Darkspace Renegade Volume 1: Books 1 & 2: (A Military Sci-Fi Series)

by G J Ogden

  “The armor soaked up the rest,” Hallam heard Dakota call back as he rested his head against the padded seat with his eyes closed. “We’ll look a damn mess, but it’s all easily replaced. We might need a night stopover at the Centrum while they sort that hull breach, though.”

  Hallam sighed and opened his eyes again. “Great, a night cooped up on that fortress with the Consortium’s heavies breathing down our necks.” The Centrum was the largest space installation ever built by human hands, but eighty percent of it was off limits to the select few visitors that were allowed to board. Hallam couldn’t blame them for being careful; without the Centrum, there would be no Randenite, and all twelve bridge worlds would suddenly have to become entirely self-sufficient. Earth would suffer even more greatly, having grown reliant on the resources supplied by these other planets, through the network of bridges.

  “It could be worse,” replied Dakota, shrugging, “It does have probably the best bar, outside of Feronia.”

  Hallam made a noise that sounded like someone gagging on a piece of rotten fruit. “I can’t believe you like that awful leisure planet; I can barely take it for a couple of hours before I get a headache.”

  Dakota laughed before retracting the shields around their main engines and setting them back on course to align with the bridge. “Your headaches are just because I land so many punches to your baby-soft cheeks,” she said, winking at Hallam.

  Hallam snorted again. “You wish!” he replied, genuinely affronted. “But if you want to try, then the Centrum does have a pretty good gym, and it’s been a few days since I last beat your ass.”

  “You’re on,” replied Dakota before the radio light flashed on. “Looks like our combat escort is getting impatient,” she added before answering the hail.

  “Tanker Romeo Sierra One Three, this is escort Agile One. Are you able to continue to the Centrum?” came the no-nonsense voice of the anonymous Consortium combat escort pilot.

  “Roger that, Agile One. We’re just getting into position, then we’ll be underway,” Dakota answered with her usual jaunty tone. “Synchronize with our bridge countdown, over.”

  “Understood, Tanker One Three. Agile One over and out,” came the stiff reply before the radio clicked off.

  “Chatty bunch, aren’t they?” said Hallam with a wry smirk.

  Dakota aligned the huge armored tanker with the invisible bridge and set the countdown timer to three minutes. “I’m not complaining; most of them are just as dull in person,” she said, returning a wry smile of her own. “I can’t believe you signed up to be one of the Consortium’s crack escort pilots. You have at least some semblance of a personality…”

  “Nice…” replied Hallam, scowling at her. Dakota knew that Hallam’s dishonorable discharge from the CSF was a sore subject, but she frequently brought it up to irk him. This was mainly because Hallam had refused to tell her the story of how he had ended up being kicked out, three months after graduating as a pilot officer. “Just for that, I’m not going to pull my punches when we spar this time.”

  Dakota laughed and threw her head back, suddenly snapping it forward again and clicking her fingers excitedly. “Damn it, I’ve just figured out how that renegade managed to get a torpedo off without us noticing.”

  Hallam sat upright and shifted his body toward her. “How? Is it some kind of new weapon?”

  Dakota shook her head. “No, I forgot to kiss Bob after the second renegade bugged out. If I had done so, that torp would have flown well wide.”

  Hallam smiled and shook his head. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking or being serious,” he said truthfully.

  The pulse of the tanker’s Shelby Drive started to climb and Hallam saw the countdown reach sixty seconds.

  “We’re about to bridge after taking some pretty heavy damage,” Dakota went on, looking at Hallam with wide, playful eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to kiss Bob for good luck?”

  “No,” snorted Hallam, shooting her a disgusted look. “It’s just superstitious nonsense.” Then he realized that Dakota hadn’t done it either, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Aren’t you going to do it, though?”

  Dakota waved a hand at him dismissively. “Nah, you’re probably right,” she said breezily. “Superstitious nonsense…”

  Hallam glanced at the timer and saw it had reached thirty seconds, then glanced back at Dakota, who still hadn’t moved. He cursed under his breath and bolted out of his seat toward her console before hurriedly kissing his fingers and slapping them on top of Bob the bear’s woolen head.

  Dakota burst out laughing and clapped. “I knew it!” she said as Hallam skulked back to his seat.

  “Not a damn word!” Hallam shot back, although he couldn’t help but allow a smile to curl his lips too.

  Then the pulse of the Shelby Drive reached its crescendo, and the blackness outside was replaced by the swirling red borders of bridge space.

  2

  Hallam ducked under another cross from Dakota and landed a quick rip to her body with his right hand, sending her staggering backwards. He smiled from behind his raised guard as Dakota pressed her glove to her side.

  “Are you okay?” Hallam asked impishly. “Because we can stop now, if you’d like?”

  Dakota smiled back and raised her guard. “I was just scratching an itch, that’s all,” she replied, playing along with Hallam. “It felt like someone just tickled me.”

  Dakota always gave as good as she got; it was one of the reasons Hallam loved sparring with her, both in the ring and in general. She indulged his competitive streak and was a tough opponent to boot.

  “Well, if you fancy a bit more tickling, step this way,” Hallam answered, beckoning Dakota on with his glove.

  Dakota danced around the ring, circling Hallam and inviting him to come after her. Hallam moved in, but then his head snapped back as Dakota landed a sharp jab. It hurt his pride more than his nose; Dakota had suckered him into clumsily tracking her around the ring many times before, and he was annoyed he still kept falling for it.

  “You okay?” asked Dakota, grinning.

  Hallam didn’t answer, and instead took advantage of her moment of gloating to step in and land a jab of his own. He then threw a couple more shots, but Dakota had already resumed her sprightly defense and the punches flew wide. He then tasted the sweat-coated, well-worn leather of Dakota’s left glove as it connected with his face, and felt the breath pressed from his lungs as another shot pummeled his gut. Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, Hallam closed up his guard and backpedaled before swinging out a wild right hook in an attempt to ward off any further advance from his opponent. He felt his hand connect and saw Dakota’s gum shield fly out of her mouth and land in a spittle-covered splat on the mat. Dakota dropped to one knee, and instinctively, Hallam rushed over to her.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, Dak, that was a wild one,” he said, dropping down beside her. She was flexing her jaw with one eye shut, but otherwise, Hallam was relieved to see she looked okay.

  “No kidding,” Dakota replied, using Hallam’s bent knee to push herself upright. Then she smiled again and tapped her glove into his chest. “But if it wasn’t for that lucky shot, I’d have had you on your ass.”

  Hallam half-shrugged, half-nodded. “Maybe, maybe not,” he replied. “We’ll never know.”

  “Are you bailing on me? We’ve only been at it for an hour,” said Dakota, looking disappointed.

  Hallam tapped his wrist where his watch would normally have been. “It must already be eight o’clock, and we haven’t even eaten yet. I’m starved.”

  “Okay, but I want a rematch in the morning before we head back out again,” said Dakota before tearing open the Velcro strap of her right glove with her teeth.

  “That does depend on how much you make me drink tonight,” replied Hallam as Dakota threw off her gloves and helped Hallam with his.

  They both climbed out of the ring and headed into the locker room area. Hallam stashed his gloves an
d hand wraps into his holdall, grabbed his towel, and pulled off his shirt. Dakota had already gone around to the set of lockers on the opposite side of the room, but he still felt the need to warn her before slipping off his shorts.

  “I’m just going to grab a quick shower, so don’t come around here, unless you want a shock,” Hallam called over the top of the lockers before tip-toeing toward the shower block. The pale ceramic tiles were surprisingly cold, considering the room itself felt like a sauna.

  “Will the shock be how small it is?” he heard Dakota shout back. Hallam shook his head, smiling; even when they weren’t boxing, they were still sparring. He turned on the faucet and waited for the water to run hot, then stepped beneath the stream of steaming water. The sensation was blissful, as if he’d just been treated to a Shiatsu massage. Water was sometimes hard to come by on the Consortium stations in the more distant bridge worlds, which meant the showers were either nonexistent or strictly time-limited, and usually lukewarm. The Centrum, however, had been specifically positioned close to an abundant supply of water and other resources in a vast asteroid field. Combined with the near one-hundred-percent efficient water-recycling system, this meant that long, hot showers on-board the Centrum were a welcome perk.

  Suddenly, Hallam felt a stinging sensation on his left buttock, and he yelped, leaping out from under the stream of water. At first, he looked down at his cheek, which was red where the pain had occurred, and thought he’d been stung by a wasp. Then he felt stupid, realizing that there were no insects on the station, and looked up, trying to figure out another reason. It was then that he saw Dakota through the mist of steam, towel held taut between her hands, twisted into a whip. However, this wasn’t the most surprising part of her appearance; she was also completely naked.

  “Jeez, Dak, what the hell!” shouted Hallam, turning around to hide his modesty, or what little of it he was able to salvage. “The women’s showers are over on the other side.”

  “I know,” said Dakota, hanging up the towel and strolling up to the shower head next to Hallam’s, as if she were taking a casual walk in a park. She then turned on the water without any further explanation.

  Hallam rubbed his stinging cheek with a soapy hand and shook his head. “That really hurt, you know?” he added, stepping back under his own stream of water.

  “Just a little payback for that loose haymaker earlier on,” said Dakota, flashing her eyes at him before pushing her head under the water. Then she turned toward Hallam, covering her breasts with her hands. “Do you mind passing over the soap? I’ve got my hands full over here…”

  Hallam laughed and jutted his backside out of the stream. “Kiss my stinging red ass, Dak,” he replied before getting back under the water.

  This hadn’t been the first time Dakota had pulled a stunt like this, and Hallam knew it was just her way of coping with the stresses of bridge running. The jokes and pranks were a welcome distraction from the distressing reality that renegades tried to blow them up on a weekly basis.

  “I’m done, so I’ll see you in the bar in ten?” said Hallam, turning off the faucet and strolling over to the towels, trying to match Dakota’s earlier swagger.

  “Give me an hour, will ya?” replied Dakota from inside the steaming flow of water. “I have a few things to wrap up first.”

  “An hour?” said Hallam, feeling his stomach gurgle from a lack of food as he rubbed himself dry. “If I have to wait another hour, I’ll probably eat this towel.”

  “I’ll most likely be sooner,” replied Dakota. “Wait for me in there, and I’ll be as quick as I can. Just admin stuff, you know?”

  “Fine, I’ll stuff myself with bar snacks while I’m waiting,” said Hallam, wrapping the towel around his waist. Then he spotted Dakota’s towel hanging on the rack, still twisted up into a whip-like sausage. He grinned and plucked it off the hook before hanging it over his neck. “I’ll catch you later, then?” he added, strolling off out of the shower block.

  Dakota was another ten minutes in the shower before Hallam heard the water shut off, by which point he’d already hurriedly dressed himself. He waited, still grinning, for the inevitable cry, and it came, right on cue.

  “Hal, where’s my damn towel?”

  Hallam scurried over to the door, Dakota’s towel still draped over his neck, as his partner appeared at the far end of the locker room. Her right arm was pressed across her chest, while her left hand covered her other unmentionables.

  “What towel?” asked Hallam, snickering like a schoolboy.

  “Don’t you dare!” Dakota cried back. “Hal? Hal!” But Hallam had already pushed through the door and left.

  3

  Hallam was just exiting the restrooms by the door of the visitor’s bar, when he heard a commotion going on outside. Buoyed by a couple of beers and always eager to get the scoop on a bit of salacious gossip, he stepped through the door and into the wide hallway. It was then that he saw Dakota Wulfrun, jostling with two Consortium Enforcers, which were more commonly known as “heavies” because they were heavy in stature as well as in name.

  At first, his mildly intoxicated state made this seem amusing – it was classic Dakota to find a way to wind up the CSF heavies. Despite being employed by the mega-corporation that had stakes in everything from toilet paper to space station construction, she hated the Consortium with a passion. He then saw one of the heavies reaching for his hip, and he quickly sobered up and stepped hastily toward the affray. The enforcer could have simply been reaching for a pepper spray or stun weapon, and on any other station, he wouldn’t have worried, but the Centrum was not any other station. As the most valuable piece of interstellar real estate in the galaxy, the Consortium didn’t play games when it came to protecting their unique and irreplaceable facility. At worst, Dakota would get herself killed, and at best, she’d get herself banned.

  “Back off, you fascist thug,” snarled Dakota, shoving one of the enforcers in the chest. Thanks to her regular training and five-foot-ten-inch frame, Dakota was no featherweight, but her push barely rocked the Consortium heavy.

  “There you are!” said Hallam, quickly inserting himself between Dakota and the enforcer. “I told you that you’d get lost without me,” he added, gently ushering her away.

  “We find you snooping around the restricted sections again, and we’ll put a block on your transit ID,” the enforcer growled back, jabbing a finger at Dakota. “Now get lost.”

  Dakota flipped the bird to the heavy as Hallam continued to gently guide her down the hall toward the bar.

  “What the hell, Dak?” said Hallam, not for the first time that night. “You could get us barred from the Centrum. What were you doing snooping around the restricted sections anyway?”

  Dakota swiveled on her heels, putting her back to the departing heavies, and brushed off Hallam’s gentle hold on her.

  “I wasn’t ‘snooping around’ as those walnut-brained morons put it,” said Dakota, still burning with rage from the confrontation. “I just took a wrong turn coming out of the comms room, that’s all.”

  “And what were you doing in the comms room?” asked Hallam, waiting for the door to the visitors’ bar to swoosh open and letting Dakota storm inside. “I thought you were doing admin.”

  Dakota stopped and spun on her heels again, scowling at Hallam. “You sound like one of those assholes,” she said, thrusting her arms out toward him, wrists pressed together. “Are you going to arrest me, Enforcer Knight?”

  Hallam brushed past Dakota and headed toward the nearest empty table. “No, but I am going to eat without you if you don’t sit down and stop causing trouble.”

  Hallam pulled up a seat and watched as Dakota lowered her arms and finally did the same, except that she spun her chair around and straddled it instead.

  “You know, you’re cranky when you’re hungry?”

  “And whose fault is that?” replied Hallam, scrolling idly through the self-service menu panel built into the table. He ordered another beer, plu
s a double cheeseburger and fries, then extended an open hand toward Dakota’s panel, inviting her to make her choice.

  Dakota looked down at the menu panel and ordered a Hawaiian pizza. Hallam saw her choice flash up on his panel and smiled. This was another of Dakota’s games to wind him up, since she knew full well that Hudson found the idea of pineapple on pizza to be sacrilegious.

  “You know, the only good use for pineapple is to garnish a piña colada,” commented Hallam, playing along with Dakota’s game. “Before you then tip it down the drain, because piña coladas are disgusting, just like pineapple on pizza…”

  Dakota smiled back. “You do realize that the meat in that cheeseburger you just ordered isn’t really meat?” she hit back. “And the cheese isn’t really cheese either? It’s all grown in a lab somewhere on Tellus. Who knows what it’s made of.”

  Hallam took a swig of his beer as the automated robotic waiter delivered two more to the table. “I don’t care what it’s made of. It tastes good and that’s all that matters,” he said, refusing to be deterred. “And this place orders in the best quality stuff. It’s the closest to a real cheeseburger that I’ve had since you forced me into that casino on Feronia. At least that place had real meat burgers.”

  Dakota took a swig of her beer and raised an eyebrow, “It may have been real meat, but it sure as hell wasn’t beef. Have you seen the weird-ass animals that roam around that planet? You probably ate something that had three heads and two asses.”

  Hallam shrugged, then did a chef kiss sign, adding an elaborate kissing noise to boot. “And I’d do it all again. Delicious!”