by G J Ogden
Dakota snorted again. “Can you believe this guy? What a jerk.”
Hallam couldn’t disagree, but he remained focused on the recording. The subtle changes in the mercenary’s expressions and mannerisms told Hallam as much about the man as his words did. In written form, the message had come across as pompous and even a little trite. Yet Cad managed to deliver the speech without sounding absurd or even boastful; quite the opposite, he sincerely meant everything he was saying.
“I wonder if your little renegade partner is the same impudent woman who slighted me on the Centrum? If so, remind her that I have not forgotten her either.” Dakota threw a sharp right into Cad’s holographic face as he spoke these words. The image quivered before stabilizing again.
“By the way, we know all about Shelby Rand and your quaint renegade bases,” the holo of Cad Rikkard went on with an assured nonchalance. “And we’re going to find and destroy all of these inventive little hideouts of yours. You could be smart and prevent the needless deaths of your comrades by meeting me on Paradise Station, Feronia. I doubt you’re that smart. Either way, I will see you soon.”
The holo image evaporated into the air, and Hallam and Dakota were left in a stunned silence.
“He must really think we’re idiots if he believes we’ll meet him at Paradise Station,” said Dakota, continuing to shake her head angrily.
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” replied Hallam. Dakota looked at him like he was literally insane.
“Why would we do that?” she hit back. “He’ll try to kill us the moment we set foot on the station!”
This time, it was Hallam who shook his head. “The Paradise is one of the few places in the galaxy that the Consortium hasn’t sunk its fingers into,” he said, knowing at once why Cad had chosen it as the location for their rendezvous. “It’s an orbital casino hotel, and a hive of vulgar nighttime pleasures. But absolutely no weapons are allowed on-board, and security is tighter than my own clenched butt cheeks right now.”
Dakota scowled and looked down at Hallam’s rear. “Interesting analogy…”
“The point is that the Paradise is neutral ground. I, for one, want to hear what this asshole has to say.”
Dakota sighed and rubbed the back of her neck inside the armored flight suit. “This is all about his ego. He just wants to scare us and to see what we’re made of.”
Hallam shrugged. “Then let’s show him,” he said, surprising himself with his own audacity. “Let’s go to the Paradise, look the murderous bastard in the eyes, and show him we’re not afraid. Let’s show him he’s got a fight on his hands.”
Dakota smiled. “You’re starting to sound like a Darkspace Renegade. Are you finally choosing to sign up?”
Hallam laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t like bullies.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive…”
Their conversation was interrupted by a quiet beeping sound. Hallam was sure he hadn’t noticed it before, and started to hunt around for the source.
“Do you hear that too?” said Hallam as he looked around the console, though the main screen had already turned itself off.
“I hear it,” said Dakota as she began to scout around underneath the terminal. Then she cursed, and Hallam felt his butt cheeks clench up again. “We have to go, now!” Dakota added, grabbing Hallam’s arm and dragging him toward the door.
“Why?” cried Hallam as he accelerated to a run in order to keep pace with Dakota.
“He’s rigged the base to blow,” Dakota shouted back, “We may only have a few minutes to get clear.”
Hallam rarely cursed, but on this occasion, he felt it was warranted. Without another word between them, they raced back through the base, vaulting the bodies of fallen renegades with none of their earlier displays of deference, and into the hangar. Legs and lungs burning from the exertion, Hallam climbed back into the fighter as he heard the engines start to spin up. He hit the button to close the ramp and ran in to the cockpit, dropping into the seat beside Dakota.
“How long?” he wheezed as he struggled to attach his harness. An explosion rocked the platform, answering the question for him.
“There’s no time to go through the normal launch sequence,” said Dakota, bypassing all the usual protocols and lifting the fighter off the deck. “And we’re going to have to make our own door…”
Hallam braced himself and gritted his teeth as Dakota violently spun the fighter around to face the inner bay doors. She then armed the missiles, and with barely a breath between actions, squeezed the trigger. Hallam didn’t see the missiles race ahead, but he felt the detonations and the powerful kick as the explosive decompression of the bay blew them out into space. Debris bounced off the hull of the fighter as Dakota wrestled with the controls, trying desperately to prevent them from smashing into hunks of the fractured hangar bay doors. Finally, they were clear, and Dakota had control, but then a blinding flash lit up their cockpit as the Darkspace Renegade hideout exploded. Hallam recognized the flash, and the force of the blast, as characteristic of a Randenite detonation. Cad Rikkard must have used the base’s own Randenite supply to fuel his final act of destruction.
Dakota cut the engine thrust and spun the fighter around to face what little remained of the Darkspace Renegade hideout. She then turned to Hallam and asked, “Are you sure you still want to go and meet this guy?”
Hallam continued to stare out at the smoldering remains of the base, now just a scar burned into the surface of the rogue moon. His mind struggled with a dozen different emotions, but the one he felt most strongly of all was a craving to see things through. He turned to Dakota and said, “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
27
A green light surrounded the perimeter of the body scanner and the burly-looking security guard waved Hallam through. Dakota had already completed the security checks and was waiting for him in the luxurious interior of the Paradise’s main foyer. The entire space station had been modelled on the old Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, and as such, it retained that famous casino’s opulent variety of Roman statues, grand columns, and iconography. It was a stylistic interpretation of the Roman Empire as depicted in Hollywood’s golden age. He and Dakota couldn’t have looked more out of place. His own clothing – the base layer flight-suit that he’d worn underneath his armor – made him stand out like a flashing beacon. He’d never felt more under-dressed in his life.
“Welcome to Paradise, sir,” said the tuxedo-wearing security guard in the polite but formulaic tone of someone who’d likely spoken those same four words a hundred times already that day. “You have an invitation from a Mr. Cad Rikkard. He is waiting for you in the restaurant in the Temple of Augustus.”
Hallam nodded and went to join Dakota, but his path was blocked by the enormous forearm of the security guard.
“I’m afraid there is a strict dress code for the Temple, Mr. Knight,” the guard said in a more forceful version of his earlier polite tone. “If you would like, suits can be hired from the wedding services department, just to your right.”
The guard slowly swung his huge right arm to one side and pointed to an extravagant shop-front, featuring dozens of wedding dresses, tuxedos, and Roman-themed costumes. Hallam nodded wearily and trudged to Dakota’s side.
“We apparently need to get suited up,” said Hallam, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wedding services department. “Fancy-suits, I mean, rather than our normal gear.”
Dakota raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, “Wedding services? Don’t you need to get down on one knee and pop the question first?”
Hallam groaned, but then got down on one knee and grabbed Dakota’s hand. She immediately went bright red and began to awkwardly stare around the foyer, hoping no one had noticed.
“Dakota Wulfrun, will you do me the honor of not being a gigantic pain in my ass for one day, so we can get off this station as quickly as possible?”
Dakota snatch
ed her hand away and yanked Hallam to his feet as curious eyes started to fall on them. One couple even started clapping, but quickly stopped again as Dakota shot them a glare that could have melted lead.
“Okay, I deserved that,” said Dakota, holding up a hand to concede defeat on that occasion. “But do that again and the next time we spar, I’ll put you down on your ass, never mind one knee, got it?”
Hallam laughed. “Got it, Dak.” Then he extended his arm toward the wedding services department, mimicking the security guards’ earlier gesture, and said, “After you, Mrs. Knight.”
Dakota walloped him on the chest with the back of her hand and moved ahead, but Hallam could see she was trying hard to suppress a smile.
The experience of getting fitted for a tuxedo – it was either that or a Roman toga – was deeply uncomfortable for Hallam. He was a man of far simpler tastes than the Paradise catered to, and he also hated being made a fuss over. Finally, the ordeal was over, and he managed to shoo away the shop attendants for long enough to get an unfettered look in the mirror.
“I look like a damn penguin,” he muttered to himself, trying to adjust the shirt and bow tie so that neither felt like they were strangling him.
“I think you scrub up pretty well.”
Hallam turned around to see Dakota standing behind him, wearing a silk halter-neck jumpsuit. The army of staff that had attended her had also put up her hair, so that at first, Hallam had barely recognized her. Dakota then performed a theatrical, if slightly self-conscious twirl, revealing her bare back and causing the wide trouser legs to flow out elegantly.
“Well, say something,” said Dakota as Hallam simply stood there, slightly open-mouthed.
“Who are you and what have you done with Dakota Wulfrun?” Hallam finally said, chickening out of complimenting her and falling back on dumb humor instead. However, the truth was, he was finding it hard to take his eyes off her.
“You really are hilarious today,” said Dakota, walking past him toward the exit. Then she stopped, did a sort of catwalk-style glance behind, and added, “And since this was your idea, you’re paying.”
Hallam groaned again and walked up to the register, ready to pay for their new outfits as Dakota moved outside, turning heads in the foyer in the same manner that she’d turned his.
“Will that be everything, sir?” said the man at the register.
Hallam looked at the number on the transaction pad and almost choked on his own saliva. “Yes, that most certainly is absolutely everything,” he said, hoping that the other products and services on the Paradise weren’t as extortionately priced as their hired suits.
Hallam grudgingly paid the bill, then walked out to meet Dakota, managing to play it a little cooler than he had earlier by offering her his arm. Dakota smiled and hooked her arm through his.
“So, shall we do this?” she said as they set off toward the Temple of Augustus, the most exclusive section of the entire space station.
Suddenly, Hallam remembered why they were on the Paradise in the first place, and the mild euphoria he was experiencing at walking arm-in-arm with Dakota vanished faster than the dollars in his account had just done.
“I just hope it doesn’t end in a fight,” said Hallam as the biometric scanner confirmed their invitation and allowed them to proceed into the Temple’s exclusive entrance hall. “I’d hate to think how much we'd have to spend to replace these fancy getups if we get blood all over them.”
They reached the exclusive restaurant that had a name Hallam couldn’t even pronounce and were escorted by the host to a large private table. The place was busy, but the tables were widely spread out and the guest-list was a veritable who’s-who of celebrities and the super-rich. Sitting at the private table, laughing, joking, and drinking champagne were Cad Rikkard and his two squadron members. Seemingly never to be outdone, the mercenary leader had also dressed in a tuxedo, though his clearly had a designer flair to it. Alexis Black was wearing a vibrant red evening gown, but had kept the raven skull necklace around her neck and was toying with it playfully. Even Draga Vex had made an effort, wearing dark pants and a shirt with a tailored waistcoat over the top. She had not removed her lightning-strike eyeliner. Hallam doubted her attire actually adhered to the strict dress code for the Temple of Augustus, but he also doubted that anyone – not even the burly security guards – would dare challenge her on it.
“At last. I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” said Cad, suddenly noticing them both standing by the table. “Nice to see that you’ve made a bit of an effort too,” he added, looking at their new clothes with a sort of sympathetic “at least you tried” air. Then he stood up and extended a hand toward the chairs opposite. “Sit down. Have some champagne. We’re celebrating, you see.”
Despite his practiced politeness, the reference to the recent slaughter on the renegade hideout was obvious, as was his attempt to goad them. Hallam didn’t intend to take the bait, but Dakota had already bitten down on the hook.
“You’ve got a damn cheek, lording it up in here after what you’ve done!” she yelled at him, causing anxious eyes all over the restaurant to flick across to their private table. “The best thing you can do right now is shut your mouth before I ram this champagne bottle down your throat.”
Cad smiled, seemingly deriving the satisfaction he’d craved from Dakota’s response. “I’m not surprised to find you both together again,” he continued, holding Dakota’s furious gaze. “And to think we nearly killed the two of you, before even learning that you were renegades. I guess I just have a sixth sense for scum.”
Dakota almost went for him right then and there, but Hallam just managed to intervene. “You asked for this meeting, so what do you want?” Hallam snapped. Draga seemed to be oblivious to the whole conversation, but Hallam noticed that Alexis Black was now looking at him, as if he were the main course of her dinner.
“I want you to give up Rand,” said Cad without any hint of irony. “Doyle only wants her; he couldn’t care less about the rest of your pitiful rabble.”
“You know that’s not going to happen,” replied Dakota, managing to control her anger a little better. “I’ll tell you the real reason you asked us here, asshole. You just wanted an audience so you could gloat and show us what a big man you are.”
Cad shrugged and sat down again, before picking up his champagne glass. “I admit, seeing the looks on your faces is a nice bonus,” he took a sip of his champagne, “but it’s a genuine offer. Give me Rand, or we work our way through the other hideouts, killing all of your renegade comrades, until we find her.” Cad pointed to Dakota and Hallam in turn. “And their blood will be on your hands.” He then shrugged again, as if he was not bothered either way, and added, “Your choice. Draga, here, has plenty more shotgun cartridges, and my sword arm could use a little more exercise.”
Hallam snorted, “You’re a sick man, Rikkard. But if you want a fight, you’ve got one.”
Dakota grabbed a knife from the table, and Alexis and Draga immediately sprang up, as if they’d been combat bots in sleep mode, suddenly becoming alert to a new threat. Hallam and Dakota backed away as the two women of Blackfire Squadron moved around the table and squared-off against them. Alexis also had a knife in her grasp, but Draga’s hands were simply balled into fists.
Three suited security guards rushed inside as a hush fell over the restaurant, each with a hand pressed inside their suit jackets. Hallam’s eyes flicked from the guards to Draga and Alexis and back again. The situation was explosive, and the slightest move by any of them could set it off. Surprisingly, however, it was Cad Rikkard who stepped in to break the stalemate.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a little spirited conversation that got out of hand,” said Cad, holding up his hands to the guards as if surrendering.
“We’re going to have to insist that you leave, sir,” said one of the guards politely but firmly. Cad seemed unfazed by their demands.
“It’s okay; we have places to be and re
negades to kill anyway,” he said, not even bothering to lower his voice so that the other restaurant-goers couldn’t overhear. He then turned to the closest suited security heavy and added, “But since this little misunderstanding was my fault, let my friends here stay,” he said, clearly loving every moment of their confrontation. “Especially since they’ve dressed so nicely for the occasion.”
Cad activated the terminal built into the private table and credited his account with two thousand dollars, on top of paying his own bill. He then turned back to Hallam and Dakota with a conceited smile and said, “Dinner is on me. Your last meal, so to speak.” Then he smiled again and added, “Until next time...”
He fastened the buttons on his designer jacket and walked down the elegant flight of steps leading into the main part of the restaurant, without another word or glance back.
Alexis looked Hallam up and down, again as if he were a snack she was about to devour, and said, “I really hope we meet again.” She then flicked her eyes over to Dakota and blew her a kiss before gliding away after Cad.
Only Draga remained, alongside the tense-looking security guards who, Hallam assumed, probably knew the mercenary by her reputation, if not by experience.
“Don’t give up Rand,” Draga said with none of Cad’s passive-aggressive swagger or Alexis’ playful taunts. She wasn’t making a threat; she was making a genuine request. “Tell Rand and the other renegades that we’re coming for them. Tell them that I’m going to kill them all, just like I killed your friends.”
The dark sincerity with which Draga spoke the words was chilling; even Dakota was too stunned to respond. Draga then turned to leave, the security guards parting wordlessly to let her pass.