by G J Ogden
Cad let out an appreciative grunt. “Well, bravo, as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Strickland,” said Cad, doing a fake hat-tip. “Very well played. There is just one small problem with your ever so brilliant plan.”
Strickland’s eyes narrowed, and Cad could see than man’s muscles tense up again. “And what’s that?” Strickland replied anxiously.
Cad’s watch bleeped softly, as did Alexis’ at the same time. Cad switched his grip on the sword, holding the crossguard with the handle between his middle fingers before meeting Alexis’ eyes. The look lasted only for a split second, but it was enough time to communicate Cad’s intentions.
“You should have built this place with thicker walls…” said Cad.
Alexis deflected the shotgun that was aimed at her head with a deft swipe of her forearm before sprinting hard toward Cad. At the same time, Cad raised the Black Prince like a spear and launched it at Strickland, impaling him through the neck almost to the hilt. The blast of semi-automatic shotguns filled the air, and Cad felt slugs pound against his armor, but he too had already turned and begun to sprint away. A second later, the East wall exploded, and Cad was blown deeper into the gallery. He hit the polished stone floor, bouncing twice before skidding to a stop alongside Alexis Black.
The dust began to settle around them, and Cad climbed to his feet, peering back at the East wall, or what was left of it. The fighter craft piloted by Draga Vex was hovering outside, a single missile missing from one of its weapon mounts.
“Well, I guess we don’t need to use the hole in the roof anymore,” said Alexis in between bouts of coughing fits. With the threat from Strickland’s mercenaries gone, her more playful side was reasserting itself.
Cad and Alexis walked through the rubble to the edge of the newly blasted open hole in the wall. Cad threw up a salute to Draga, and then began to sift through the wreckage. He soon found what he was looking for: the impaled and also now crushed body of Strickland. He tossed away some of the larger stones and recovered his sword from the trillionaire’s neck. Cad inspected the medieval weapon briefly and cursed, noting several points of damage to the elaborate hilt, though the blade still seemed undamaged.
“We should get the remaining nukes loaded up right away,” said Alexis, also kicking through the rubble. “The local enforcers are likely already on their way, and it’s best if we’re not seen, considering what we’re hauling.”
Cad nodded and sheathed his sword. He was about to turn back to collect the remaining warheads, when his attention was diverted by a weapon displayed in one of the now smashed glass cabinets on what was left of the East wall. It was just to the right of the hole that Draga had created, and had miraculously been spared any damage. Cad huffed a laugh and went over to collect it before walking up beside Alexis.
Alexis looked down at the ornate, gold-hilted sword, still inside its velvet sheath, which was adorned with gemstones and a fleur-de-lis, and raised her eyebrow.
“Don’t you have enough swords?” said Alexis, mimicking Cad’s earlier tone of voice when he’d questioned her taking the Tiffany Diamond.
“But this is La Joyeuse,” said Cad, though Alexis just shrugged, again mimicking Cad’s earlier gesture to her. “The Sword of Charlemagne!” Cad added, throwing his arms out wide, but he was still met only with a blank look from his partner.
Alexis shrugged again. “Whatever makes you happy,” she said, planting a kiss on Cad’s cheek. “Come on, let’s stow these nukes so we can get the hell off this rock.”
Cad slid the new sword through his belt, alongside the Black Prince, and then turned back to the opening. The warm desert wind was now blowing inside, carrying more dust along with it.
“Okay, but I have to make one more stop before we head off-world,” said Cad, turning back to Alexis.
Alexis finished dragging out the second tray of nukes and met Cad’s eyes. “Can’t it wait?”
Cad shook his head. “Not this time,” he answered, feeling anger swell inside him. “No one screws over the Blackfire Squadron and gets away with it.”
The trio of Blackfire Squadron fighters lifted off from the rocky surface of Minerva and ascended toward the stars. Cad’s lead fighter now carried nine twenty-five-kiloton nuclear-tipped missiles – weapons that he intended to use in anger.
Below them, the fortress of antiquities belonging to the late Frazer Melton Strickland burned brightly. The blaze was lit by Cad Rikkard to serve as a warning beacon to all those who would go against him. The fortress was empty, save for the treasures and the dead bodies of Strickland and his four mercenary guards. However, Cad had also added one more exhibit to the collection. Unlike the others, this new addition to Strickland’s collection was still very much alive – at least for now. Marooned on the roof atop the burning tower was the fixer, Sara Daggett.
Cad took one last look down at the inferno and the terrified, panicking outline of Sara Daggett running to escape the flames, then focused his eyes ahead. To his left in the cockpit was his Black Prince sword, cleaned up as best he was able, while to his right sat La Joyeuse – the Sword of Charlemagne. It had once been the coronation sword of the Kings of France. Now it served to crown Cad Rikkard as the undisputed king of the mercenaries.
12
Hallam threw his half-eaten hotdog back onto the paper plate and let out a dissatisfied sigh. He’d eaten some pretty terrible food, in some of the galaxy’s worst canteens and diners, but this particular eatery was vying for the top spot.
“I’m not even sure what kind of meat this engineered crap is supposed to be,” said Hallam, wiping the feeble-tasting mustard from the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “And they might as well have served it up in a cardboard box, rather than this sorry excuse for bread.”
Dakota finished shoving the last of her hotdog into her mouth before looking at Hallam, cheeks puffed out like a hamster. It was clear she’d only half-heard his grumbling, and from the way she’d devoured the hotdog, it was also apparent that she didn’t share Hallam’s opinion of the food.
“What are you talking about? I love these things,” said Dakota, licking her fingers like a kid. “They’re the only thing about Pales that’s not terrible.”
Hallam glanced back at the sign above the restaurant, which read “The Dog Pound,” and shook his head. Even the name is terrible, he thought, but he kept his opinion to himself rather than risk Dakota’s ire. Hallam’s gaze then dropped to where Dr. Rand was sitting at a table next to his bar-style perch overlooking the central plaza of Habitat Dome C in Factory District Alpha Six. She was still busily working on her palm computer, analyzing the gravimetric readings she’d taken in space during their approach.
“Are you going to eat that?” asked Dakota, pointing to the half-eaten hotdog on Hallam’s plate.
“All yours…” said Hallam, taking a swig of his similarly lackluster soda in an attempt to wash away the taste. However, all it succeeded in doing was replacing one unpleasant flavor with another.
Dakota grabbed the hotdog with eager gusto, but then a loud wolf whistle caught her attention. Hallam and Dakota both turned to see three men standing in the walkway. Hallam detected the acrid, sulfurous smell of Pales’ toxic atmosphere lingering on their working clothes, and guessed that they’d just come off shift in one of the hundreds of factories nearby.
“Hello, sweetheart,” said a sooty-faced, rough-shaven man, presumably the one who had whistled earlier. “You’re a bit of much needed class around here,” the man went on, leering at Dakota as his two companions chuckled at his antics and egged him on. “How about a kiss?”
Dakota smiled innocently. “Sure thing, handsome,” she said, rising to her full height, which was a couple of inches taller than the man. “Close your eyes and pucker up. I’m going to give you something you won’t forget.”
Hallam knew what was coming next, but he suppressed a smile, so as not to tip off the man or his snickering buddies. He’d seen Dakota get hit on a hundred times before in the many cra
ppy tanker depot bars and layover stops they’d been to together during their time as bridge runners. Her methods of dealing with them never failed to disappoint.
The man looked at his friends, who jostled him excitedly, then he turned back to Dakota, pressing his eyes shut and puckering his lips like an Atlantic cod. Dakota pressed the half-eaten end of Hallam’s now cold hotdog into the sauce on her plate, smearing it with a lavish coating of the syrupy red goop. She then pinched the man’s cheeks with her thumb and forefinger, forcing him to part his puckered lips, and shoved the wet hot dog into his mouth.
The man stumbled backwards, coughing and spluttering, and clawing the food off his face, while his two buddies laughed hysterically.
“You’re crazy!” the man yelled, hauling himself upright again before his two companions ushered him away along the walkway, slapping him on the back and gleefully explaining how he’d deserved it.
“That was a way better use for that thing than you had intended,” said Hallam, grinning at Dakota.
Dakota shrugged as she wiped her hands with another napkin. “It just means I need to go buy another one now.”
There was an obviously fake cough from the table next to them, and Hallam glanced across to see Dr. Rand staring up at him. She didn’t wear spectacles, but if she had, Dr. Rand would have been peering over the rims like a disappointed teacher.
“Remember when we talked about keeping a low profile and not drawing attention to ourselves?” said Dr. Rand with well-practiced sarcasm.
“Just blending in with the locals,” said Dakota, casually leaning back on the railings with her arms hooked around the top bar.
“Have you discovered anything interesting yet?” said Hallam, trying to accelerate their departure by hurrying Dr. Rand along.
“Many things,” replied Dr. Rand. “Including the worst sandwich I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
Dakota laughed. “You should have gone for the chili dog, like I said.”
Dr. Rand chose not to respond to Dakota’s culinary input and continued to answer Hallam’s question. “But if you mean about the gravitational anomalies, then yes, they have already extended to this planet.” Then she pointed to a sugar pourer on the table, and added, “For example, the weight of this object is two percent lower than it should be.”
“Two percent doesn’t sound bad,” said Hallam.
“It’s not,” admitted Dr. Rand, “But the rate of decay is steadily growing. Soon it will be three percent, then five, then fifteen, and so on. Eventually, the effects will spread far beyond this planet. Some regions of the star system will experience increased gravitational acceleration, while in others, it will be drastically reduced.” Dr. Rand shut off her palm computer, slid it into her pocket, and stood up in front of Hallam and Dakota. Her expression was grave enough to prompt Dakota into switching from her casual lean to a more alert stance. “Once the gravitational pull of the Palean star becomes significantly impacted, orbits will start to change and become chaotic.”
“Like in the star system you found, way out beyond Minerva?” said Hallam, remembering what Dr. Rand had told him when they first met.
Dr. Rand nodded. “Yes, or worse.”
“How long?” said Dakota.
Dr. Rand shrugged. “If all travel along the bridges to Pales stopped today, then probably never,” she said, though Hallam could tell she didn’t really believe that. “If not, then we could be talking a year, a few months, even weeks. I don’t have enough data yet.”
Hallam’s gaze moved beyond Dr. Rand to where two men in dark gunmetal gray riot gear were pushing through the crowds. One was occasionally staring down at the field computer built into the armor on his left forearm.
“The local enforcers are snooping around,” said Hallam, keeping his voice low but continuing to watch the two men. “They look like they’re searching for someone.”
Dakota followed the line of Hallam’s gaze, but then shrugged. “This is Pales; they’re always looking for someone. Half the people in this diner will have either broken the law already or plan to do so by the end of the night.”
Hallam knew Pales as well as Dakota did, but normally, the enforcers went about their sweeps with less urgency and enthusiasm than the two officers nearby were displaying.
“Can I borrow your palm computer?” Hallam asked Dr. Rand. She frowned, but then removed the device from her pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to Hallam. He quickly cycled to the local bulletin page for Habitat Dome C and cursed. Dr. Rand and Dakota huddled closer so that they could see the screen. Front and center on the main bulletin page were the faces of Hallam Knight and Dakota Wulfrun, with the headline reading, “Renegade terrorists land on Pales!” A hefty reward was also being offered for information leading to their arrest.
“This is Damien Doyle’s doing, no doubt,” said Dr. Rand, looking at Hallam and Dakota in turn. “Now you two really do need to become more inconspicuous.”
Hallam pulled up the hood on his jacket, while Dakota quickly swiped another diner’s baseball cap from the back of a nearby chair with the deftness of an actual criminal before pulling it on.
“We should get back to the ship,” said Dakota, but Dr. Rand wasted no time in shaking her head.
“I still need more data,” said Dr. Rand, taking the computer back off Hallam and pushing it into her pocket again. “My readings suggest there may be a more intense, highly localized anomaly in the upper east habitat ring. Getting a reading on this will allow me to model the behavior in far more detail.”
Hallam and Dakota glanced at each other, and both released weary sighs, almost in harmony with one another. Hallam could tell she was thinking the same thing he was – that they should go, now, but that Dr. Rand would stubbornly refuse to do so, until she had what she needed.
“Then we should get moving before those enforcers get over here,” said Hallam. “But we need to be as fast as possible. Every extra minute we spend here increases the risk we’ll be identified.”
The group headed off with Dr. Rand in the lead. Hallam immediately felt more uneasy as they departed the busy central plaza and climbed the corroded metal staircases into the upper habitat levels. Surveillance drones buzzed around the habitat, as they usually did, and Hallam made sure to keep his head down as they progressed.
The light level dipped lower with each flight of stairs they ascended, with only an occasional humming yellow lamp offering some solace from the darkness. It also felt cold and damp as the humid air from the lower levels condensed on the cold metal surfaces of the habitat zones. People moved around them much more cautiously than in the plaza, and at a more hurried pace. It felt like danger was lurking around every corner, like they were taking an ill-advised midnight stroll through the streets of Victorian London.
“No wonder people choose to ship out of here to Minerva instead,” commented Hallam, feeling a shiver rush down his spine as a drop of water fell onto the back of his neck. “You’d probably get better living quarters in prison.”
Suddenly, Dr. Rand rushed ahead. Hallam and Dakota were both caught by surprise and had to chase the scientist to keep her in sight.
“It’s just up here,” Dr. Rand called back to them as she pushed underneath a rusted metal sign, covering another corroded stairwell.
Hallam stopped and wiped some of the grime off the sign with the back of his jacket sleeve. It read “Condemned. Danger of Death. Do Not Enter.” He cursed and lifted the sign, allowing Dakota to duck under first and chase after Dr. Rand. They found her at the end of a metal gangway that normally linked one block of worker dwellings to another, like a bridge. However, the pathway simply ended abruptly, with seemingly nothing ahead of it. As Hallam crept closer, it quickly became apparent why – the entire block of dwellings opposite had collapsed, crashing hundreds of meters to the ground below, taking the lower levels with it.
Hallam inched back from the edge of the precipice and felt like pulling Dr. Rand away too, though he doubted the proud scientist
would have taken lightly to such an intervention.
“This whole section is unstable,” said Dakota, apparently sharing Hallam’s concerns. “What are we doing risking our necks up here?”
Dr. Rand was busy working at her computer again. “This is the precise location where the center axis of the Palean bridge intercepts the dome,” said Dr. Rand. She then picked up a piece of loose metal from the damp, rusted deck and tossed it into the chasm ahead of her. They all watched as the metal fell in a parabola, as expected, then inexplicably rose again, climbing twenty meters above their heads before seeming to oscillate like a yoyo. A few seconds later, it raced downward, as if it had been shot out of a cannon, clattering harshly on the remains of the lower-level walkways as it fell. “Fascinating…” said Dr. Rand, peering intently at the data flowing onto the screen of her palm computer.
“That’s one word for it,” quipped Hallam. Then there was a noise from behind them, like the sound of a heavy bolt rolling across the metal deck. Hallam met Dakota’s eye and whispered, “Did you hear that?”
Dakota nodded. “Stay here,” she said to Dr. Rand, who was still engrossed in her work and not paying attention.
Together, Hallam and Dakota slowly crept back down the gangway, toward where they had first entered the condemned space. Pales was ranked fourth out of all the bridge worlds for overall crime, but it was number one for muggings and aggravated assaults by a clear distance. Hallam dipped low as he moved, picking up a broken section of guard railing, while Dakota wrapped a length of loose rusted chain around her fist.
The noise came again, this time from a side walkway to their right, followed quickly by another to their left. Shapes moved in the flickering shadows cast by the humming yellow lights, then two figures emerged, bandanas wrapped around their mouths and noses. Hallam and Dakota backed away slowly, as another two figures crept out of the darkness further ahead.
“I really hate Pales,” said Hallam, tightening his grip on the bar and steeling himself for a fight.
