Renegade Star: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure

by JN Chaney

  “Call me in the morning,” Ollie said.

  “That’s a fast turnaround. You sure you don’t need more time?”

  “There’s always someone eager to get their hands on this stuff. Trust me. I see postings for it all the time.”

  “Great. Thanks again, Ollie,” I said, tapping his shoulder.

  “Anytime, Jace. Just do me a favor, would you?”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Ollie leaned in. “That girl you’re with. The assistant to the fat guy. Think you could put a good word in for me?”

  “You mean Octavia?”

  “Yeah, she’s a looker, that one.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, glancing back at Octavia, who was standing at the entrance to the shop with Hitchens.

  Ollie’s eyes lit up. “Really? Damn, Jace, you’re a good pal.”

  “Just sell my stuff and we’ll call it even,” I said, turning to leave. “See you tomorrow.”

  I said goodbye to Hitchens and Octavia, who went to join their friends in the hotel on floor twelve. They’d join me on the promenade first thing tomorrow so we could meet back up with Ollie, but until then, everyone was free to relax.

  I thought about heading to the bar, but decided to just go to my room and crash for the night. It was early, sure, but I didn’t operate on a typical sleep schedule. That was for people with day jobs. People who sat in a cubicle or an office and performed a mindless task for eight hours a day. Me? I didn’t have the luxury of going home at the end of a shift and clocking out. My job didn’t end, which meant that sometimes I couldn’t rest.

  Not that I was complaining. This was the life I’d chosen, and it was a good one. A lawless one, full of freedom and open space. The last thing I wanted was to be trapped in a room, behind a computer screen, logging data-entry points and reading memos.

  I’d fought tooth and nail to get to where I was, including taking out that loan from Fratley. All I had to do was pay him off and then I’d be free to do as I pleased. No more debt to struggle with, no more asshole breathing down my neck.

  I thought about the money I was about to make, thanks to Ollie and those artifact machines. While I was still thinking about it, I went ahead and transferred ten percent of my earnings from the last job into Ollie’s account. Fair was fair, after all.

  Almost there, I thought as I closed my eyes to sleep. I’ll fix the rest tomorrow.

  Sixteen

  A few minutes after I woke, I noticed my pad blinking an alert. Ollie had mentioned calling me, so my only guess was that I missed it while I was asleep.

  I swiped the screen and saw a video recording in my inbox. As expected, it was signed Ollie Trinidad.

  I tapped the name and Ollie’s face filled the screen.

  “Jace, it’s me. I guess you’re still asleep, so listen up. I called and got a deal with a buyer. They’ve transferred the money directly into my account, so I’m sending your share straight to you. Enjoy, pal. Just stop by sometime after lunch and we’ll celebrate. The buyer is on his way now to pick up the goods. Anyway, see ya soon.”

  I quickly pulled up my bank account, using the gal-net. After logging in, I was shocked to see a whopping one hundred and ten thousand credits sitting there. Talk about a beautiful sight. I swear, I could have cried.

  The video ended with a timestamp, suggesting it had been sent in the early morning, around 0600. I checked the clock and saw it was currently 0900. Boy, had I slept late.

  Was it really over? All that work to get this money, but it was finally done. I had the payment and Fratley could be satisfied. I could take my ship and go anywhere, do anything I wanted.

  I slammed my fist into my mattress, smiling as I stared at the number in my account.

  After a quick stretch, I got up and showered, taking my time. There was no need to rush anymore.

  It wasn’t noon yet, so I decided I wanted to catch a glimpse of these buyers, if possible, and see who was actually willing to shell out so many creds for a bunch of useless toys. Then, I’d buy Ollie a drink to show him my thanks. The little weasel really came through for me, same as always.

  When I was in the hall, leaving my room, I called Sigmond and asked him to tell Hitchens to meet me on the Promenade. The jolly researcher was more than eager to do so, giving me a warm acknowledgement.

  I stopped in at the bar, briefly, for a cup of their terrible coffee, giving my salute to the same bartender I’d met the last time I was here. “Thanks,” I told him, taking the cup from the counter.

  “No problem. You in dock for long?” he asked.

  “I aim to leave today, actually.” I took a sip and was surprised at how good it tasted. The coffee on my ship was usually the best, but this blend wasn’t much worse.

  “I can’t say I blame you,” said the barkeep. “There’s some sketchy people here today. Moreso than usual.”

  “Sketchy?” I asked. “We get another group of ravagers in?”

  “Nah, more like military guys. I saw some uniforms heading upstairs.”

  “Military? You’re sure?”

  He nodded. “Seemed like it. I didn’t get a good look, but someone mentioned they were with the Union. I don’t believe it, though. Ain’t seen any Union guys around here in over a year.”

  That wasn’t good. The last thing I needed to deal with was the military snooping around. “Thanks for the tip,” I said, gulping down the coffee.

  “Hey, you take care. Stop by the next time you’re in.”

  “Will do. Thanks again.”

  I spotted Hitchens walking beside Octavia the second I left the bar. He was wearing a vacation shirt of some sort. The same kind they sold in the local gift shop.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, grinning.

  “He bought it upstairs at the hotel,” said Octavia, shaking her head. “I told him not to.”

  “Nonsense,” said Hitchens. “I think it’s rather fitting.”

  “You should listen to your assistant,” I said. “Are you two ready?”

  They both gave me a nod and we began walking through the promenade, which to my surprise was far less congested than normal. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d never seen it this empty. There were, at most, two dozen people quietly walking between the different shops—a stark contrast to the typical crowds I might normally have to wade through.

  I stopped as Ollie’s shop came into view on the other end of the promenade. The shutter was closed, something I’d only seen once in the three years I’d known the man.

  “Is something wrong, Captain?” asked Hitchens.

  “Can you wait here? I need to go and have a look.”

  “Certainly.” He looked at his apprentice. “Octavia, let’s have ourselves a seat at that restaurant. Shall we?”

  “I could use the meal,” she answered.

  “Salad for me,” he said, rubbing his belly.

  “You always say that, but you just end up getting a steak.”

  He chuckled. “It’s a problem.” They started to leave. “We’ll be over here when you’re ready, Captain.”

  I nodded, then proceeded to Ollie’s shop. As I drew closer, I saw there was a sign posted.

  CLOSED – STATION SECURITY

  The only other time I had seen this Ollie shut down the shop was when he had a run-in with a rogue trash dispenser. The machine malfunctioned as he was trying to dig out some discarded metal, severing three of his fingers in the process. Much to everyone’s shock, he had to close the business for nearly twelve hours while he sat in the medbay getting them sewn back on.

  When it happened, he didn’t bother with a sign. This one said it was from Security, which was even stranger.

  “Hey,” I heard a voice say from behind me.

  I turned to see a girl standing there, chewing on some gum and crossing her arms. It was one of the shoe shop girls from across the divide. I recognized her face because she was always staring at me when I came to Ollie’s shop. “Yeah?” I said.

  “
You lookin’ for the guy who runs this place?” She had obnoxiously bright clothes and too much jewelry.

  “Sure. You know where he is?” I asked.

  She nodded, her long earrings clanging against her neck. “Oh dear, oh dear. You seem like a nice fella. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but he’s dead.”

  For a second, I thought I must have misheard her, she was speaking so fast. “What was that?”

  “That guy, the one who owns this place. He’s dead, honey. They found him a few hours ago with a bullet in his head. To think, something like that would happen here.”

  I looked back at the sign. “What the fuck,” I whispered, totally in disbelief. “Ollie’s…dead?”

  “Oh, honey, it’s such a scandal. The whole floor’s talking about it. Me and the other girls are thinking it’s probably a hit, you know? Like maybe someone was after him. Danni said she heard from her cousin that Paule over at the bar had something to do with it, but I know Paule and he ain’t the kind of guy, you know? He wouldn’t go and—”

  I blinked, trying to focus on the sign in front of me. Maybe if I went and talked to Security, they could tell me what happened. Hopefully this woman was making everything up, or maybe she was just stupid.

  I turned away from both her and the shop. “Thanks. I have to go,” I said.

  “All right, mister. You take care. Try not to end up like that guy. Be careful.”

  I didn’t answer. “What the fuck, Ollie,” I muttered as I left that section of the promenade.

  Hitchens waved at me as I passed the restaurant. He took a bite from a steak, a large grin on his face. He started to rise from his seat, but I motioned for him to sit, so he did.

  “I have to go talk to Security,” I said, when I got near their table.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Octavia. “You look disturbed.”

  “Just wait for me here. If I’m not back in a few hours, go to the hotel and join the others. I’ll call you.”

  Despite their clear confusion, they both nodded. “We’ll do as you ask,” said Octavia.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Hitchens raised his finger. “Captain, if I might. You look a bit concerned. Are you certain everything is—”

  “Just stay out of trouble,” I said, then turned and left the restaurant.

  What that woman had told me had to be wrong. There was no way Ollie could be dead. Not that squirrely little jackass. Not in a million years.

  It just wasn’t possible.

  * * *

  The Security clerk sat behind the counter with his blue suit and a thin pair of glasses. “Ollie Trinidad? Yes, I do believe he passed away this morning.”

  I felt my shoulders tense. “The owner of—”

  “Taurus Gifts and Memorabilia,” finished the clerk. “That’s the one. Are you a family member?”

  “No. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Only part of it. I’m afraid the investigation is currently still open, which means we can’t disclose some of the details. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Can you at least tell me how he died?”

  The clerk looked at his screen for a moment. “It seems he was shot late last night. Could I take down your information? If you’re an associate of Mr. Trinidad’s, Sergeant Deekon will probably want to ask you some questions.”

  I turned and walked to the door. “Thanks for your help.”

  The clerk didn’t press me for a name, most likely because their cameras would pull my ID as soon as I left. If they connected the dots and learned about my association with Ollie, I’d have them breathing down my neck before the end of the day.

  Several televisions were mounted along the corridor walls, displaying various criminals and missing civilians. I saw a boy who had disappeared a few months ago named Connor Luce, six years old.

  MISSING – CONNOR LUCE

  AGE: 6

  HAIR COLOR: BLACK

  EYE COLOR: HAZEL

  IMPORTANT NOTE: PLEASE REPORT SIGHTINGS TO YOUR LOCAL SECURITY OFFICE.

  THANK YOU.

  Beside him, I saw the photo of a man with orange hair and freckles. He had a thick pair of glasses and messy clothes.

  WANTED – LANDON O’TOOLE

  AGE: 52

  HAIR COLOR: RED

  EYE COLOR: GREEN

  HEIGHT: 6’3’’

  CRIMES: SIX COUNTS OF MURDER, ARSON, GRAND THEFT

  BEWARE: SUSPECT IS ARMED AND CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.

  The next display, which had been dimly lit until I was close enough for the sensor to pick me up. When it did, the screen brightened, and I saw a familiar face that gave me pause.

  On it, there was a woman, dressed in holy garments. My eyes widened as I realized who it was.

  WANTED - ABIGAIL PRYAR

  AGE: 35

  HAIR COLOR: BLONDE

  EYE COLOR: GREEN

  HEIGHT: 5’10’’

  CRIMES: MURDER, THEFT, ASSAULT, CONSPIRACY TO COMMIT MURDER, KIDNAPPING

  BEWARE: SUSPECT IS ARMED AND CONSIDERED EXTREMELY DANGEROUS.

  I stared at the image, a little beside myself. I had known she had a warrant out for her arrest, but to see it here on Taurus was surprising. We weren’t in Union space, which should have meant any criminal acts performed in Union territory were null and void. That didn’t mean the person couldn’t be pursued, but their crimes generally weren’t publicized. Not out here in the Deadlands.

  Hell, if we started doing that, half the people in this region would be placed under arrest, myself included.

  I turned and continued walking, leaving the screen with Abigail’s face behind me. I had other things to worry about right now.

  As I rounded the corner and entered the promenade, I saw the closed shutters of Ollie’s shop and the unusually thin crowd of visitors walking through the deck.

  To my surprise, however, there were now three individuals standing together in front of the gate to Ollie’s place. Each of them wore a uniform, but it wasn’t the kind one might expect to see on Taurus Station.

  Blue and gold colors, tight fitting jackets, and pressed collars. Those were Union personnel.

  I froze where I stood, staring out across the promenade at the three strangers. What the fuck were they doing in front of Ollie’s? For that matter, what were they even doing on this station?

  I tapped my ear, activating the com to my ship. “Siggy, you picking this up?”

  “Naturally, sir,” replied the AI.

  “Can you check for any Union ships in the area? See if any are docked.”

  There was a quick pause. “I’m detecting two ships on the other side of the station. Both are Union, Alpha-class.”

  I cursed under breath, glancing at the men again. As I stood there, one turned and, for a brief second, we made eye contact.

  I doubled back around and walked inside the corridor leading toward Security. This section of the hall was empty, except for a trash dispenser and a small television, which showed a commercial for Jarro’s restaurant on a loop.

  “Siggy, can you put a call in to Abigail’s room at the hotel?”

  “Certainly, sir,” said Sigmond.

  “Hey, you,” said a voice from behind me, near the bustling promenade.

  I turned to see one of the Union guys staring at me. The same one who had locked eyes with me before. “Yeah? What do you want?” I asked, casually.

  “What’s your name?” asked the man.

  “Why do you wanna know?”

  His two buddies were beside him, each one staring at me. “We’re with the Union government and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “What’s the Union doing all the way out here?” I asked.

  “That’s not your concern. Now, tell us who you are and why you went to Security asking about Mr. Trinidad.”

  Shit, I thought. I knew I shouldn’t have gone there. What was I thinking?

  “Come on, sir,” said one of the men. “Don’t make us arrest you for dis
rupting an investigation.”

  “I do odd jobs for Ollie,” I said, bending the truth a little. “He owes me money for the last one. I was trying to collect.”

  “Odd jobs? Like what?”

  “I collect trash for him so he can make those ornaments. You saw them in the shop, yeah? That’s how he makes them. Just takes wires from dumpsters. Well, I do some collecting for him. Helps pay my rent, you know?”

  They all looked at each other. “You collect dumpster wire?”

  “Not all the time. Do I look like a two-bit dumpster diver?” I asked. “Sometimes I get other things, too. Just the other day I found a stack of vintage Solento goggles. You know how much those things go for?” I scoffed. “We’re talking a few hundred creds, let me tell you.”

  “What else do you know about the owner of that store?”

  “Nothing, except that he buys a lot of wiring and junk. Biggest sucker on the station.”

  “Wires, huh? Have you ever seen anyone suspicious come into the shop?”

  “Like a criminal?” I asked, pretending to be shocked.

  “Sure,” said the man. “A thief, a brigand, a Renegade-type of character.”

  “Oh, a Renegade? Now that you mention it, there was this one guy. I saw him with a woman. He came into that shop and then left. That was a week ago. I think his name was Landon.”

  “Are you certain that was it?” asked the first.

  “Something like that. Or Lando. I don’t know. He said something about taking off to Arcadia.”

  “That sounds right,” said the second guy. “That’s where she’s from.”

  “But there’s nothing there now,” said the third.

  “They could have gone further into the Deadlands,” said the first.

  I faked a sigh. “Look, fellas. I hate to leave you, but I need to get back to work. There’s a load of trash I gotta sort through before I can call it a day.”

  “Wait a second. Tell us about that man you saw. What did he look like?”

  I shrugged. “Red hair, I think. Actually, there’s a poster of him back there. You see the displays in the hall?”