Project Starfighter

by Stephen J Sweeney

  “LA LA LA LA LA!” the woman said loudly, ramming her fingers into her ears, and drowning out the man’s words.

  “—and that those who give their lives in this life will find their rewards in the next.” The robed man seemed not at all perturbed by the lack of interest from those waiting to enter the DNA Lounge. Quite likely, Chris thought, he was rejected regularly. Still, Chris was aware that the Immortal League had become much bigger, and was growing in number with every passing day.

  Alongside the three robed men was a holographic projection, welling up from a device on the ground. The image was that of a man, and like the others the figure was robed, though unlike the blacks and reds they wore, he was dressed in white and purple. A hood was drawn over his head, concealing most of his face. Mal. Chris had seen the visage of the man often enough to know so.

  “Creepy,” Phoebe said under her breath.

  “Just ignore them,” Sid said. He had his hand rested on the small of Phoebe’s back. Though Phoebe had been with them for only a short time, Chris had become aware of a small magnetism between her and Sid. They were apparently bonding over something, though quite what, Chris couldn’t be certain. He turned his attention back to the revellers who were still arguing with the bouncers.

  Eventually, the burly security men picked up one of the clubbers, and hurled the man aside. The queue looked on as he crashed down heavily on the floor and his friends ran over to help him.

  “The hell?!” the man said, picking up.

  “Told you once, and I’ll tell you again: if your name’s not down, you’re not coming in,” one of the thick-necked men standing in front of the doors said, folding his arms over his chest. He was tall, stocky, and looked as though he could take on just about anyone in the line with one arm tied behind his back. “If you don’t like it, tough. You ain’t coming in. Now, shove off.”

  “Yeah, think we will. We’ll spend our money elsewhere.” The group shuffled off, the man who had been thrown limping a little.

  “Next,” the bouncer said, without so much as a sideways glance at the group.

  A woman approached, wearing clothes that left little to the imagination. They were more like strategically positioned bands.

  “And what’s your name, sweetheart?” the second of the pair of bouncers asked. He tapped the tablet computer he was holding, shaking it in frustration. “Stupid thing is freezing up again,” he said to his colleague. “If this keeps happening, I’m going back to using a pen.” He jabbed the screen a few more times and it started working again. He studied the woman before him.

  “Luminous body paint,” the young woman explained, flourishing both hands over her figure. “Only shows up in the fluorescent lights of the club.”

  The bouncer nodded, clearly not caring. “Name?”

  “Candy,” the woman purred.

  “No ‘Candy’ here,” the bouncer said. Chris prepared to witness yet another protest, and see the poor woman being tossed aside like a rag doll.

  “My real name’s Nicole Ashford,” the woman said with a sigh, as though the name were as bland as boiled chicken.

  “Ah, yes,” the bouncer with the tablet said. “In you go.” He unclasped the little rope barrier to allow the woman to enter, hooking it back up immediately after. Chris, Sid, and Phoebe were next.

  “Let’s hope we don’t end up with a bloody nose for this,” Sid muttered in Chris’ ear, as the three stepped forward.

  “And you three are ...?” the lead bouncer wanted to know.

  “Chris Bainfield, Sid Wilson, and Phoebe Lexx,” Chris supplied. He thought at once whether it had been truly wise to use their real names.

  The bouncer appraised their attire for a moment. None of the three looked anything like the other revellers who were attempting to enter the DNA Lounge tonight. Those clubbers were dressed in all sorts of outfits, smart shirts, shoes, fishnet stockings, and jewellery. Chris, Sid, and Phoebe by comparison looked rather ordinary, as though they should be sitting down for a quiet cup of tea, instead of dancing to a thumping baseline until whatever passed for dawn on the Crucible came by.

  “You three know that this is a nightclub, don’t you?” the bouncer asked, apparently reading Chris’ mind.

  “We do,” Chris said. He then lowered his voice, “We’re here to meet Krass Tyler. He should have a private booth booked.”

  The bouncer studied his list. “Only has two of you listed – Bainfield and Wilson. She can’t come in.” He pointed a fat finger at Phoebe.

  “She’s with us,” Chris answered him.

  “The only way she’s staying with you is if all three of you remain out here,” the bouncer said. “The Lounge is invite-only tonight.”

  “Seriously, what’s taking so long? I want to get inside,” someone further down the queue began to complain.

  “There’s three geeks at the front, trying to prove they’re cool enough to get in,” someone else answered. “Go home to your books, nerds!”

  Chris ignored the whining. “Look,” he said to the bouncer, “she’s here to see Tyler as well. He invited us specifically.”

  “Only says Bainfield and Wilson here. And as I’ve told everyone else tonight: if your name’s not down, you’re no—” He stopped talking, putting a hand to a device affixed to his ear. “Yes? Are you sure? Fine, okay.” He stepped aside and unhooked the rope barrier. “You can all go in.”

  “What was that about?” Sid asked Chris as the three made their way into the club.

  “No idea,” Chris said, looking about. “But I think someone’s watching us.”

  ~

  The DNA Lounge was pumping out music at a volume that Chris actually found quite acceptable. Within the foyer, at least. Further inside would be a different matter altogether. The entrance way led to a large dance floor, that was already packed solid with clubbers. Men and women were dancing together, wearing all manner of outfits. As with the girl that had preceded Chris, Sid, and Phoebe, quite a few were barely wearing a thing. Chris saw then the patterns that had been painted onto their bodies, reacting to the lighting in the club. It was quite mesmerising – the inks subtly swirling and shifting of their own accord, as though they were alive. It was all part of the illusion he knew, but he was still suitably impressed.

  “Where’s the VIP area?” he asked Phoebe.

  “Other side of the dance floor,” Phoebe answered, looking at the swell of dancing men and women.

  Chris nodded. They could hardly expect the dancers to part like the Red Sea. They were just going to have to wade their way through.

  “Let’s go,” he said. He had only just started forward when a hand grabbed him. He looked about, but saw no one. “Wh ...” he began, before his arm was twisted behind his back. “HEY!” he shouted.

  “Chris, what’s happening?” Sid said, casting about frantically.

  “Hello, Mr Bainfield,” a woman’s voice purred warm breath in Chris’ ear. A figure materialized out of thin air, removing a mask and a hood that was covering her face. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Eve,” Chris said, unable to help from scowling.

  “Aw, you don’t sound very happy to see me,” the tall, thin member of the Wolf Pack said. “Did you forget all about me the moment you left Spirit? I would have hoped to have left a more lasting impression.” She ran a hand down his chest, along his stomach, coming to rest over his crotch. “Hmm?”

  “Would you mind letting me go?” Chris asked.

  “Hmph,” Eve said, releasing him. “You’re obviously going to be all boring and serious with me tonight, then.”

  Serious? She was the one that used to beat him around the head and shoulders during his time at New Chile. Was that her idea of flirting?

  “Do you greet all your friends this way?” Chris asked, straightening his clothes.

  “Just the ones I have a special affection for. Still got the wiz kid with you, I see. And who’s this little tramp?” Eve asked, looking over Phoebe.

  “Mind you
r tongue, ink job,” Phoebe said.

  “You might want to mind yours, missy,” Eve said, folding her arms. “I was the one that got you all in here. Fine with me if you want to go stand outside while the boss has a chat with your boys. Mind you don’t get absorbed into Mal’s cult while you wait, and end up topping yourself in order to achieve transcendence.”

  “Ladies, let’s not cause a scene,” Chris said. “Eve, this is Phoebe. We rescued her from a WEAPCO patrol. Phoebe, this is Eve. She is a member of the Wolf Pack, someone who looked after Sid and me at New Chile, and part of the group that acquired Athena for us.”

  “Athena?” Eve asked.

  “The Firefly.”

  Eve laughed out loud. “You’ve named it?”

  “It ... she, named herself.”

  “I see.” Eve shook her head. “Why were WEAPCO after you?” she asked Phoebe. “Were you a part of the uprising?”

  “I think it’s best,” Chris interrupted before Phoebe could respond, “if, for the moment, we say that Phoebe possesses certain skills that could be considered useful or harmful to the Corporation. I’ll explain more later, after we’ve met Tyler.”

  “Hold up,” Eve said, preventing Chris from proceeding any further. “What kind of skills? Don’t be cryptic with me, boy.”

  Chris glared at Eve’s smirk as she used Tyler’s preferred name for him. “Phoebe has certain psionic abilities.”

  Eve looked at both Phoebe and Chris in disdain, before shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh my God, whatever. Well, at least she can amuse Clayton and Dar by reading their fortunes while you talk to the boss man, and reveal which of them is going to get lucky tonight. Here’s a hint: neither.

  “Right, this way,” Eve said, beckoning the three to the dance floor. She pushed the dancers aside as she walked across it, giving those who contested an effective, threatening stare that caused most to back down immediately. Those that didn’t were treated to a wave of Eve’s gun.

  A flight of carpeted steps at the far end of the dance floor led up to a private area, where two men stood, keeping uninvited guests away. Tattoos covered their faces, though they were of a different style and colour to Eve’s. They were clearly part of a different mercenary group, and it seemed that the mercenaries were all still working together, despite WEAPCO’s partly successful Mission 3412.

  “They’re with me,” Eve told the men. “They’re here to see Tyler.”

  The men stepped aside, allowing Chris, Sid, and Phoebe to move past them, unopposed, and the three entered the private room, where a number of people were seated around a low table, enjoying luminous drinks.

  Chris caught the stink of Tyler’s cigar before he sighted the man himself, though there wasn’t much in it. Tyler appeared the same as he had been the last time Chris had seen him – same size, same beard, same bionic eye, though the anti-gravity suspension ring had been set aside for the time being. The man was reclining on a sofa all by himself, little room left for anyone else. Chris pondered briefly how exactly a man of Tyler’s substantial girth was able to wedge himself into the cockpit of a starfighter. They weren’t exactly roomy at the best of times.

  “Ah! You’re here, boy,” the obese man said as the three approached. He began to wriggle in his seat, pulling himself into a more upright position, taking another drag on his cigar.

  “Have a seat.” Tyler indicated a sofa that was already occupied by two men, whom Chris recognised as Darcy Rodriguz and Clayton Vita. Chris wondered how many of Tyler’s core group had survived the attack on their base by the Grand Vizier.

  “Shift your arse, Dar,” Tyler said, when the men didn’t move. “You too, Clayton. You might be a mute, but you’re not deaf. Get up. I have business to discuss. Go play with some of the dancing tarts downstairs.”

  Dar and Clayton moved off, Dar glaring down at Sid and Chris. As the man passed, Sid took a small step back, but Chris held his ground, unperturbed. When Dar came to Phoebe, he stopped and gave her a once-over with his eyes. He turned a grin to Clayton.

  “Nice find, Mr Bainfield,” Clayton said in his synthetic voice.

  “Hey boss, can we play with this one?” Dar asked, looking back at Tyler.

  “No,” Phoebe said.

  “Oh, playing hard to get. I like that.” Dar moved a little closer to Phoebe, but Sid pushed himself between the two.

  “Hey, back off,” Sid said, giving Dar a push. The skinny mercenary barely moved an inch.

  “Seriously?” Dar looked at Phoebe. “The geek? Well, hey, I suppose it’s better than mister have-a-go hero here.” He motioned to Chris.

  “Dar!” Tyler snapped. “I won’t tell you again. Go!”

  “Creep,” Phoebe muttered, as the men left the private area.

  “The other one’s worse,” Sid muttered, watching Clayton descend the stairs. “I thought he was some sort of robot when I first met him. He hardly ever speaks a word, and always sounds just like that whenever he does.”

  “So, what’s this all about, Tyler?” Chris asked after the three had sat down. He noted that Tyler hadn’t evicted Eve from the private area, the woman settling onto one of the armrests of the Wolf Pack leader’s couch.

  Tyler did not answer him immediately, and instead pointed to a set of glasses and a jug containing a multicoloured substance that was glittering like stars. It was swirling steadily. “Galaxy Smash,” the leader of the Wolf Pack said.

  “I know it,” Chris said. It was expensive stuff, usually only ever afforded by the very rich. And there were few of them.

  “Try some,” Tyler said. “It tastes of fruit juice and ginger.”

  The rotund man continued to gesture and insist until Chris did so. It was nice enough. Sid and Phoebe joined him for some.

  “So,” Tyler said, taking a drag on his cigar, “how have you been?”

  “Can we skip the pleasantries and get to the point?” Chris asked. “I’m not here to exchange gossip and share holiday snaps.”

  Tyler fell silent and looked at the others in the room, who had also stopped talking. He then burst out laughing, a loud roar, as he slapped one of his enormous thighs. “Well, you’re developing quite an attitude, boy.”

  “My name’s Chris,” Chris reminded him. “How did you know how to get in touch with me? Have you been following us? Or have you infiltrated the Dodger with some sort of spy drone?”

  Tyler said nothing, and merely tapped his nose.

  Chris glowered. “I need to know, Tyler. WEAPCO could—”

  “Don’t panic, Mr Bainfield, WEAPCO won’t find you as easily as I did. They might have access to AIs and all sorts of advanced technology, but there are a few tricks they have yet to learn. And no, I won’t share the secret.”

  Done with his cigar, Tyler screwed the remains into the ashtray on the table in front of him. “Who is your new friend?” he asked.

  “This is Phoebe Lexx,” Chris said.

  “She is said to have ‘special powers’,” Eve said, waggling her fingers in the air, bringing chuckles from the others gathered in the room.

  Tyler’s expression remained deadpan. “And what powers would those be?” he asked.

  “I can talk to machines,” Phoebe said, after a pause.

  “Big deal, so can I,” Eve said, helping herself to some Galaxy Smash. “Mostly to tell WEAPCO drones to fu—”

  “Eve, button it!” Tyler shot at the woman. The man seemed to have little patience for his subordinates tonight. Either that, or Phoebe’s revelation had piqued his interest. He returned his attention to Phoebe. “What do you mean when you say you can ‘talk to them’?”

  “I can control them with my mind; communicate with them, and tell them what to do,” Phoebe said. “I can bend almost any AI system to my will. It’s basic at the moment, and I peak at around a dozen drones and fighters, but it is improving.”

  “Interesting,” Tyler said. He was silent for a time. “Do you have an identical twin sister?”

  “How did you know that?” Phoebe a
sked.

  “William Benedict, the only person said to have ever stood against WEAPCO, was a twin. He turned almost their entire fleet against them. Stands to reason that if you’re capable of the same thing you might have a twin sister. It would explain why WEAPCO wants to kill you.”

  Chris glanced at Sid. Tyler might be a mercenary, considered a low life by some, but the man was clearly no fool. He was clued up, knew quite a lot, and thought quickly. He could prove an even greater ally than Chris had first believed. Most of the other mercenaries in the room were looking between their boss and Phoebe, perhaps now a little more willing to believe the tale of William Benedict after having dismissed it in the past. Some of the scepticism had also left Eve’s face, though not entirely.

  “So, what is it that you want?” Chris repeated. “You said you could use our skills? What did you have in mind?”

  “I’ve heard reports that you have been crashing WEAPCO’s party recently,” Tyler said. “You took down a corvette called the Duke of Wellington, and I remember you proving to be quite talented back in Spirit, while we were battling against the Grand Vizier.”

  “I still think it was his fault that New Chile was destroyed,” a man standing close to Tyler said. He fixed Chris with cold eyes. “We can’t let something like that go unpunished.”

  “Was everyone killed?” Chris asked Tyler.

  “Everyone who was there at the time, including six out of the eight original Heads of Family,” Tyler said.

  Chris almost apologised. He caught himself before he did so, and simply nodded. Apologising would be an admission of guilt, of involvement. It wasn’t his fault. Whether he had acted or not, the outcome would likely have been the same. Six of eight Heads of Family. Tyler was one, who was the other?

  “This job you want us for,” Chris said. “Something to do with that?”

  “We’re upping the fight against the Corporation,” Tyler said. “We’re going to start hitting their shipyards first, beginning with the one at Elamale. After that, there is a mining and fuel scooping vessel that drives a major part of WEAPCO’s supply line in this system. By targeting both of them, we’ll be able to lure WEAPCO out and push them into dispatching their best units against us. Once they’re here, we’ll down them, and move forward.”