  “What about everyone else?” I ask. “Dirk? Bolland? Hiaelia?”

  “Dirk’s flying the ship. He’s missing a few limbs, but he’s okay.”

  “And the others?”

  Larisa sighs. “Hiaelia died of her wounds before we got her to the ship,” she tells me. “Bolland…he didn’t make it either.”

  “How?”

  “How what?” comes a voice from the corridor and Rogdo appears at the doorway, his right arm bandaged and in a sling.

  “How did Bolland die?” I ask.

  Rogdo also sighs. “You know how when he got excited his ageing / de-ageing process quickened? It seems he got a little too excited and morphed into a 140-year-old. Instantly had a heart attack.”

  “Oh no,” I whisper.

  “Don’t feel too bad for him. He managed what few in my business can – he died of old age.”

  “Is Westcott…?”

  “Yeah,” he answers. “It’s finished.”

  “And me?”

  Rogdo grins a little. “You got stabbed in the foot. It isn’t exactly life-threatening.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “You’ll be limping for a while, but it’ll heal. Glad to see you’re awake. I’d better get back and…” He points down the corridor, realising details are unnecessary. He stops himself just before he leaves and nods in Larisa’s direction. “Hey, this lady has been caring for you. Make sure you thank her.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her once Rogdo has departed. Larisa shrugs it off with a smile. “Where are we heading?” I ask.

  “Home,” she answers. “Almudena,” she adds just in case my brain has stopped working.

  “How far out?”

  “About two days.”

  “Two days?!? How long have I been out?”

  “A while,” she answers, and offers me a little more water to sip. I try to stand, but my energy levels are not yet replenished. Larisa forces me back down. “Give it a couple of hours,” she says. “Let the rest of your body wake up.”

  “What do I do until then?” I ask.

  Larisa clicks her tongue against her teeth, then settles on the floor. “Did I ever tell you the stories of my ancestors? How they became the Almudenian Royal Family?”

  “No,” I answer. “But please do.”

  The story fills up the next four and a half hours. It is fascinating, a tale of trouble, bravery, murder and love. An abbreviation would not do it justice, so I will not insult the memories of Larisa’s ancestors by attempting it here. One day, maybe, the story will be told to a wider audience. And maybe I will be the one to tell it. But not yet.

  As the Diablo IV begins its descent into the upper atmosphere of Almudena, the communication system squawks into life.

  “Come in, Diablo IV. Come in Diablo IV.”

  “This is Captain Flavian of the Diablo IV,” Rogdo answers.

  “Welcome to Almudena, Captain. Is the Princess okay?”

  “I am well,” Larisa answers.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I was unaware of your presence. Captain, I am to inform you that the two million tabs you requested is awaiting transfer and a reception committee has been organised. Please land at coordinates 97.2 degrees North, 46.9 degrees West.”

  “Roger that,” Rogdo replies before switching off the comms.

  “You requested money?” I say.

  “We asked for one point four million tabs to pay back Rogdo’s mother,” Larisa informs me.

  “They offered two as a thank you,” Rogdo finishes.

  Larisa turns to him, puts one hand on his arm. “I can get you more, you know that. Money cannot pay for the people you have lost, but your ship, your datacards…”

  “Two million will be fine.”

  And there it is, the change is complete. Rogdo Flavian, scourge of the galaxy, heartless, callous, ruthless mercenary, has just turned down a wealth of free money.

  The Diablo IV lands on a small, private pad at the back of the palace grounds. I momentarily tense as it settles down – the pad is a slab of thin rock overhanging a cliff side, and I doubt it is used to accommodating such large, heavy freighters as this. It would be a tragic irony to die now, spiralling down the cliff in a rusty old spaceship just as we complete our final journey together. But the rock holds steady.

  The reception committee is small but no less ornate than I’d expect. Trumpeters, banners, red carpet, a selection of pompous, greying men in ermine looking disdainfully at the Diablo IV before regaining their composure.

  We open the ramp and slowly emerge from the vessel. Trumpets immediately pick up the Almudeinian national anthem, wobbling slightly as the crowd sees for the first time the state we are all in. Dirk flollops awkwardly down the ramp. Shortly behind him I limp out wincing with every step. Rogdo looks like a homeless man. Worst of all, their beloved Princess resembles an abused, drug-addicted hooker.

  Five stately dignitaries join us a short distance from the ship’s ramp and bow low.

  “My goodness, Your Highness,” one says. “Are you well?”

  “I am tired and I look terrible,” she confesses, “but I have been protected by the bravest crew in the galaxy.”

  The dignitaries finally relent from their bows. “We witnessed Senator Vitari’s confession, Your Highness. I am shocked by his duplicity.”

  “And how did you locate this confession of Vitari’s?” Larisa asks.

  The dignitary mentally stumbles. “I…it…we…we accidentally came across it while searching the galactaweb for news of your whereabouts, Your Highness.”

  “Accidentally came across it?” she responds. She looks across at us and grins. “Do you mean to tell me that if you type my name into a search engine it comes up with hotsexxx.com?”

  “Oh, no, Your Highness, no, not at all!” The dignitary thinks quickly, then viciously points a finger at the old man on the far left. “It was him. He found it.”

  The poor old guy seems shocked at the accusation, and is clearly innocent, but the other dignitaries spy a scapegoat and point accusing fingers too.

  “Please, Your Highness, we must get you inside and treat your wounds.”

  “Are you not forgetting something?” Larisa asks. The dignitaries are puzzled. “This valiant captain and his crew risked their lives to bring me to safety, Lord Levy. Many were lost.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” the lead dignitary responds. He takes Rogdo’s hand and jerks it up and
down. “Thank you, Captain,” he says, then moves on to me. “And…you.” He then proffers his hand to Dirk before quickly retracting it. “And…caterpillar. Thank you all.”

  “Do you have the money?” Rogdo asks suddenly.

  “Oh, oh, yes, of course.” The lead dignitary motions to another, who takes a thin electronic device from his pocket.

  “If you will just place your thumbprint here, Captain,” he says. Rogdo does just that. “And two million tabs have been deposited into a Bank Of Almudena account in your name.”

  Rogdo raises his eyebrows in surprise.

  “We have branches galaxywide, and very competitive interests rates,” the man adds, worried.

  “And now, gentle…err…people,” the lead dignitary says, “if you will follow me, we have guest rooms ready for you, and tomorrow you will be the guests of honour at a ceremony to celebrate the return of our fair Princess.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” Rogdo pipes up before I can move. “But we must leave now.”

  Larisa looks at him in surprise. We all do.

  “Oh…I…” the dignitary begins. Larisa waves him quiet with one hand.

  “Leave us,” she says quietly.

  The dignitaries bow and edge backwards all the way to their starting point. Rogdo glances at Dirk and I.

  “Back in the ship,” he says. “Start her up.”

  Is he really about to do this? Pass up the chance for a night of luxury, a lavish party, possibly an award? After all we’ve been through, surely one night in a palace is the least we deserve.

  “Goodbye, Princess,” Dirk says, nodding his half a head. He starts slithering back to the ship.

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again,” I tell her, managing a smile. It is true, I think. My travels will bring me back here, and Larisa is not the kind of person to turn me away, even when she has settled back into her role as exalted leader of the richest planet in the galaxy. I turn and hobble after Dirk.

  When I reach the ramp, I cannot bear to go inside without one last look at the Princess, without knowing what she and Rogdo are saying to each other. Thanks to the wonderful zoom facility on my computer, I can analyse my memory implant and report to you exactly what takes place at that moment.

  Larisa stands close to Rogdo, places her hands on his chest. “Will you not stay…for a while?” she asks. She looks up at his face. “With me?” she adds, her large emerald eyes wet with the prospect of tears. She is trembling, frightened he might say no, and frightened he might say yes.

  Rogdo softly brushes the side of her cheek, then cups her chin. He kisses her once on the lips, then turns and walks away. Larisa is left, lost and alone on the tarmac. Tears quietly roll down her cheeks.

  Rogdo reaches us and without a word we step onto the ramp. As it raises, I turn away from the scene and head into the depths of the Diablo IV.

  As we settle into the refurbished cockpit and fire up the engines, I glance out the port window. Larisa is being led away by the dignitaries. An ermine cloak has been draped over her shoulders. Just before she is led from view, she looks over her shoulder at the ship, her face numb with emotion. Rogdo does not witness this, instead he stares blankly at the navigation console. It is already pre-set and requires no further input.

  “Has she gone?” he asks quietly.

  “Yes,” I tell him.

  He looks up from the console, glances across the landing pad. The last vestiges of the reception committee are filtering inside the palace walls.

  “Let’s go,” he says.

  The Diablo IV takes off noisily and leaves plumes of billowing white smoke in its wake as it races through the atmosphere. Soon we are clear, and the blank void of space welcomes us into her bosom once more. Rogdo sniffs once, then clears his throat in an attempt to mask the sound.

  “You do love her, don’t you?” I say, a partly rhetorical question.

  He glances at me, then away. “It could never work out. A mercenary and a princess. It’s absurd.”

  “Love doesn’t make those distinctions.”

  “No, but the mind does. I could no more stay with her in that palace than she could join me here. She has a destiny to fulfil, her people to take care of. I…”

  He pauses for a moment. I see great sadness in his eyes, abject loss.

  “I am alive out here, not in some stuffy ballroom. I need the freedom of space. I need to be out here.” He looks across at me, whispers. “I have to be.”

  He checks the navigation console. It is, as before, correct. Rogdo is trying to occupy his mind, avoiding the subject both mentally and physically. I remain silent, staring at him, knowing there is more to come. Eventually, he sighs.

  “It was a dream, okay? A dream that couldn’t last. Now, I’m awake.” He sighs again, rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  He musters up all the sincerity he can manage and looks me in the eyes once more. “I’ll get over her,” he insists.

  He is wrong. He will never get over her. But I get the feeling he will never see her again either.

  I am deposited on an orbital ring, the very same one we recently bought our supplies from. It is a full two months before I am due to leave the mercenary crew, but we are all in agreement it is the best thing to do.

  Rogdo is determined to start from scratch, build up his business again. In a way I hoped he had learned from these past ten months that now would be the ideal opportunity to leave his mercenary life behind and begin a legitimate business. But it is, he claims, the only thing he knows how to do well. He will need to build his finances back up, replenish his crew, upgrade his equipment. But he insists he is no worse off than when he first started in this business, and his reputation alone should hold him steady for a few assignments.

  There is an underlying sadness to Rogdo’s life now. The loss of such valued members of his crew, friends he had known for many years, has affected him badly. But it is the lost love that is gnawing at his spirit. We have all been physically and emotionally scarred by recent events, but I have the feeling it is Rogdo who will suffer the most in the years to come.

  We stop part way along the suspended walkway and for a few moments we do nothing but watch the passers-by. Dirk shifts uneasily on his remaining nine feet.

  “I hate goodbyes,” he says.

  “We all do,” I answer. “So let’s not say it.”

  “Right,” Rogdo answers, nodding and thrusting his hands into his back pockets. He refuses to make eye contact with me. “You’ve done alright…for a journalist.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “You’re not too bad…for a mercenary.”

  “Let me know when your book comes out.”

  “You can have the first signed copy,” I tell him.

  “Right,” he answers. He turns to Dirk. “Shall we?”

  “Yeah,” the giant caterpillar answers. “Let’s go.”

  We discretely nod to each other, our way of saying goodbye, then they walk away. I watch the two of them until they are out of sight. It is a rather long walkway and takes a good ten minutes, but it gives me time to reflect on all the events I have witnessed, all the vibrant characters I have met. I will miss them all. Now they are gone.

  APPENDICES – PLANETS

  For your further educational delectation, the following seven pages detail the planets I visit in this edition of my Travels In Space:

  Pilatara

  Almudena

  Festival

  Camera-7

  Bob

  SARP

  Narkis

  The following entries have been adapted from records on gww.wikiplanets.org, updated as of April 3078

  Appendix – Pilatara

  Population: 456,154,845

  Government: Presidency Currently undecided

  Topography: Mostly jungle with some mountainous regions and clear oceans

  Climate: Muggy

  Resources: Silver, iron ore, salt

  Economy: Built on exports and an auto-pay function that allo
ws the government to overcharge for everything without consumers being aware

  Dominant Species: Human, Werehorse

  History: Discovered by Cal Moffatt in 2861. Named after his 7-year-old daughter Tara Moffatt and her comfort pillow, who succeeded Cal three months after discovery (the daughter, not the pillow). Raised by werehorses with nothing better to do than gallop, swish their manes and go on occasional bloodthirsty full moon rampages, Tara established a human colony whilst still in her early teens. For three hundred years this colony, a giant jungle fort, became a must-visit destination for explorers, extreme sports enthusiasts and weird people still obsessed with 19th and 20th Century characters called Tarzan and Lara Croft. When a rare triple full moon occurred in the year 2897 the fort was destroyed by werehorses and the planet was abandoned for the next fifty years. It was settled again in 2951 and a rapid expansion program built the thriving community we see today. The werehorses were also forced to wear adapted sunglasses called moonglasses to avoid any future bloodletting.

  Appendix – Almudena

  Population: 2,364,791,458 2,243,154,654

  Government: 50% monarchy, 50% senate 100% monarchy

  Topography: Arid deserts, cold oceans and mineral-rich mountain ranges interspersed with large, climate-controlled areas of manufactured beauty

  Climate: Hot and dry, cold and snowy or absolutely perfect depending on where you are

  Resources: Diamond, gold

  Economy: Built on exports of diamond, gold and sophisticated technology designed specifically to repel interplanetary invasions

  Dominant Species: Human

  History: Proving the old adage that luck always finds the rich, Almudena was discovered by the upper class Featherstonehaugh family (inexplicably pronounced Fanshaw) during a vacation cruise in 2532. The family didn’t settle on the planet for another hundred years as they waited for menial labourers to construct a suitable palace, quell the more dangerous local wildlife and open up mining facilities. One of the richest seams of diamond and gold ever discovered, Almudena quickly became the most profitable planet in the galaxy. The ruling Featherstonehaugh family quickly bored of their new, settled lives. They left on another pleasure cruise and were never heard from again. In the subsequent epic war over the power vacuum, the Raishe house came to prominence and set themselves up as a monarchy. Elated and wanting to embrace all the wonderful aspects of being the ruling house without any of the day-to-day boredom, they quickly established a senate to deal with the less interesting facets of running Almudena. Despite most of the wealth going to the privileged few, leaving the majority of the planet close to the poverty line, monarchists sick of being ruled over by presidents, generals, self-styled galactic overlords and hippy communes flocked to Almudena and boosted its population to over 2 billion. Due to its riches, the planet has been forced to fend off numerous invasions over the centuries roughly equating to one attack every 4.3 years.