by J. N. Chaney
“You had a ship,” I pointed out, suddenly wary. “I’m not sure your resources cancel out the liability you’d be bringing aboard my ride. You three have a lot to learn and you’re too emotional. It gets in the way and could get me killed, something I’m not keen on.”
They’d had a smuggling ship that had brought them out of the Sarkonian Empire. It was the reason they hadn’t been in the house when the Union hit had taken place on their family.
“Sometimes, it’s transportation or food,” said Hunter as he looked away. “The Union managed to lock up a lot of our resources, and we’re still figuring out how to get them back.”
“Shut up, Hunter,” Ruby hissed. “He doesn’t need to know that. We’re not partners yet.”
I’d been right, then. Things were looking dire for the Carson kids. There was a good chance they’d wind up dead if I left them alone, even without Colt coming after them.
I sighed and rubbed my face, not really willing to believe I was about to do this.
“We can help each other,” promised Edwin. “You need us, same as we need you.”
“I don’t love this,” I admitted. “I usually prefer business partners who are less annoying.”
“This is one-and-done,” vowed Edwin. “I swear.”
I sat with the idea. I didn't necessarily want Hunter or Ruby on board. Edwin I could probably learn to live with, but the other two seemed like a nuisance at best and life-threatening danger at worst.
“Sir,” interjected Sigmond. “We have an incoming transmission from Mr. Oxanos.”
“Sit tight,” I told the trio. “I'll call you back in a few.”
Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but I didn't give him the chance to say anything. Besides, I didn’t want to make a decision without sitting on it, and I could already sense the salesman in him trying to press me to commit.
The holo flickered briefly, and Fratley's face appeared instead of the Carson kids. I didn't recognize much of the world behind him, but it looked like he was standing on the bridge of a ship I’d never seen before.
“Meet me on Scartros,” ordered Fratley before I could say anything.
Scartros? I didn't know much about it except that it was a Deadlands planet known for its junkyards—a colossal chop shop for ships.
I opened my mouth to ask him why, but he interrupted me before I had the chance.
“The cloak is ready,” continued Fratley. “You have three days to get there before I double the price.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “You’re locked in, Jace. You can’t back out now. You do that and you’re done.”
With that, the holo switched off before I had the chance to respond.
I disliked the fact that Fratley was my only option for a cloak. He played a little too hard and fast with his clients, even for a glorified loan shark whose clientele was largely of the criminal sort, such as myself. But he was all I had at the moment, so I’d have to deal.
“Call the trio back, Siggy,” I ordered.
“Establishing a connection,” said Sigmond.
The holo popped to life, and once again I saw my new partners huddled together around a camera.
“Can you get to Scartros?” I asked, getting right to business.
“Scartros?” Hunter's eyebrow lifted, as if he couldn't quite believe what I'd said. “What the hell do you want with that planet? That's the kind of place where even a crime lord can disappear.”
“We can get there,” said Edwin, his tone even. “But Scartros isn’t the sort of place smart men go.”
“Yeah, well, I don't have much choice,” I admitted.
For a moment, no one spoke, and Edwin watched me with a guarded expression. I could see the cogs turning in his head.
“If this is a trap, you won't survive it,” warned Edwin as he broke the long silence. “There may only be three Carsons left, but you don't want to be on our hit list.”
It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Trap?”
“Who did you talk to just then?” asked Hunter.
“Not relevant,” I answered.
They didn’t need to know about Fratley or the cloak. If they wanted to step onto my ship and get my help, they’d follow orders and stop asking questions.
Edwin shook his head. “That’s not—”
“Just get to Scartros. Or don't.” I shrugged. “I can always do this without you.”
With that, I tapped the data pad near the holo, and the transmission cut out. I had enough on my plate without trying to convince three kids who had nearly killed me that they needed to go to Scartros to survive.
The fact was I would figure this out, with or without them. As arrogant as it might have been to think, they wouldn’t stand a chance without me.
They knew it, too.
“Set a course for Scartros,” I ordered.
“Coordinates acquired,” replied Sigmond. “Estimated travel time is two days.”
I tapped my knuckles against the armrest of the pilot seat. “Make it one, if you can,” I said. “With the way Fratley's been acting, he might just double the price because he's bored.”
“I'll do my best,” promised the AI.
I really hated the idea of owing Fratley anything, much less a hundred thousand credits.
It was Renegade on Renegade, and only one of us would survive this. Even if it meant taking on a massive debt and making a tense alliance with people who had previously tried to kill me, I would do everything in my power to ensure I wasn't the one who wound up a corpse.
14
I stood in the cargo bay with my arms crossed as the final locking mechanism secured the Renegade Star in place. The floor shuttered, and I took a steadying breath as the gate opened onto the Scartros docking bay.
The moment the seal broke, an overwhelming cacophony of shouting and roaring tools filtered into my ship, making me wince at the sheer volume of noise. The clatter of metal, then the thud of something heavy dropping to the floor. Men yelling at each other over the din mixed with the hissing sparks of a hundred welding guns.
As the cargo bay gate hit the ground, I paused protectively at the edge of the Star and surveyed the bustle of activity beyond. It was insane, with hundreds of men in gray jumpsuits scattered across a vast network of catwalks. Dozens more hailed each other from docking stations interwoven with the thousands of ships I could already see. The massive bay stretched above me for what seemed like kilometers, nothing but an ocean of metal and sparks.
This place served only one purpose—to cut ships apart and weld their carcasses back together in new and highly illegal ways.
Though I cautiously walked down the gate toward the platform, I stopped just shy of the docking station’s narrow path that led away from the Star. Unconvinced that I could trust my ship to these people, I folded my arms and surveyed the anarchy.
Fratley had only told me to get here, but I still didn’t know who I was supposed to meet to get my cloak. I wasn't willing to step off of the Star just yet, especially not with all these other ships getting hacked to pieces. This place was more than a chop shop. It was a metallic bloodbath, and I didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea and take my ship apart.
If that happened, I’d have to kill someone. Probably a lot of people, and I just wasn’t in the mood.
“Sir,” interjected Sigmond. “We’ve received word from the Carson family. They’ve arrived on the planet and are waiting at the meeting point.”
“Can you confirm they’re actually there?” I asked Sigmond through the comm in my ear. “I don’t want to walk into a trap, Siggy.”
I doubted the kids would plant one, but I couldn’t be too careful. In situations like these, it was better to prepare for the worst and then be pleasantly surprised if no one tried to shoot me.
“Affirmative, sir,” replied Sigmond. “They hailed us from the agreed rendezvous location, and I confirmed the coordinates.”
“Huh,” I muttered. “They’re early.”
“Quite early, Ca
ptain,” agreed the AI.
“Remind me what the meeting point is,” I ordered.
I’d been focused on Fratley and my new cloak, not the kids, and I’d let Sigmond coordinate most of the meeting.
“Of course, Captain,” said the AI. “I've scheduled them to meet you in a few hours at a local cantina, far enough away that Mr. Oxanos should not be able to detect you.”
“Good work,” I said, still scanning the docking station even as everyone bustled by without paying attention to me or the Star.
“I aim to please, sir.”
The fact that the trio was early surprised me—mostly because they’d actually told me they were here. A good Renegade never let on that he’d arrived ahead of time. The extra time gave you a chance to scout around and prepare.
Or better yet, grab a beer.
The kids seemed to trust me, however marginally, which was a dumb move on their part. I didn’t want to start making too many assumptions about them, but they seemed too willing to cooperate with me. It made me wonder just how much of the business their father had controlled and how out of their element they really were.
I didn’t want to meet until a few hours after the cloak’s installation was done. Given the extremely sensitive nature of what Fratley was about to install on my ship, I wanted to be here for every second of it—and then take it for a test drive.
“Jacey boy,” a familiar voice said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I looked over my shoulder to find Fratley walking down a flight of stairs from the catwalk above.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, extending my hand to shake his as he reached me.
“Getting a cloak is a big deal,” he said with a sneer. “In my entire career, I’ve only managed to see a few of them. That means you’re among the chosen elite. Get what I’m saying?”
He prodded my chest with his pointer finger to drive home the significance of it all, but I glanced away and tried to ignore the comment entirely. I didn’t want him thinking I owed him anything more than the money we’d agreed on.
I’d seen people try to lord favors over me in the past, then come back to recoup the investment in other ways. That’s what I liked about monetary arrangements. I knew exactly how much I had to pay, and there was little concern over someone showing up to ask me for a favor. Fratley had always walked that line with me, but so long as I kept things clear with him, he never seemed to cross it.
When I didn’t say anything, he looked up at the Renegade Star. “Glad to see the old rust bucket is working for you. Now, with this cloak, the jobs should start pouring in. No more competing with second-tier Renegades.”
“I’m ambitious,” I said.
“Just like I was when I was your age,” he said, finally looking at me. “But just remember, that kind of ambition can be expensive.”
“I’ll manage,” I told him.
He smiled again, broad and warm this time, the sort of expression that would have made most people feel comfortable.
But I knew better.
“So,” he went on. “Are you going to tell me what the occasion is?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “The occasion?”
“You said getting this was urgent. What happened?”
“Nothing, really,” I lied, crossing my arms as I pretended to survey the scrapyard.
“Jace,” he chastised, flashing a knowing grin as he looked at me dubiously. “No man agrees to a hundred thousand credit debt so quickly without something riding his ass.”
“Everything’s fine,” I assured him.
His smile faded, and his demeanor shifted in an instant. What had a second ago been an inviting grin became a cold and distant expression.
I met and held his gaze, saying nothing.
The thunder of the metalwork grew louder around us, and as I studied the man before me, I realized I was getting a rare glimpse into the real Fratley. The calculating businessman. The person who'd sooner plug a bullet into someone who owed him money than extend the deadline to pay. Was he wondering if I was worth the risk of investment? Is that why he’d asked me about my so-called urgency? If he knew the truth about Colt, would he kill me and take the ship, rather than risk losing it with the cloak in a gamble fight with a legendary Renegade?
When I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I’d even bet on myself right now, let alone agree to give me something as valuable as a cloak. If Fratley knew the truth, he’d probably kill me right where I stood.
He took a few steps toward me, then leaned in. I didn’t waver.
“Listen to me real good, Jace,” warned Fratley in a dangerously low tone. “This cloak didn’t just cost me money. I had to call on certain favors for it. Favors that required actual risk. I did it because I think you’ve got potential, but if you wind up dead out there, then I’m out the money and the favors, and that just won’t do.”
“You'll get your money,” I told him. “And I won’t die and lose your cloak.”
“Die if you want, but don’t damage the property,” he said.
“You’ve known me for a while now. Have I ever let you down?”
He looked me up and down, pausing for a moment. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but I knew those gears were turning. Maybe he already knew about Colt. Maybe he even knew about the three kids I was working with. Gods only knew the inner workings of Fratley Oxanos’s mind.
He smiled, suddenly, and his face was at once warm and bright again. “I knew I could count on you, Jace.” He patted me on the shoulder.
The less Fratley knew about the bind I was in, the better off I'd be. The first payment on my debt hadn't even been made yet, and it would be better if Fratley didn't realize the leverage he truly had in this situation.
The more I got to know him, the more I suspected he was the sort of man who liked to have any power over others that he possibly could. Any hint I gave him about the truth of my predicament would only put me and my ship at risk.
Fratley whistled up at the catwalk. Nearly a dozen men lounged by the railing, and all of them peered over the edge at the sound. Fratley gestured for them to come down, and they waved at him with joyless expressions, apparently on their way.
The cloak was almost in my ship, and I could practically taste it.
“You owe me big for this, Jace,” he said with a long and exaggerated sigh as he looked up at the Star. “You owe me big, and I warn you, this bill won't take long to come due.”
“And what do you mean by that?” I asked, not liking where the conversation was headed.
“Don't worry about it,” said Fratley, waving the thought away with a flick of his wrist. “I'll have jobs for you to run that'll chip away at the debt, no problem.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s necessary,” I assured him, trying my best to sound nonchalant as I tried to delicately crush his idea. “I don't need a second agent. I'll get plenty of work on my own.”
For a brief and fleeting moment, Fratley frowned. It was so quick that I almost missed it, but it was there, that hint of irritation—that annoyance of someone not doing what they were told.
“Don’t be so prideful, Jace,” said Fratley, shaking his head in disappointment. “What kind of Renegade turns away work?”
“A good one,” I reminded him, and smiled. “You’ll get paid, Fratley. I’m good for it.”
He watched me for a moment, his nose wrinkling slightly in disdain before he turned his back to me and set his hands on his hips.
“You can head into the promenade. I recommend the Bearded Butcher for a good drink. Tell Clarence I sent you and he’ll give you the good bottle he keeps under the counter,” he said, dismissing me as two men wheeled a cloth-covered cart into the cargo bay.
I was in too much of a bind to have any real negotiating power here, a position I didn’t much like being in.
“Suit yourself,” I said as I started to leave.
“Good man,” said Fratley, turning his back to me as he walked up the ramp tow
ard my ship.
My nails dug into my palms, the sharp pain keeping me from doing or saying anything stupid, and my boots clacked along the metallic floor. I’d never wanted to deck him so badly.
“Siggy, keep an eye on things,” I ordered into the comm in my ear, minding my voice in case any of Fratley's workers were nearby. “Run scans the entire time he's in there, you got me?”
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure no one does anything unexpected.”
At least they wouldn't be able to override Sigmond’s control of the system, so I had that as a fail-safe. He’d keep an eye on them and I’d know if anyone did something they weren’t supposed to.
“While you're at it, send a message to those three kids. I guess we’ll be meeting sooner than expected.”
15
The cantina door squeaked as I walked into a dive bar made from discarded ship parts. The walls, the floor, the counter, and even the ceiling were all made from metal. The welded seams between the various fragments dismantled crafts crisscrossed everything around me, like a spiderweb of scars across every surface. A few wooden seats fill the space, a patchwork quilt of mass-produced stools mixed with a few roughly welded chairs.
I scoped the room while I walked toward the bar that ran the full length of the wall to my left. All the stools along the counter were empty, and the bartender stood alone at the far end where he tapped on a data pad. A few empty glasses sat in front of him, but he didn’t seem to notice them—and if he did, he didn’t care. A lone door behind him had a single round window into what was probably the kitchen, and a hallway on the far wall tunneled into the bowels of the building.
Aside from the bartender, only two men were here. One man sat in the back, while the other had positioned himself by the door. Both of them stared into the depths of their drinks and didn't bother to even look up at me as I entered.
“The installation is so far running smoothly,” said Sigmond in my ear, his voice crackling slightly as we tested the full range of the comm. “The cloak is now being added to the engines, and thus far, everything appears to be as expected.”
