by G J Ogden
“Would you like a drink?” asked Doyle in an unusual display of generosity.
“Sure, thanks,” said Cad as he approached the desk, noting that all of the turrets tracked his movements with fluid precision and without making a sound. Then the silence was shattered by the metallic clank and mechanical whir of the bot as it surged toward him. Cad instinctively reached for his pistol, forgetting that everything even faintly resembling a weapon had been stripped from his person a mile before he’d even entered the estate.
“Stand down,” said Doyle, seemingly unalarmed by the bot’s aggressive advance, unlike Cad, whose heart was thumping like a hare’s foot. The bot stopped and took three steps back, but its featureless cranial unit still appeared to be staring directly at Cad. “My apologies, Mr. Rikkard; these automatons can be a little overzealous at times.”
“I don’t trust anything that doesn’t have a heartbeat,” said Cad, still watching the bot like a hawk.
“That is precisely why these mechanical soldiers are in my employ,” said Doyle, twisting Cad’s sentiment to his own purpose. “However, it does lack a certain level of finesse, which is why I also employ you, of course.” Doyle then finished pouring a measure of whisky from an ornate-looking gold-colored bottle (Cad supposed it probably was made of actual gold) and offered it to Cad. He hesitated, still unsure whether the bot would blow his head off, before his fingers even touched the glass. “It’s okay, Mr. Rikkard, don’t be shy,” said Doyle with a smug-looking grin.
Cad returned the smile and huffed a laugh; the whole thing had been a deliberately set piece, he realized. Doyle had orchestrated the event to demonstrate just how safe the tycoon was, despite being alone, while also making a point of proving Cad’s own vulnerable position. However, while he admired Doyle’s tactics, the whole thing had royally hacked him off too. If there was one thing that Cad despised above all else, it was being made to look a fool or weak.
Cad stepped forward and confidently took the thick crystal tumbler from Doyle’s hand, feeling the urge to smash it back into his face, but instead, he simply said, “Thanks.”
Doyle then picked up his glass and savored the aroma before sipping the contents. Cad did the same, except that he necked the contents in one hearty gulp. The liquid burned his throat and a smoky aftertaste lingered for far longer than Cad considered pleasant.
“Pretty good stuff,” said Cad, lying. In truth, he hated drinking spirits and rarely drank alcohol at all.
Doyle snorted a sort of derisive, mocking laugh before replying, “I should hope so, Mr. Rikkard. This bottle cost me a little over a million dollars.”
Cad despised the snobbery of the ultra-rich, always thinking they were better than he was. He’d clawed himself up from nothing, whereas Doyle had inherited his fortune on a diamond-studded platter, most likely as a result of murdering his own father. He suddenly felt the need to get away from the estate and the entire Consortium-owned planet before its grotesque extravagances somehow infected him like a virus.
Placing the empty glass down on Doyle’s enormous desk, Cad asked, “I’m assuming this isn’t just a social call. Do you have a job for me?”
Doyle’s expression hardened as he took another sip of the whisky before also placing the glass on the desk. “Yes, one that is particularly well-suited to your talents.”
“I’ll get it done, whatever it is,” said Cad. He genuinely didn’t care what Doyle wanted him to do – murder, torture, blowing up a building or two – it made no difference to him.
“Normally, I would believe you, Mr. Rikkard,” said Doyle, his tone turning darker, almost angry. “But you have already failed me once by allowing the renegade fighter that attacked my corporate headquarters to escape.”
Cad folded his arms; he didn’t take kindly to having his competence questioned, and if it wasn’t for the murderbot standing a few meters away, he’d have demonstrated his dislike with his fists. Folding his arms was the easiest way to stop himself from popping Doyle in the mouth and getting shredded by the bot in the process.
“The Wolf Squadron has been a pain in my ass for months,” said Cad defensively. “If my ships had the same ability to bridge from anywhere, they wouldn’t get away so easily. And don’t forget that I personally took out that ship’s wingman.”
“The wingman was nothing,” Doyle hit back. “The ship that escaped did so with sensitive and confidential Consortium technology.”
“Look, I was on the other side of the bridge network when the message from your spook reached me,” said Cad, feeling the need to defend himself further. “I got there as fast as I could. If I’d have heard sooner, then that renegade ship would never have reached the HQ building. Hell, I would have found your corporate spy before it even got to that stage. Don’t blame me for the incompetence of your own forces.”
Doyle’s cheeks flushed slightly pink, and Cad realized he’d gone too far. He knew Doyle well enough to be granted some leeway in his dealings with the tycoon, but even so, it wasn’t wise to provoke him. Doyle had a vindictive streak as long as his ridiculous private driveway.
“But don’t worry, I’ll find that renegade ship and your tech,” said Cad, fighting to reassert control over his emotions, despite his bruised ego. Then he added, despite the bitter taste of the words in his mouth, “And I’ll do it for no extra charge.”
Doyle continued to peer back into Cad’s eyes with his thin lips pressed tightly together, though his complexion was returning to its usual paler hue. “Money is of no concern to me, Mr. Rikkard,” said Doyle, still sounding aggravated. “But this goes far beyond the theft of some technology.”
“I’m listening,” said Cad, genuinely intrigued now that the point of their meeting appeared to be more than a simple dressing-down.
“These Darkspace Renegades have been a thorn in my side for a long time,” Doyle went on as he strolled over toward a massive bay window that overlooked the immaculate gardens outside. Cad followed, and the personal protection bot shadowed him, still watching with its featureless gaze. “They have never posed any real threat to my operations,” Doyle continued. “However, my surveillance network has brought new information to light, concerning how their newest operative was recruited, the one who infiltrated my HQ.”
“Let me guess; it was an inside job?” said Cad.
Doyle actually looked impressed. “Yes, although that in itself is not unusual. Considering the vast size of my numerous business ventures, it would be impossible to prevent some level of infiltration. In fact, we have been aware of renegade operatives within the tanker division for some time. Some we even allow to exist, so our information network can gather intelligence. I will, of course, make this intelligence available to you.”
Cad grunted. “Good, that will give us a good place to start,” he said, but he still wasn’t sure why this had merited a personal visit. “No offense, but tracking down spies and snitches hardly seems like a big enough deal to drag me all the way out here.”
“That is because it’s not why you are here, of course,” Doyle hit back. Clearly, he had taken offense, Cad realized. “The information I’m referring to relates to who is pulling the strings, as it were: the leader of the Darkspace Renegades.”
“You know who it is?” asked Cad, suddenly fully invested in the conversation. To Cad, information was often more valuable than dollars, and the identity of the Darkspace Renegade’s leader was something every merc in the galaxy wanted to know.
“According to my information, it is Shelby Rand,” said Doyle, giving up the name far more freely than Cad had expected. The tycoon then paused and glanced back at Cad to observe his reaction.
“Shelby Rand?” Cad repeated, and judging from the look on Doyle’s face, his reaction had been suitably incredulous. “The Shelby Rand?” he added, still struggling to believe him, but Doyle simply nodded. “Didn’t you declare her dead… what, like ten years ago?”
“It appears that the good doctor is still very much alive,” said Doyle, p
eering out of the window again.
“Why would Rand try to destroy everything she worked to create?” asked Cad. “That makes no damn sense.”
Doyle turned around and held his hands behind his back. “That is not your concern,” he said firmly. “Suffice it to say that it is imperative she is found and stopped. What I need from you is to track down these rumored Darkspace Renegade hideouts, destroy them, and flush Dr. Rand out into the open. I want her brought to me, dead or alive; I don’t care which.”
“If you want me to find Rand, then I’m going to need to know a hell of a lot more than that,” Cad hit back. It suddenly made sense why the renegade ships had the unique ability to create bridges, while even his top-of-the-line fighters were restricted to the established bridge routes. Shelby Rand was the only person who knew enough about the tech to build and upgrade the drives.
“You know all you need to know, Mr. Rikkard,” said Doyle with a finality that told Cad he was not going to get anything more from the man. “You will be compensated appropriately for your required discretion. That is why I cannot use my own enforcers. I cannot be connected to this in any way. And it should be done in a manner that does not alarm my shareholders. Is that clear?”
“I understand,” replied Cad, loathing how the tycoon talked down to him like peasant thug. “But I’ll need more than money. Those renegade ships are like phantoms, bridging in and out of systems without restriction. And word has it that their hideouts are deep in the Darkspace. I’m going to need some serious upgrades if I’m going to be able to track them down and reach them.” Then he added, just to reinforce the point that he’d been listening. “Discreetly, of course.”
Doyle walked back over to his desk, with the personal protection bot still attentively shadowing Cad as he followed, a careful distance behind. Doyle then turned a computer terminal screen to face him and tapped away at it for several seconds before again meeting Cad’s eyes. Cad’s watch chimed an alert, and he lifted his wrist, seeing that Doyle had just made a deposit to his account. He opened the notification and was unable to hide his surprise.
“That is just the first two million,” said Doyle coolly. “I will pay another ten when the job is done. I have also given you access to a special account, so that you can acquire your ‘serious upgrades,’ as you so expressively put it.”
Cad’s watch bleeped again, and he swiped across to see that he’d been given access to a Consortium corporate account. The sum was a billion dollars.
“If that is insufficient, then more will be made available,” said Doyle, pointing a finger at Cad and adding, “but trust me when I tell you that the use of this account will be closely monitored.”
“Don’t worry,” said Cad, lowering his arm to his side. “I’m not going to steal from you. My satisfaction comes from getting the job done, and doing it better than anyone else. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll find Rand’s hideout and bring her to you. I’ll stake my reputation on it.”
“You already have, Mr. Rikkard,” replied Doyle, clearly unimpressed by Cad’s bluster. “I trust you will not disappoint.”
“I won’t,” said Cad, still fighting the urge to retaliate against Doyle’s continued slights against him and his repute as a mercenary. He turned to leave, the protection bot still tracing him patiently, before he had a thought and turned back. “The advanced Shelby Drives still give the renegades an advantage. I can get my ships and crew re-fitted at any number of spaceports, but my guess is that you’re sitting on some advanced, perhaps even experimental tech yourself. Something that might even the odds a bit?”
Doyle didn’t answer, but the appearance of additional crow’s feet around his slightly narrowed eyes told Cad he was carefully considering what to reveal to the mercenary.
“Besides, if I buy the gear from your own businesses, the money all goes back into your pocket, right?” Cad added, appealing to Doyle’s capitalist instincts.
Doyle again turned to face his terminal and tapped on it for a few more seconds before Cad’s watch bleeped again. Cad checked it and saw that he’d been given the coordinates to what seemed to be a remote island in the eastern equatorial region of the planet’s southern hemisphere.
“I will let them know to expect you,” said Doyle before picking up his whisky glass from the desk and draining it.
20
Alexis Black strolled up beside Cad and leaned on his shoulder. She was munching on a bag of sweet and salty popcorn, which she offered to him. Cad smiled, dipped his hand inside, and threw a few sticky pieces into his mouth.
“This is better than watching a movie,” said Alexis as a small army of engineering robots finished up the final upgrades to the last of the three Blackfire Squadron fighters. It was the ship that had a raven’s skull motif painted onto the side: Alexis’ ship.
“I can’t believe Doyle has been holding out on us all this time,” said Cad, grabbing another fistful of popcorn and spilling some on the deck in the process. “He even had some of those advanced Shelby Drives, salvaged from renegade ships that we shot down.” Cad then shook his head; he hadn’t thought it possible to loathe Doyle more than he already did, but somehow the tycoon always found a way to inspire more revulsion. “If we had this gear months ago, it would have made our lives a whole lot easier.”
Alexis nodded before using her black varnished fingernail to pick at a piece of popcorn stuck between her teeth. “He’s like most rich assholes, though,” she said, flicking the unwanted fragment of popcorn onto the deck. “He hates spending money on anyone other than himself. Whatever Rand is up to, it must be serious for him to give us the keys to this place.”
“Well, I’m going to find out, one way or another,” replied Cad, again falling back on his mantra that information was the most valuable commodity he could possess. If he could learn the secret that Doyle was keeping from him, it would give him leverage in the future. It would also help him understand the real level of danger involved in their new mission. Then Cad looked around, suddenly realizing that Draga hadn’t arrived with Alexis.
“She’s still practicing in her new armor,” said Alexis, guessing what Cad was thinking, a skill she’d honed over many years.
Cad snorted. “She’s been wearing that stuff for hours. It must reek by now.”
“You know Draga; she likes to be intimidating, right down to having offensive body odor. You should see how quickly the Consortium techs run when they see her coming.”
“She doesn’t need the armor to be intimidating,” replied Cad as the engineering robots completed fitting the upgraded Shelby Drive to Alexis’ fighter.
“I don’t blame her; I’d be permanently angry too, if I’d had her upbringing on Vediovis.”
“You both fought your way out of rough situations; she’s no tougher than you are.” Cad winced, realizing he’d come over sounding like he was defending her, and a quick glance at Alexis’ grinning face told him that she was definitely going to exploit the opening.
“You’re still my hero,” she said, hooking her arm through Cad’s and jostling him. “Even if I had already killed all of my captors before you arrived to rescue me, sword in hand...”
“I was only doing it because your moron father paid me a stupid amount of money to get you back.” The corner of Cad's mouth turned up as he finished the sentence. “But I have to say, the reward you gave me back on my ship was much more satisfying.”
Alexis laughed and slapped Cad hard on the backside. The sharp clap in his ears hurt Cad almost as much as his stinging butt cheek.
“Naughty…” Alexis said. She pulled Cad closer and kissed him fiercely before biting his bottom lip and pulling away.
Cad dabbed the back of his hand to his mouth, leaving a bloody mark behind, then peered into Alexis’ eyes, which just flashed back at him. “Ouch,” he said in a monotone drawl, dipping his hand back into the bag of popcorn.
A cleaner bot scurried over to vacuum up the loose popcorn that Cad continued to spill onto the dec
k. Alexis waited for it to trundle in front of her boot before she launched a kick at it, sending it tumbling toward her fighter. One of the engineering robots then accidentally rolled over it, crushing it into a dozen mangled pieces.
“Nice shot,” said Cad with enthusiasm.
There was a polite cough from behind them, and Cad turned to see one of the Consortium techs. The man looked like he was about to wet his pants with fear.
“Yes, what do you want?” snarled Cad, getting a kick out of the man’s obvious discomfort. This was a pastime he shared with Draga, though she pursued it with far more gusto than he did.
“Your ships are all done, sir,” said the man meekly. Then he peered down at a palm computer and began to read off the list of completed upgrades. “Each vessel has been fitted with new Shelby Drives, upgraded main propulsion units, reinforced armor, new flight electronics and control systems, upgraded sensor capability, increased fuel capacity and efficiency, enhanced weapons systems…”
“I get the picture,” interrupted Cad. “Just make sure they’re tanked up and ready to go. We have places to be.”
“Yes, sir,” said the man, still sounding terrified. Draga had clearly done a number on the staff in the secret installation, Cad thought, smiling to himself. “There’s just the matter of payment, sir.”
Cad snatched the palm computer out of the man’s grasp and looked at the final figure on the invoice before laughing loudly. There were more digits than Cad could be bothered to count. He passed the palm computer back to the nervous man, then accessed Doyle’s corporate account from his watch.