by George Ellis
“Ah, I wasn’t aware. You know, I was actually sorry when I heard about your father. You may not believe that, but it’s true. There’s no greater respect than that among sworn enemies, of which I admit we were.”
I said nothing. Just waited.
“I assume that’s why you’re trying to compete for the Tracers contract,” he said.
“Nope. Only in it for the credits,” I lied. “Is there anything else?”
It was Largent’s turn to try and hide his anger. He was worse at it than me, which gave me a good deal of satisfaction. I even took a bite of my burger and leaned back in my chair a bit. A power move, if you will.
“And that’s why your father never beat me either,” he said, forcing a smile. “Never knew when he was out of his league. Well, that and he failed to realize one thing.”
“What’s that, Jack?”
“Business is war. And in war, there are no rules. It’s a pity you didn’t stay independent, for your mother’s sake. I’ll give you 24 hours to withdraw your bid for the contract.” Before I could respond, the screen went black. He had disconnected.
“Well the jerk store called and they were all outta that guy. Guess we won’t be sending him a Hanukkah card,” Gary said.
I’d forgotten to tell Gary to go to sleep before the beam. “Pretty sure nobody sends Hanukkah cards anymore, even if he were Jewish. Or I was, for that matter.”
News had traveled much faster to Largent than I thought it would. Suddenly, I had 24 hours before every Silver Star cruiser in the verse was on my ass. And that’s when I decided I hated Desmond as much as I hated Jack Largent.
Chapter 6
“So what did you do?” Batista asked, practically at the edge of her seat.
I thought about my answer for a moment, then smiled. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
Batista opened her mouth and then closed it again. She tensed her jaw. “That’s a good line.”
I heard that a lot. According to the books I’d read and news reports I’d seen, people used to quote the best bits of dialogue from movies and TV all the time. It was a way to sound clever. Over the last three hundred years, as fewer and fewer people watched classic entertainment, a lot of the best lines and turns of phrase had been forgotten. As one of the few people that was still watching 21st century entertainment, I had a wealth of seemingly original comebacks and witty phrases to choose from.
I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.
There’s no place like home.
You can’t handle the truth!
And about a million more. I didn’t feel the least bit bad about borrowing them, either. I was a wrecker, after all. Salvaging and re-using stuff was in my bones. As for the way things turned out with Desmond, it was better if Batista didn’t know the details. They would only make her more nervous about the fact we were on a collision course with the Tracer boss. For all I knew, he was going to try and blast us into a million pieces. Then a thought occurred to me. Having someone like Batista with me wasn’t the worst position to be in. She was tough, and Desmond, a notorious ladies man, wouldn’t mind being polite to her for other reasons. Of course, none of that would matter if he tried to shred the Stang once the Golden Bear got within firing range.
“He as handsome in person as he is on the news?” Batista asked, seemingly reading my mind.
I tried not to frown, and failed.
“Guess so,” she said.
“You should be so lucky to meet him in person,” I warned. She understood my meaning, glancing at the red arc on the monitor that indicated the edge of the Golden Bear’s firing range. She smiled and knocked on the metal dash.
“We’ve got armor and speed, and you’re not the worst pilot in the galaxy from what I hear,” she said, getting up and stretching her legs. I did my best not to let my gaze linger too long. “Gary,” she called.
“Yello?” he asked with a smile. I mean, I knew he couldn’t literally smile, but there was a happy inflection in his voice.
“No,” I said. “You don’t turn on when she says so. That’s not how this works.”
“Ah, pardon me good sir. I must have been confused,” he said, putting on a pretentious accent. “I thought as the Mustang’s on-board AI, I was supposed to serve at the pleasure of everyone on board.”
I glowered at the camera in the corner of the cabin.
Batista winked at the camera at the same time. “Gary, wake me up if things get interesting. I might just need my beauty rest.”
She walked out of the room. Either she knew something I didn’t about my abilities as a pilot, or the woman didn’t rattle.
“Way out of your league,” Gary noted.
He wasn’t wrong, of course. Even though I was pretty sure she had dated my brother, which meant a relationship with her was a line I’d never cross, I was still a lonely young man in the middle of space. Strong, beautiful women who knew their way around engines didn’t come around often. Despite being physically attracted to her, I also felt outclassed when I was around her. Which was a problem. The last thing I needed at the moment was a knot in the pit of my stomach because I had a crush on my client.
Client. Thinking of her that way was the first step.
“I’m in trouble,” I muttered to myself.
“What was that? I think I heard something,” Gary said.
“Nothing. Shut up.”
“I definitely heard something.”
I zeroed in on the Golden Bear’s orange dot on the monitor. What did he want with me? Other than to settle a score. Screw it. I tapped a few keys and leaned back to wait. The response didn’t take long. Desmond appeared on-screen. His trademark grin was there, but it didn’t have the same warmth as before. This time it was the malicious look of a shark considering its prey.
We both waited for the other to speak. I broke first.
“Hey buddy.” I waved at the monitor. It was the first time we’d beamed since I blew up his deal with Silver Star.
Still, he said nothing. And his eyes gave away nothing. Once again, I broke the silence.
“Look, if you’re still mad about that whole Silver Star mixup, I can explain what happened,” I said, doing my best impression of a guy that was not counting how many minutes he had left to live. “It’s actually a funny story.”
“Good. I like funny stories. I look forward to hearing it when we speak in person,” he replied, cutting me off with a raised hand as I began to open my mouth. “It would be wise, kid, if you didn’t inject one of your patented snide remarks at the moment. Just nod your head if you accept my invitation to come aboard.”
So. It was like that. I couldn’t even make a joke to break the tension. Desmond’s face seemed to change at that moment. He grew even more confident, and I suddenly realized why. While we’d been having our little chat, the Golden Bear had crossed into firing range. If I refused his invitation now, things would quickly get messy. In the event of said mess, I gave myself less than a 50 percent chance of getting away in one piece.
I bit my tongue and nodded, curtly. The screen went black.
“Once again, Denver Boyd proves to be a master negotiator,” Gary teased. “That’s the second time he’s convinced you to step aboard his ship. I wonder how many people make it to three…”
That time, Gary had a point.
“Can I keep Batista if Desmond kills you?” he added.
* * *
The Golden Bear looked different than it did last time I walked the corridors. For starters, there were at least twice as many crew members packed in. The casual air of the ship was gone, replaced by an angry tension that was almost palpable. It was entirely smellable with all the extra bodies crowding the galley. As the two heavily armed guards led me to Desmond’s quarters, I could feel a dozen eyes on me. They weren’t friendly. Suddenly, a very tall, very bald mountain of a human being stepped directly in our path.
“This the guy?” he asked one of the guards, a sizable dude in his own right, wh
o looked like a child compared to Mountain Man. “Or should I say, boy?”
“You talkin’ to me?” I replied, doing my best version of the deranged cab driver in a violent movie set in ancient New York. I looked around the room. “You talkin’ to me? Then who the hell else are you talkin’ to? I’m the only one here.”
Even my escorts seemed to tense up, wondering how this bald hulk would react. He slowly shifted his gaze down on the top of my forehead (I came up to his chin). I flicked my eyes around the room and realized we had everyone’s attention.
“Yes, I’m talking to you, moron,” Mountain Man sniped. “Don’t mess up, or I’ll tear off your arms and cram them up your ass.”
That got a murmur or agreement from the onlookers. Before I could even ask what the hell he was talking about, the guards were shoving me out of the galley. Last time I was aboard this ship, Desmond had personally given me the tour and treated me like a visitor. This time? More like a prisoner. Though I wasn’t in restraints just yet. So that was something. As we passed through the crew’s bunk area — a long corridor with cubbies belonging to various members of the ship’s bursting gaggle of personnel — I had an eerie feeling that the ship was preparing for battle.
“There some war going on that I’m not aware of?” I asked my escorts. They said nothing. One of them grinned.
“Ah, you decided to leave your passenger on the Stang,” said Desmond, opening the door to his personal quarters. There was a hint of disappointment in his voice. He turned to my guard friends and nodded. They left.
Desmond gestured me into his living space and closed the door behind me. It wasn’t the biggest or most luxurious captain’s quarters I’d been in. Certainly it was nicer than mine, but that’s not saying much. The room fit the man, however. It was minimal. Sneakily well-designed. And functional: a bedroom, bathroom and large table with four chairs around it. I tried to picture who on the crew he might eat or meet with on a regular basis, but drew a blank. I doubted it was the Mountain Man.
“A lot of things have changed since my last visit,” I noted, uneasy. “Guess you only get the VIP tour once, huh?”
“Before I extend you the proper courtesy, I should make one thing clear,” he said, standing so close to me I could smell what soap he used. It was lavender-scented. “You owe me a debt. How the next ten minutes go will determine whether I collect that debt immediately, or give you a chance to wipe the slate clean. Do you understand me?”
Yep. I was a dead man. Unless I did something new for him. I nodded.
“Good!” He patted my shoulder, smoothly slipping back into the role of a gracious host. “Have a seat. If I remember correctly, you enjoy the hoppier end of the spectrum.”
As he grabbed me a tall, skinny can from the fridge next to his bed, I sat in one of the chairs by the table. I had no idea what the next ten minutes of conversation would entail, but I could already tell I was not going to like it. This was bad. This was very bad.
I mean, aside from the beer. That was good. That was very good. Desmond had the best beer I’d tasted in a long time, and it was almost worth risking my life just to enjoy a few swigs of pure hops perfection.
“Where do you get this and how can I have it all?” I asked, inspecting the logo of a rising sun over a tall mountain peak on the silver can.
“I believe they used to call it Oregon,” Desmond said, as if he didn’t know the exact origin of the ale, right down to the name of the person who brewed it. Those were the kinds of details a man like Desmond always knew. His whole empire – and whatever he claimed his fleet was, it was an empire – was based on possessing all the information. Where ships are. What they’re carrying. How they’re protecting it.
“Now you have a taste of what it’s like to be me,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s amazing,” I replied, referring to the beer, knowing full well he was talking about my status as an outlaw wanted by the federation. I had a 1000-credit Binding Federation Warrant hanging over my head.
“Back when I worried about such matters, I think the most extravagant BFW they had out on me was only 500 credits,” he said, either feigning admiration or actually feeling some.
“Thought it was a kill warrant,” I noted. I had also done my research.
“True. It was a kill,” he said, in apparent admiration of himself. “Yet here I am.”
I’d had enough of the small talk, so I figured it was time to rip the bandaid off to see just how screwed I really was.
“Look Des, I like you,” I confessed, for some reason poking the bear by calling him by a nickname. “I like your beer. I like your ship. I even like the way you smell. Seriously, I need that soap. But why am I here this time, especially when I clearly screwed you over last time?”
“You are here, Denver, because I need you to kill 18 people for me,” he said, as if he was telling me he needed me to discard my empty can in the trash.
I looked Desmond directly in his steely blue eyes. “That’s exactly 18 more people than I would ever say yes to. I’m not a killer. I’m just a wrecker, trying to get by in this damn verse.”
“What if I told you these 18 people were the crew of the Rox?” he asked.
“That ship doesn’t exist.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” He tapped a few buttons on his handheld and a monitor on the wall came to life, projecting the image of a long, cylindrical ship with multiple rail guns and a stout nose. “This is the Rox about six months ago somewhere between Mars and Jupiter.”
The Rox was short for the Roxelle Baker, the rumored sniper-ship. It was rumored because nobody had ever actually seen the vessel. Or at least nobody had lived to tell about it. Anytime a ship went missing or was blasted to atoms, talk of the Rox would kick up. To hear some pilots tell it, the Rox was the manmade equivalent of a black hole, swallowing all other ships that were unlucky enough to cross its path. Depending who you got the story from, the Rox was either a rogue federation vessel, a totally independent group of sadists, a sniper-ship affiliated with the Tracers, or available for hire to the highest bidder. Those were a lot of options. And in my experience, that many conflicting rumors usually amounted to squat. I guessed I was about to hear Desmond’s theory.
And I guessed wrong.
He touched a remote on his handheld and the door slid open. A moment later, the Mountain Man lumbered into the room, ducking his head to clear the doorway. He stewed at the sight of me, but seemed slightly less inclined to tear my head off in Desmond’s presence. Emphasis on the slightly part.
“Denver, this is Edgar,” Desmond gestured, introducing us properly. I waved. Edgar didn’t.
“Why don’t you educate our guest here on your former ship?” Desmond asked Edgar, before turning to me. “Another drink?”
“I think I might need it,” I managed.
Edgar spent the next five minutes explaining that before he was a weapons tech on the Golden Bear, he had crewed five years in the same position on the Rox. It turned out a few of the rumors weren’t true. The Rox had no affiliation with the Tracers or the federation. It was an independent, offering its services to the highest bidder. He went on to explain that about six months ago, he had a falling out with the captain of the Rox. Unfortunately for Edgar, working on the Rox wasn’t a casual endeavor. Once you signed on, your only way out was floating lifeless in space or being shipped to a “retirement” colony on a remote space station. Being on the wrong side of the captain almost always sentenced you to the first option.
“So how’d you escape?” I interrupted.
“None of your concern,” Edgar growled.
I put my hands wide, palms up. “We’re talking about the most mysterious ship in the verse. I’m just supposed to take it at face value that you were the only genius clever enough to escape it and live to tell the tale? You?”
Edgar stepped toward me, murder in his eyes and his clenched fists. His giant knuckles were stark white, and the oaf wanted nothing more than to smash my
skull with them. Desmond calmed him with a raised hand.
“I’m going to ask you to take my word for it, Denver,” Desmond interjected. “Edgar speaks the truth. How he got here, as he said, is not your concern.”
I shrugged. “Let’s say all of this is true. Fine. I go back to a question I’ve asked you a few times now: why me?”
When they didn’t answer, I stood up. “Thanks for the beer and the story, but I think I’ve heard enough…”
Suddenly, I was airborne. Like two feet off the ground. And I had a sharp pain in my neck and shoulders. Tired of my attitude, Edgar had simply grabbed my shoulders from behind and picked me up off my feet. I was like a helpless toddler, swinging my feet in vain.
“Edgar, please,” Desmond gently scolded. “Put our young friend down.”
Next thing I knew I was slammed to the ground on my side. “He said put me down, not pile drive me.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t put you down for good,” he said.
I slowly stood up. My neck muscles were on fire and my right shoulder clicked painfully every time I rotated it. My pride wasn’t in the best shape either, if anyone was keeping score.
“To answer your question, we need you because we need to get someone on board the ship before we destroy it, to remove an item of extreme value,” said Desmond. “And who better than a mechanic?”
That sounded pretty thin to me. I could think of a million people better than a mechanic to board the Rox and steal something. Again, Desmond could tell what I was thinking.
“And this is where our interests intersect, Denver. There are currently 19 crew members on the Rox, and I’m only asking you to kill 18.”
“Oh good,” I snarked. “Who’s the happy survivor?”
Desmond raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Your brother.”
I’d had less than a second to process that news when high-pitched klaxons sounded throughout the ship. Desmond snapped his attention toward the monitor on the wall and the Rox was replaced by another vessel – a federation warbird. All 2,000 meters of her.
Edgar rushed out of the room, presumably to his battle station.
