Darkspace Renegade Volume 1: Books 1 & 2: (A Military Sci-Fi Series)

by G J Ogden

  “Damn it, Wolf Two. I said disengage!” snarled Dakota.

  “What’s the problem? That’s one less fighter to shoot at us on the next mission,” Ruby hit back.

  “That’s enough, Wolf Two,” Dakota replied, clearly now furious. “Return to base. This mission is over.”

  A deathly silence fell over the comm channel as the pulse of Hallam’s Shelby Drive built to a crescendo. Then there was a vivid flash of light, but it wasn’t caused by his fighter entering bridge space; it was the detonation of hundreds of barrels of volatile Randenite.

  The shipment had been intended to resupply the garden planet’s goods freighters. It was fuel that would have meant food got delivered to Earth, in addition to several other bridge worlds. It was fuel that would be replaced in time – Hallam knew that. And he also knew that the food and supplies would still get through, and the hardship would be short-lived. However, if the Darkspace Renegades succeeded in destroying the Centrum – the sole remaining Randenite refinery – then all the freighters would eventually run empty. Then the suffering really would begin.

  Hallam still struggled with the ethical implications of what they were doing. It wasn’t quite as bad as killing the patient to cure the disease, but it certainly amounted to amputating a few limbs. However, it had to be done in order to safeguard Earth and all the inhabited planets. If the bridges collapsed, tearing open the fabric of normal space, star systems would be thrown into chaos. Gravitational fluxes would cause some worlds to freeze, while others would burn up as their orbits shifted closer to their stars. Some would be destroyed entirely, crushed by stresses that defied physics and the imagination.

  Hardship was better than annihilation, Hallam had reasoned. It was why stopping the Randenite shipments was necessary. It was why destroying the Centrum had to be done. However, killing a pilot who was flying away from the combat zone didn’t have to be done. He’d stolen the authenticator for Dr. Rand precisely so they could develop a weapon to cripple the fuel supply without unnecessary loss of life. Ruby Rivas had overstepped the line, and when Hallam saw her again, there would be hell to pay.

  2

  Hallam threw back the canopy of his fighter and practically leapt from the cockpit and onto the deck of Dr. Rand’s personal renegade hideout. Uniquely, the genius scientist’s base was not on a moon orbiting a rogue planet, deep in the Darkspace, but was a habitable world in its own right. Dakota had explained that, using her technical smarts, the genius scientist had managed to keep the distant world a secret, even from the Consortium. However, right now, the Earth-like moon was the last thing on Hallam’s mind. He peered around the hangar and spotted the focus of his ire. Ruby Rivas had already touched down and was casually strolling toward the debriefing area while technicians attended to her craft. She was blowing a bubble of yellow gum, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  “Hey!” Hallam called out as he paced toward her at barely less than a run. Ruby glanced back but then rolled her eyes as another bubble burst and was sucked back into her mouth. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Hallam called again.

  “What is it, tanker man?” said Ruby, turning on her heels and staring him down. “If you’re about to give me a hard time over destroying that fighter, save your breath. This is a war, unless you’ve not yet cottoned on?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” snapped Hallam, “I’ve no problem pulling the trigger, when a trigger needs to be pulled. But I risked my neck at the Consortium HQ on Vesta so that we could stop these tankers without killing people needlessly. You didn’t have to take that shot, and you know it!”

  Ruby had blown out another bubble while Hallam was giving his speech, and it then burst with a loud pop. “If one of those CSF jerks had got a target lock, they’d have killed us in a heartbeat, Hal,” Ruby hit back, speaking Hal’s name as if it were an insult. “Lofty sentiments don’t win wars. Soldiers do.”

  Hallam laughed in her face. “You’re not a soldier, gumface,” he hit back. “You’re just an angry kid who wants to hurt people.”

  Ruby shoved Hallam hard in the chest, causing him to stagger back a couple of paces. “Call me ‘gumface’ again, and we’ll see who the soldier is,” she snarled at him.

  “Take your best shot, gumface,” Hallam replied, angling his chin toward Ruby and inviting her to take a swing.

  As their tussle had developed, neither Hallam nor Ruby had noticed Dakota Wulfrun storming toward them. In fact, the first indication Hallam got that Dakota had arrived was when she barged past him and landed a solid right cross to Ruby’s chin, sending her staggering back and down to one knee.

  “What the hell was that for?” snarled Ruby, massaging the side of her face.

  “You disobeyed my order,” Dakota yelled, causing anxious eyes all around the deck to fall on their developing affray. “I said disengage, damn it!”

  Ruby spat out a globule of blood onto the deck – Hallam could see that her chewed up ball of gum was mixed into it – and pushed herself upright. Her hands were balled into fists, but somehow she’d just managed to hold back from retaliating.

  “What’s gotten into you, Dak?” Ruby snarled. “We used to be all on a level – you, me and Kien.” Then Ruby cocked her head toward Hallam, eyes as sharp as needles. “Then this asshole comes along, and now we’re hacking Randenite barrels?” She threw her hands out wide, shaking her head. “We won’t win this battle with technical tricks, Dak. If we don’t fight hard, we lose.”

  “We also don’t shoot people in the back, Ruby,” Dakota hit back. “That’s not who we are, and it never was. Take out a dozen CSF pilots and a dozen more are waiting in the wings.”

  “Then we take them down too,” said Ruby, “just the same as they would to us, given half a chance.”

  Dakota took a breath and tried to compose herself. Hallam now understood that getting angry at Ruby just seem to fuel her, like stoking a fire. “Look, Ruby, we don’t win this with missiles; we win this by being smart. Now the next CSF escort patrol we meet will be out for revenge. They have hundreds more ships than we do. We can’t afford to take losses; we need everyone we can get. The stakes are too high.”

  Ruby shook her head and backed away, pushing out the palms of her hands toward both Hallam and Dakota. “I’m done with this,” she snarled, pulling the Wolf Squadron patch off the arm of her flight suit and tossing it on the deck. “If you’re not going to fight, then I’ll transfer to a squadron that will. You and tanker man can carry on pressing buttons on dumb gadgets, while the rest of us do what needs to be done.”

  Dakota again tried to reason with her, but Ruby had already turned her back on them and stormed off toward the pilot’s quarters, brushing past Dr. Rand, who was coming the other way. The renegade leader cast a glance back at Ruby and opened her mouth as if to call her name, but the pilot had already shoved open the doors and burst through them.

  Dr. Rand scowled and then approached Hallam and Dakota. She stopped just short of standing on the Wolf Squadron patch, and bent down to pick it up.

  “I take it the mission didn’t go well?” asked Dr. Rand, holding up the discarded squadron patch.

  “Actually, it went great,” said Dakota, who was now resting her hands on her hips. She looked weary, both physically and mentally. “That was just Ruby being Ruby.”

  Dr. Rand then spotted the bloody mix of spittle and gum on the deck and raised an eyebrow. “Anything I should worry about?”

  “She’ll come around,” said Dakota before swiftly changing the subject. “The good news is that your can opener gizmo works. The tanker had to dump its entire Randenite consignment.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call it that,” replied Dr. Rand huffily, “but that is good news. I’ve also managed to increase the decryption speed since that prototype. I’ll get the updated plans relayed to the other bases so all the squadrons can start to adopt this technique.”

  Hallam snorted. “You might want to tell Ruby that; she isn’t really a fan of any approach that do
esn’t involve blowing things up.”

  Dr. Rand returned a knowing nod. “She is somewhat tenacious, I agree,” she replied, pushing the Wolf Squadron patch into the pocket of her military-style jacket. “But, as Dakota pointed out, she’ll come around. She always does.” Then Dr. Rand cast a disproving glance to Dakota and added, “though her chin is likely more bruised than her pride.”

  “I didn’t hit her that hard…” Dakota answered, going ever so slightly red in the cheek.

  “Well, congratulations, in any event, especially to you, Mr. Knight,” Dr. Rand went on, mercifully sparing Dakota any more blushes. “It seems that you’ve picked a side after all.”

  Hallam smiled. “I think the side more picked me, but thanks; glad to be of help.”

  Then, for some reason, Cad Rikkard flashed back into Hallam’s mind. The mission had distracted him from thoughts of their meeting on the Paradise – the orbital casino hotel above Feronia. Hallam still had flashbacks to the aftermath of the mercenary’s callous and bloody deeds on the renegade hideout. In truth, Cad Rikkard had rarely been far from his thoughts.

  “Any news about the Blackfire Squadron?” Hallam asked. The question also perked the interest of Dakota Wulfrun.

  “Nothing yet,” Dr. Rand replied, though her answer conveyed no sense of relief. The use of “yet” also suggested that, like Hallam, Dr. Rand believed it was only a matter of time before Cad Rikkard struck again. However, for Hallam, the anticipation of the attack was almost harder to bear. It was like watching an angry scorpion scuttle across your naked body, knowing that it would eventually sting you, but having no idea when or where.

  “Maybe Commander Lane didn’t give up as much information as Draga Vex claimed he did,” offered Dakota, ever the optimist of the group. “Maybe he doesn’t have the location of any more bases, and his little stunt on the Paradise was all bluster.”

  Hallam massaged his weary face and shrugged. “We all know that Cad Rikkard is full of crap,” he said, stopping short of using the more colorful word for what he actually thought Cad was full of. “But Draga doesn’t strike me as the boastful type.”

  Dr. Rand nodded and then smiled. “Well, for now, all we can do is wait and continue our preparations,” she said, displaying the typical pragmatism of a leader. “We are actually making good progress on discovering the location of the alien probe, and so I may need your services again soon, Mr. Knight.”

  Hallam threw up a lazy salute. “Call me when you need me.” He was suddenly overcome with fatigue and yawned loudly. “Though if you could let me have a few hours of sleep first, that would be great.”

  “I’m afraid that you may not get as much sleep as you’d hope for,” Dr. Rand replied ominously. “I recently received reports of gravitational anomalies from our sources on Pales.”

  Hallam and Dakota shot nervous glances toward each other. Both understood the cataclysmic implications of what Dr. Rand had just said.

  “How bad is it?” asked Dakota.

  “Not yet bad enough to alter the orbits of planets or moons,” Dr. Rand replied, again qualifying her statement with another “yet.” “I’ll need to get out there to run some tests, but it’s only a matter of time before the effects become noticeable.”

  “Get out there?” said Dakota with a sort of suspicious curiosity. “You can’t be serious? We can’t risk letting you outside the protection of the hideout.”

  Dr. Rand folded her arms and looked at Dakota as if she were an overprotective parent, trying to shield her from the wicked world outside.

  “Miss Wulfrun, I had pioneered expeditions beyond the known frontiers of the galaxy before you were even potty-trained,” said Dr. Rand, fixing Dakota with an unimpressed stare. Hallam winced; as burns went, that had been a pretty savage one. “I think I can handle myself.” Dakota was about to step in again, but Dr. Rand headed her off. “Besides, I’ll have you two there to protect me, so I’ll be in good hands.”

  Dakota’s mouth remained open; it was like Dr. Rand had somehow stolen the words she’d intended to speak. Dakota attempted to start a sentence again twice before giving up and finally saying, “Fine. You’re the boss, boss.”

  “Yes, I am,” said Dr. Rand with a victorious smile. “Now you two go and get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

  Dr. Rand departed, leaving Hallam and Dakota alone in the hangar. Dakota blew out a rasping sigh and then turned to Hallam.

  “Can you believe she wants to go out to Pales?” said Dakota, hooking a thumb in the direction of Dr. Rand as she headed away.

  “She’s certainly audacious, but she’s a tough old bird too,” Hallam answered, smiling roguishly at Dakota. “Sounds like someone I know.”

  “Less of the old…” said Dakota, slapping Hallam hard on the chest with the back of her hand. “Come on, let’s hit the showers and then get some rack time; I’m beat.”

  Hallam followed her onto the corridor leading to the pilot’s quarters and facilities. “So long as you stay in your part of the shower block, this time…” he said, remembering Dakota’s prank on him back when they were on the Centrum. It seemed like an age ago now, though the memory was still crystal clear. Hallam figured that Dakota being naked at the time probably had something to do with that.

  “Aw, but I was hoping you’d scrub my back for me,” said Dakota, suddenly transforming into her more naturally playful personality. The leader of “Wolf Squadron” had gone back in her box, for a time at least.

  “I’ll scrub your back if you kiss my soapy wet ass,” replied Hallam, putting on a good show of sounding affronted.

  Dakota laughed and then jabbed Hallam in the gut, taking him totally by surprise. “Come on, last one in the showers buys the drinks,” she said before sprinting off along the hallway.

  Hallam pressed a fist to his gut and tried to call after her, but Dakota’s punch had winded him. Eventually, he managed to call out, “The drinks are free, you weirdo...” before chasing off after her, determined to win her stupid, but impossible-to-refuse challenge.

  3

  Cad Rikkard maintained a light touch on the controls of his heavily upgraded fighter craft as he weaved through space in pursuit of the renegade ship. His opponent was skilled and had managed to evade Cad’s guns for the last sixty seconds. This had not frustrated him; Cad welcomed the challenge. However, unlike his chaotic pursuit course, Cad’s confidence in his own abilities and those of his superior fighter craft was unswerving.

  “Got him!” Alexis Black called out over the comm channel, and Cad saw a bright flash of flames to his right side. “That just leaves your one...” she added teasingly.

  Cad didn’t respond and instead maintained his laser-like focus, matching the renegade move for move, while also trying to anticipate its actions. Sooner or later, his opponent would make a mistake – it was inevitable – yet Cad would not. That was the difference between himself and the renegades, Cad mused as the enemy vessel continued trying to shake him. That was what separated being the best from merely being “good.”

  Cad tried to put himself inside the mind of the enemy pilot. Whoever it was had just seen their remaining wingman go up in flames, leaving them alone against three of the best fighter pilots in the galaxy. He knew the renegade would be sweating. He knew they’d be scared, and maybe even panicking. Cad cast his eyes across to the renegade hideout and sensed that his quarry was about to run for home. He continued to match his opponent’s moves, waiting for the perfect opportunity, and then it came. The renegade turned for the base and burned hard, looking to escape to safety. However, all it succeeded in doing was running into a precisely-aimed volley of cannon fire from Cad Rikkard’s fighter.

  Cad eased back and slowed his vessel to a stop as the burning remains of the Darkspace Renegade ship fizzled to nothing. It had been a clean kill; one of his best. He could have used missiles or taken out the ship sooner by pressing his attack and taking snapshots, but that wouldn’t have given him any real satisfaction. Cad Rikkard was no mer
e thug; he was an artist and a master of his craft. He used every opportunity to both demonstrate his superiority and fine-tune his skills.

  “Form up on me,” said Cad over the comm channel. “And guide the breaching pod over here with you.”

  Alexis Black and Draga Vex both acknowledged the order, and Cad relaxed back in his seat, staring out at the newly-discovered renegade hideout. Like the first one they had assaulted, it was a veritable fortress, constructed from dozens of mothballed super-class freighters and liners. To protect it from attack, it was buried inside a crater on an Earth-sized moon of a rogue planet, orbiting the galactic center, deep in the Darkspace between Liber and Vediovis.

  However, there was a crucial difference between the new hideout and the one they’d already destroyed. During the first assault, the renegades had not known they were coming; this time, they did. This time, the Darkspace Renegades were prepared – but so was Cad Rikkard.

  Alexis formed up on Cad’s wing and he shot her a friendly two-finger salute. Draga appeared a few seconds later on his opposite side, followed by the breaching pod, which she’d guided remotely from her cockpit. The breaching pod was the latest weapon to be supplied courtesy of Damien Doyle’s secret warehouse wonderland of experimental military tech.

  The breaching pod was fundamentally a heavily armored battering ram, designed to allow military units to board hostile space installations or ships. Its thick armored shell could withstand all but the most intense barrages, allowing it to approach an installation while absorbing incoming fire. Once it reached the hull or a hangar door, it would latch on and bore through, forming a pressure-tight seal, through which the landing party could enter the target ship or station. Doyle had originally designed them as a safeguard, in case criminal elements or hostile governments tried to capture any of his assets. However, after Dr. Rand’s cyber-attack and the crippling of the Randenite refineries, they had become largely redundant. Now the only organization with the resources to lay siege to a space station was the Consortium itself, and Damien Doyle was hardly likely to take his own installations hostage.