Prologue
Chapter 1
More added below the ******.
steve
Chapter Two: Movement in the Shadows
“The record suggests you have failed.”
The Fixer’s jaw tightened, imperceptible beneath the sagging jowls of his chosen appearance. He was not a man accustomed to failure. The Fixer was also not accustomed to clients leveling such accusations. As he mentally counted to ten he stared at the encryption static of the corvette comm. screen as if he could resolve the accuser’s identity through force of will. Dissatisfied clients were very bad for business.
“The record suggests,” he replied with studied calm, “the technology supplied was untested, ineffectual and needlessly dramatic.” But interesting, so very interesting. “Unless of course the spectacle itself was important?” Of course it was important, that he knew. Never ask a question to which you don’t know the answer – the first rule for more than trial lawyers.
“Terror,” the frequency-distorted voice answered after a short pause. “But I sense you understand that. Despite your formidable reputation, I underestimated you and that is not a mistake I often make.”
The Fixer let his silence stand as his reply.
“Jackson has many friends, many allies and fellow-travellers. Too many to find and too many to kill.”
“Terrorize them into silence? Am I to assume my target list is considerably more extensive than I was first led to understand?”
The answer to that had already been ripped by Slash from the virtual corpse of the corvette AI.
Never ask …
“Your payment is excessively generous.” The unseen voice crackled with static. “The ship will notify you of further targets and further methods.”
“The ship is completely under the control of my slave AI and I am fully aware of the target list. Twenty five million credits.”
The communications system hissed static for a full 13 seconds. The Fixer counted each one.
“That’s impossible,” it finally spat.
“Impossible?” The Fixer answered. “Clarify. The fee or my severing of the strings attached to this well-armed down-payment?”
Both.
“Both.” the unseen client admitted after another white-noise hiatus. “What you ask is simply impossible. The Commerce Data-Hubs would identify and track so large an illegal credit transfer, putting us all at risk.”
“Max Force succeeded.” The Fixer stated. “Jackson seeded his corporation with millions from Clan sources.”
And you still don’t know how he penetrated Data-Hub security.
“There are other ways to transfer value and I must confess a weakness,” The Fixer continued and smoothly reeled off a short list. The cultural cream of five species. “Priceless – but I will accept insurance value of any three as a reasonable proxy.”
“The price is still too high – the risk, the attention!” The consternation bled through the static mask.
“No price is too high to conceal a threat worse than the Xenon.” The Fixer responded. “Yes, I am aware Jackson’s claims have a firm foundation, despite the – no - correct that; because of the detailed debunking of his evidence at the highest levels. I believe the current term used is ‘The Threat’.”
Which raises an interesting question. Whose interests lie in concealing the existence of a potentially hostile alien species with technology in advance of the Community of Planets? The Fixer did not ask that question. Intelligence services keen to hide preparations for an inevitable war from the enemy? Politicians unwilling to concede the existence of anything that threatened their narrow, short-term interests? Elements of the armed forces happy to let The Threat and the Xenon rip each other to shreds – the enemy of my enemy? The Threat itself? He did not have an answer but as there had never been a documented instance of any Xenon/Organic conspiracy, he was inclined to discount the latter. In the end, he simply did not care. War was good for business.
The speakers bled white noise into the silence of the Corvette Command Centre. A single word broke it.
“Agreed.”
The Fixer ordered Slash to open another encrypted channel and he issued a succinct set of instructions to a trusted sub-contractor. Satisfied that his orders were completely understood he made his way aft to the tiny stateroom that represented the only comfort on the Split warship. A cot, a metal workstation bolted to the decking and a single chair. A woman glared defiance from beneath a sweat-matted shock of black, curled hair. The insulating tape choked her words. Her skin bled raw around the ties holding her wrists and ankles but otherwise she was unharmed. Faced with the futility of her situation it had taken only moderate persuasion to elicit the information he needed in case Jackson escaped his first trap. Now his job was something much more than the simple silencing of an inconvenient voice. Terror. Normally the assassin would not countenance clients extending the scope of a deal but now he was curious where it would lead and the rewards would brighten the martial austerity of his new home while he sought out very discreet private buyers.
“I’m afraid,” he said bleakly, “I have some very bad news.”
The task completed he made use of the frugal hygiene facilities and returned to the Control Centre. The jump-drive gave him the luxury of time before heading for his next destination to explore a tangential but interesting question.
A Xenon AI, answering to a human name, recovered one sector from where a notorious namesake died. How?
“Slash, tell me about this ‘Max.’”
*
Nyana’s Hideout. It was a long haul to the Omicron Lyrae gate with their repositioning into deep space. Too much time to brood and Jackson hadn’t visited the system since …? He tried his damnest not to think about it but there were memories that haunted like ghosts and burned acid with shame … since the destruction of Confed Station. His base. Jackson still felt that even though he had ceded leadership of the Confederation Clan and his boys. The Confeds were never the most powerful of the old Pirate Clans. They, he, just didn't have the ice-heart ruthlessness that drove monsters like Law, Skull and the scum that stuck to them like maggots on rotting meat. One on one in a firefight though, they were more than a match for anything in space. It was why the Argon Navy left them alone even though the station hung in high orbit above the colony. That and the pay-offs. Like they say, everyone has their price. Even admirals and governors, particularly governors.
His boys. Words could taste of ash and Jackson snorted self-derision. They should never have moved the structure out into interplanetary space regardless of whatever was happening to the gates. By the time he and the scrounged-up Jackson Industries Security Squadron got there, all that remained was hull fragments with residual nuclear fission resonance traces, a demolition charge. And bodies – frozen and burned. Some he knew. Their contorted, seared faces were frozen on the inside of his lids, there when he closed his eyes. Along with the last transmission. We can’t hold out much longer, they’re cutting through the bulkheads. Hurry. Screams in the static and then the voice intoning;
‘Fear the Four-Petal Way.’
As if in prayer. That was the first time Jackson heard the name and he’d come across precious little since. Shadows of rumours whispered in the corners of dark places where his name, money and reputation could still prise loose tongues. The Four-Petal Way. Terrorists, cult or criminal gang. You transferred the credits and you took your pick. The name came from an obscure deviation from The Threefold Path, the mystic heart of Paranid culture according to Sinas. ‘Heresy. That’s all my sources would say. The Paranid won’t talk about it.’
Which of course meant nothing. The Paranid were constitutionally unwilling or unable to treat other life-forms, lesser beings whose very bodies betrayed their binary inferiority, in any manner other than contempt. They didn’t share secrets and they co-operated with other species to the barest extent needed to maximize their own advantage. All Jackson’s research uncovered before the tidal wave of legal problems hit were fragmentary summaries of long-burned heretical texts. Since then, people either wanted to jail him or kill him. Coincidence? Maybe. He was no longer certain he even cared. On the run, fighting the good fight against all odds. The reality lacked the glamour of the holo-vids. He smiled ruefully. Or the certain knowledge that the good guys would win in the end. He knew what Max had felt like now, at the end. Drawn out, thin – like a hydrogen filament sucked into a black hole. A long holiday, good company. Kaitrin. You’ve got to allow yourself one dream. Sometimes it’s all you have left.
“Incoming transmission.” The Mamba computer mechanically intoned. “Designated Priority Channel.” Jackson scanned the symbols on screen and tapped in the correct decrypt key from memory. Since being exposed to Xela, Max’s all-singing, all-dancing, all-interfering AI he’d developed a new appreciation for the personality-free, just-do-as-you’re-damned-told basic model. A woman’s face appeared, young but with a gaunt paleness highlighted and framed by a bobbed jet of hair. She looked strung out on something but Jackson knew better.
“Kaitrin, what’s wrong?”
“Where are you? Can we speak?” She sounded distracted, uncertain – not like the Kaitrin of old, equally at home running traffic control or co-coordinating a three-wing fighter strike for the Raiders. It was an encrypted channel, but she knew that, she’d configured the system.
“Transiting my old stamping ground.” Just because you’re paranoid …
Kaitrin glanced away from the screen and muttered something to herself. When she looked back into the comm. her dark hollow set eyes gleamed a touch of panic. He’d seen that look before, newbies in their first firefight.
“It’s back,” she said. “I thought I’d lost it but it’s back!”
Her voice cracked, as if her vocal cords were stretching on a rack. He’d heard that before, same situation. Jackson spoke with deliberate calm.
“Where are you K, tell me what’s going on?”
The woman who had been the command and control for Max Force’s mercenary squadron and the partner of his old comrade Paskaal, took a visibly deep breath. It seemed to work as her voice took on a more measured, reporting tone. More like the woman he remembered from multiple fur-balls.
“Ceo’s Doubt, in The Destiny Star.”
Max’s old obsolete Lifter and a long way from the meeting point in Home of Opportunity. A Teladi sector also and given the involvement of Director Morn and the Teladi Trading Company in the events leading up to Max’s death, not a place he wanted to spend much time hanging around in. There were probably rewards out, and bounties. Jack tried to keep an impassive face.
“I’ve picked up an intermittent sensor ghost on the outer fringe of scanner range and I’ve been trying to shake it off.”
“Are you sure it’s not just a succession of different contacts, we’ve all been a bit on edge?”
“Don’t lecture me on sensor handling Jackson!” Kaitrin snapped. “I know what I saw.”
Jack smiled.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s good to feel some fire, I’ve been feeling a little chilled.”
Jackson cut off her reply with a “Stand by,” called up the Galactic Chart and focused down to the Ceo’s Doubt sector.
“Kaitrin, if you make for the southern gate and go through what’s your ETA?”
She did a quick mental calculation.
“It’s a long haul and the jump-drive is still where we buried it. Fourteen hours and twenty-seven minutes, give or take me asking are you out of your mind? Loomankstrat’s Legacy isn’t the most peaceful of sectors. The Argon, Boron and the Teladi have a claim but no one wants to be the first to start a border war by sending in ships. Crackers gets you credits half the scum of the galaxy have washed up there.”
“Relax,” Jackson dredged up a smile. “I’ll get there on time to handle any trouble.”
“Don’t flash me that ‘trust me I’m a hot flyboy grin’ Jack. Every time I see it someone ends up dead. Last time I heard your bird was down to a single 5MW shield and you were digging through your pockets for chump change.”
“It’s the man not the machine Kaitrin,” Jack said on reflex ego.
“That’s what worries me Jack.” She paused, winked and smiled. “Don’t be late. Out.”
He checked the cargo inventory to confirm he still had enough energy cells for a seven sector masked jump and pulled the Mamba onto a long, lazy course back to the western gate. Then he let himself dream because sometimes a dream is all it takes.
*
The Fixer completed extrapolating his prey’s course and ordered the Dragon AI to fall back outside the freighter’s sensor range. If she was heading out into the wild border sectors instead of Home of Opportunity in an unarmed cargo hauler it could mean only one thing. She expected to meet well-armed help. Jackson. Who else could it be? He leaned back in the flight seat and calculated the variables. Obviously his presence had been detected. The woman was as good at her job as he expected. Bringing her and Jackson together gave more time for his operative to position himself close to the Paranid gene-splicer they naively hoped would grant them anonymity and safety. The sector was right out on the edge of explored space and the jump-drive supply runs needed to bypass the interdicting Xenon sector north of Black Hole Sun, ran infrequently. All proceeded according to his meticulous plan and he could see each step unfolding like a chess game, move by move to the inevitable Mate. Grandmaster against checkers novice.
Yet – The Fixer pursed his lips – even Grandmasters must be open to new strategies – and be prepared to test them. Against weak opponents. Jackson flew a Split Heavy Fighter, Argon designation Mamba. Fast, well-armed but with a single 25 MW shield, woefully under-protected. Obsolete but for stubborn Split pride and Jackson now had only a single 5 MW shield, about as useful as paper tissue against the fire-power of his new ship. Still – there was no doubt who was the better pilot and as Jackson had already demonstrated, technology does not always trump the man. Unless, to mix metaphors, one has an Ace in the Hole.
“Max.” Designations were trivial matters so long as compliance could be enforced. “I may change my plans. Let us go over old but interesting ground. Repeat again your last memories.”
The Fixer listened again to the story, an almost word for word repetition of the original tale, reflecting how curious it was to hear an emotionless recitation of someone’s demise.
‘Xenon ships,’ the AI intoned, ‘a battle … overwhelming odds … I need options … destroyer down … I am pleased … More destroyers …What is ‘pleased?’ Is it like pain?’ That was new. “Yes,” the Fixer said.
‘Then there is no hope.’
*
‘Communi-Com regrets it is unable to place this call. Do you wish to leave another message?’
Jackson terminated the connection without reply. Although it seemed unusual for a person whose main profession was publicist to be out of contact at any time, let alone a period of days, Anje Deniari was not a normal publicist. Her shadow-life as a contact for the Cabal could take her anywhere and she was certainly aware of the increasingly hysterical rumours concerning ‘accidents’ happening to Max’s former associates. Maybe she decided to drop out of circulation for a while? Hell, he was doing it so why not?
Running away. It stuck in his craw like a bone but sometimes you had to know when you were beat. Twenty-five to life was some beating.
“Thanks a lot Max,” he muttered, a brief flash of rage. “Way to pick the winning side, Jack.”
The looming jumpgate, an immense circle framing an eternity of stars crystallised something in his mind, something that had been gnawing at his guts like a rat on a power cable.
“Screw it!” he yelled. “And screw you!” he added as the computer activated its ‘please restate command’ sub-routine. A new face, a clean ID, a heavy fighter and just maybe, a new girl – a man could be handed less of a fresh start.
Jackson checked the timing, ordered the AI to target Loomankstrat’s Legacy northern gate and activate the masked jump sub-routine. If all were going according to plan he’d have a few minutes to scope out the place before Kaitrin arrived. As she said – it wasn’t a friendly place. He almost hoped for trouble, the chance to kick back. As the self-generated wormhole swirled and swallowed his Mamba, Jackson flicked open the fire-switch safeties. Any target would do.
As the fighter emerged near the northern gate Jack tasted disappointment. He flicked the safeties closed and pulled the fighter in a wide orbit around the gate. Minutes later an old Argon freighter emerged in a twisting blaze of light. He established immediate contact and Kaitrin’s relief at seeing him practically oozed from the screen.
“I’m real glad to see you Jackson,” The face on screen paused in a frown and then smiled. “I bet those words don’t appear in the same sentence that often, right?”
“In practically every bar I fetch up in,” Jack countered. “Usually from someone waving a blaster in their hand and the easy life shining in their eyes.”
“I’ve heard Jackson’s are fetching top credit per pound nowadays, a girl could buy a lot of shiny finger rocks.”
“If she was flying something more than a clapped out and toothless old freighter. It’s good to see you too K, real good.”
“This was Max’s ship, remember?” Kaitrin countered with a barely suppressed smile, like a rookie who’d just drawn lucky on an inside straight. “And I’m reading your crate’s shields are about two steps up from wet tissue against my 25MW’s. Fancy a game of chicken?”
Jack shook his head. “How about poker instead? Strip.”
“You haven’t got a matching stake Jack,” Kaitrin winked. “I think I lost my shadow, nothing in sensor range when I passed through. What’s the plan? Hopefully not a Max Special. Breaking things and hurting people.”
“Somebody has to be gratuitiously violent,” Jack said with mock piety. “But just for the whole novelty value I thought we’d quietly hit one of the independent mining stations, stash your ride and do a straight jump to H of O before someone puts names to faces and makes a few calls. If you’ve got credits for enough energy cells for my ride that is? I’m flat out.”
“Two hundred cells in the hold Jack, I figured on a good price out there in the boonies. Setting course for sector centre.”
Jackson had barely pulled the drop-winged fighter alongside the Destiny Star when a flash of light, white, harsh and electric, flooded the cockpit. On reflex he slammed the flight stick hard left and twisted his M3 into a spiral roll. With a languid torpidity that completely belied the barely contained energies within their magnetic sheath, plasma shells streamed around him.
“Computer, identify assailant!” he screamed and pushed the throttle to full. “Kaitrin, get the hell out of town!” If any acknowledgements came, Jack was too focused on the Doppler pitch and position of the unknown attacker in the aural combat sub-system that gave fighter pilots in the noiseless vacuum of space an extra sense, to notice. Judging positions to a perfection honed by years of combat, Jack wrenched the Mamba into a sliding turn that would bring him onto the six of his attacker. Which was a …
The engine roar told him it was big, the twin drives mounted on stubby wings parallel to the hull, nailed it.
“Oh crap,” he muttered. “Split M6, Corvette – designation Dragon.” The computer confirmed in a disinterested tone. Plasma shells flashed from the corvette’s spine and belly turrets and Jack quickly abandoned Plan A, kick the sorry sucker’s ass. If it had been packing anything less than the Gamma mark of high-energy plasma throwers, he knew he’d probably be toast now. Very burnt toast but fortunately, GHEPT’s were designed for ripping chunks out of capital ships and their low fire rate and turret tracking speed handicapped them in fighter engagements. Even so, a couple of lucky shots would blow out his 5MW shield like a guttering candle. As he attempted to come up with a Plan B he instinctively flew an erratic perpendicular course across the Dragon’s ass to disrupt its firing solution. Still the plasma burned prescient close.
Sunlight glinted on the Dragon’s slim silver hull as it turned to re-engage and for Jackson time began to stretch like old rubber and flow like thick, Grade A crude. He relaxed into the groove and almost smiled as his eyes danced over the displays, drinking in ship positions and vector projections.
Almost – the old Destiny Star hadn’t the legs to extend and escape, even if he could keep the corvette occupied.
“K, this bastard is faster than me – fire up the IP drive or head for the damn gate while I keep it busy!”
“At the risk of sounding testosterone poisoned, I’m not leaving you to get killed,” Kaitrin shouted through the crackling hiss of weapons fire static.
“I’ll jump out, K. Go!”
The Dragon and the Mamba came round head to head and the corvette’s nose and turret plasma’s hammered – no longer slow but deathly fast due to the combined closure speed of the converging ships. Jack danced the Mamba through the storm and got in a snapshot strafe as it skimmed the enemy hull. His Alpha HEPT’s barely creased his attacker’s shields. As he dodged turret fire, Jack caught the Star in a frozen glimpse, laboriously turning for the jump-gate.
“Okay Jack, turn and burn.” He muttered.
A few more passes and Kaitrin would be out of sector and able to get clear enough of the gate to get the Interplanetary Drive stoked. And then…? With three energy cells, he wasn’t jumping anywhere.
Find a blind spot and sit in it? The Dragon was marginally faster than the Mamba and the two turrets pretty much covered its ass.
“Time for some of fancy pilot stuff you’re always bragging about Jack.”
He hit the strafe drive and wrestled the massive sideways kick of the thrusters to keep the corvette locked in his weapons arc as it shot past. The concentrated plasma stream ripped into the enemy shields.
“You might be the faster and bigger dicked S.O.B,’ Jack shouted. “But there just ain’t no better pilot!”
With the slow-motion clarity of nightmare, the Dragon seemed to pivot on its nose. Jack could see the arc light of its own strafe drive flashing starboard.
“Oh you’ve got to be friggin’ kidding me.”
The faultlessly executed power slide terminated in the flare of Dragon afterburners and the corvette slamming towards him like a fist. The front-mounted plasma’s pounded while the turrets scissored the sky with fire. A small part of Jack’s mind coolly admired the way the two turrets worked independently to close his escape vectors but the rest fought a swelling primeval panic. His ship was out-gunned and underpowered, the enemy pilot, red-hot and Kaitrin needed every second he could buy. Transfixed by the converging plasma streams and trapped in an unequal struggle by a code of honour that now felt like a virus in his soul, Jackson experienced two life-transforming revelations.
He was in love and there was no way he could win this fight. He was going to die.
*
The former Confederation Clan chieftain was not the only actor on stage in the grip of a new experience. Aboard the Dragon, a calculating assassin who left nothing to chance, clutched the arms of the command seat against the slight lag in the inertial dampeners with a white knuckle grip as the Max AI hurled and twisted his ship through space.
Powerlessness. The gut knowledge that your fate, your future lay in another’s hands. An experience he characterised as ‘interesting.’ Was this how his prisoner felt? The muffled threats and the wasted pounding on the sealed lock had ceased. Perhaps she was possessed by false hope? It seemed almost cruel. The Fixer touched the scratch on his face.
Terror.
The assassin could fly a ship, he could get from A to B and even if necessary give a reasonable account of himself in space combat should the need arise and the odds firmly in his favour. Only fools made such gambles but here he was, gambling now. A curious new experience indeed, but as he carefully reasoned – the odds were firmly on his side, his exit strategy sound and a back-up plan in place. Whatever happened there would be a gain.
Terror.
He gripped the armrests hard and felt the restraint field snap up a notch as his ship decelerated sharply and slewed violently to port. Jackson’s fighter, sunlight flashing off its incongruously elegant wings, lay centred ahead. The heavy plasma’s resumed their comforting thump, the reverberations shuddering through the ship.
“Max. Situational analysis. Are we winning?”
“Master, we face a single fighter and an obsolete, unarmed class of freighter – I cannot lose.”
“Finish it.”
The afterburners kidney-punched in.
*
‘I’m going to die.’
With the realisation came a cooling pheromone rush that cleared his head, leaving only a warm feeling of calm inevitability – as if this moment was inscribed in the first fiery nano-second of the Primal Blast. Jackson aimed the Mamba’s nose at the Dragon, hit the afterburners and danced through the plasma like he had all the time left in the universe. He knew a collision wouldn’t destroy the much bigger and better shielded corvette but it might knock out enough systems to give Kaitrin time to escape.
‘I’m in love,’ he whispered. ‘Goodbye K.’
Absurdly, as he danced the Mamba through the plasma with tiny adjustments to the flight stick, he began to count.
“One. Two.”
Like trying to dodge snow flakes.
“Three. Four.”
Like trying to dodge summer rain.
“Five. Six.”
Like driving into a storm. Damn, Jack grinned, I’m good
“Seven.”
With the distance closing to zero, the big warship swelling to fill the forward panel, not even Jackson’s uncanny reflexes and skill could cope. Plasma grazed his shields, knocking the power gauge down near twenty percent . It didn’t matter. Nearly there.
A staccato roar, like the metronome cough of some rust-eaten metal beast, filled the cockpit. Hail on a flat steel roof.
“Eight?”
The Dragon broke high and left, wreathed in shooting stars and its guns silent. In slow motion disbelief Jackson could see each individual impact blossom on the Corvette’s hull, each flash vaporized armour plating.
“Unauthorised transports in progress,” his AI commented. “Security lockouts over-ridden”. The Dragon’s shadow dimmed the cockpit for a stretched half second. Dumbly Jackson noted the shield monitor jump to 5MW. It continued climbing.
“Don’t just sit there Jack,” came Kaitrin’s voice from behind him. “Break low and right. Now!”
Her tone had that old command snap that had kept his and Max’s pilots alive and dancing on their toes right up to the end, out beyond Menelaus Paradise. His body obeyed out of reflex. A flash reflected in the HUD, a low, simulated rumble in Combat Audio and a shockwave hit the Mamba, kicking it like a Split’s kitten. The fighter lurched and tumbled aft over beam, straining the inertial dampeners to near their high pitched, screaming breaking point.
Somehow, as he wrestled back control, Kaitrin ended sprawled across his seat. Her forehead was a mess of blood from an inches long gash but she looked up and smiled.
“Well Jackson, haven’t you got anything to say to me?”
“I – uh - Eight was always my lucky number?”
*
The sharp pain, like a knife trying to work its way back up through his bicep, told The Fixer his arm was broken. Don’t move, it screamed as the ship staggered and plunged through space. It hurt. Run, the most primitive part of his psyche yelled. Run for your life! He was millions of years of evolution better than that.
“Slash!” he shouted, reverting in crisis to his AI’s familiar designation. “Evasive manoeuvres. Status report!”
The uncontrolled spin of the Dragon ceded to purposive unpredictability.
“Shields at 20%, hull armour at 79%, Teleport - destroyed, Boost Extension - destroyed, Singularity Engine Time Accelerator – damaged, drive system at 76%. Master.”
“What happened?”
“Argon freighter, designation Destiny Star attacked with an unidentified weapon and then exploded. Master.”
“Unidentified?” He wanted to scream, but didn’t. No pain, no pain. “How?”
“Preliminary speculation suggests a primitive recoilless chain-gun.”
No energy profile and solid fuel projectiles. The assassin fumbled under the command seat for an emergency med-kit. No pain.
The ampoule flooded relief into his carotid, just enough to file down the edge. Always keep a clear head.
“Status of target?” He could still finish this.
“Undamaged.”
The Fixer glanced down at the flight instruments as the AI reclaimed full control of the damaged ship and focused on the target display.
“Sensor diagnostic. Jackson’s shields are now reading a full 25MW.”
“All sensor systems at nominal,” the AI answered. “Target moving to re-engage. Master.”
The Fixer made a snap decision.
“The only fair fight is an unfair fight, Max. Activate Speech Protocol Beta. Execute back-up plan.”
Behind him the pounding of fists on metal hammered a new and desperate beat.
*
Kaitrin scrambled across to the co-pilot station as Jack swiftly checked off the vital systems. Everything looked okay except for the shields.
“How the…?”
“I teleported my shield across, shot the bastard up with the old chain gun Max carried and used a squash mine in the concealed hold to detonate most of the energy cells. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Jack echoed and scanned the Dragon. Some serious damage. Try out running me now you bastard.
“Any objections if I now dish out a serious ass-kicking?”
“There’s enough cells in your hold now to jump all the way to Home, but speaking as someone whose just had five years of life scared out of her. Be my guest.”
Kaitrin tapped up the short-range display on her console and her voice became calm, all business.
“Target at 257, Mark 22. 2.7 klicks. Also moving to engage.”
Jack grinned, an old familiar feral grin that made Kaitrin smile savagely in return.
Again the two ships came head to head but this time it was the wounded Dragon that ducked and weaved like a punch-drunk heavyweight, plasma streams ripping at its faltering shields.
“Seven hundred metres,” Kaitrin called off. “Energy spike, he’s…”.
Jack glimpsed a glittering cloud, like a coolant leak spurt from the Dragon before the flash of a jump singularity flared away his vision.
An impact, a scream. Kaitrin.
The first thing he saw, as his sight returned was a body, like a bug on a windscreen. A woman, her last moments frozen on her face. Terror.
Anje Deniari.
By the time they transported the recovered body from the subspace hold he was still shaking, gripped by his own memories. The awful, interminable seconds, his lungs screaming for air that wasn’t there, when Law ejected him and Max into space. No rescue Pegasus on stand-by this time. No miracles. If only I’d been faster.
“Snap out of it Jack, there’s nothing you could have done.”
Had he spoken aloud? He attempted to mask his embarrassment, mock his own fear with a typical Jackson quip but the words just stuck in his choking throat. He looked at his Cabal contact and closed her frozen eyes. Then he looked at Kaitrin, tears mingling with rivulets of blood and all he could think was,
‘It could have been you.’
“Jack, Jack!” A stinging slap snapped into face. “Get a grip. There’s a message drone and an incoming transmission.”
Kaitrin opened the channel.
The voice was cold, practically mechanical and the message conjured the jigsaw quality of ransom messages in the tec novels she used to like, before life had got totally out of hand. But it held a familiar timbre.
‘I am death made carnate, I am Max Force.’
Someone screamed. It could have been her.
[/b]
Rogues Return Chapter Two completed 10.6.05
Moderators: TheElf, Moderators for English X Forum
Rogues Return Chapter Two completed 10.6.05
Last edited by SteveMill on Thu, 16. Jun 05, 13:25, edited 12 times in total.
Sounding good Steve.
Just a couple of minor things that jump out...
1) "insulting tape" - a typo, or a special brand of adhesive wrap designed to simultaneously stick and abuse...?
2) "the jump-drive gave him the luxury of time..." Surely the jump-drive makes him get to his destination quicker, giving him less time? (unless you mean that he is going to be early for an appointment and will therefore have time to kill... )
Cheers,
Rob.
Just a couple of minor things that jump out...
1) "insulting tape" - a typo, or a special brand of adhesive wrap designed to simultaneously stick and abuse...?
2) "the jump-drive gave him the luxury of time..." Surely the jump-drive makes him get to his destination quicker, giving him less time? (unless you mean that he is going to be early for an appointment and will therefore have time to kill... )
Cheers,
Rob.
Thanks - what a great typo.RJV wrote:Sounding good Steve.
Just a couple of minor things that jump out...
1) "insulting tape" - a typo, or a special brand of adhesive wrap designed to simultaneously stick and abuse...?
2) "the jump-drive gave him the luxury of time..." Surely the jump-drive makes him get to his destination quicker, giving him less time? (unless you mean that he is going to be early for an appointment and will therefore have time to kill... )
Cheers,
Rob.
Edited things for clarity.
-
Gandalf The White
- Posts: 2185
- Joined: Sat, 9. Nov 02, 12:21
Excellent as ever Steve. Only one query not necessarily a correction:
Is the non speeched both intentional? and who is thinking it?“Impossible?” The Fixer answered. “Clarify. The fee or my severing of the strings attached to this well-armed down-payment?”
Both.
“Both.” the unseen client admitted after another white-noise hiatus. “What you ask is simply impossible. The Commerce Data-Hubs would identify and track so large an illegal credit transfer, putting us all at risk.”
Is the 21st the date for the final version, or is that a typo?
Rapier - The Orifice of all Knowledge
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Very good background info and introduction to a sub plot. The Fixer appears to be in quite a position to make demands like that. Now that he killed the woman, who was she again? Hopefully not one of the old guilde. Though, if Slash really is Max then it'll be only a matter of time seeing the Fixer space walking 
Looking forward to the next installment!
"and track so large an illegal credit transfer" - an=and? not sure, something seems missing
Looking forward to the next installment!
"and track so large an illegal credit transfer" - an=and? not sure, something seems missing
Someone was mentioned as 'missing' previously, its a problem caused by the sporadic nature of the posting that things that are obvious in a book aren't in this format. All will be revealed in the next bit though. Not too sure about the grammar but Word accepted it - the alternative would be 'a' for 'an'. The syntax is fine though.KiwiNZ wrote:Very good background info and introduction to a sub plot. The Fixer appears to be in quite a position to make demands like that. Now that he killed the woman, who was she again? Hopefully not one of the old guilde. Though, if Slash really is Max then it'll be only a matter of time seeing the Fixer space walking
Looking forward to the next installment!
"and track so large an illegal credit transfer" - an=and? not sure, something seems missing
And another
for the date!If you wanted, you could always use 'Stock Market' speech.
ie.. "and flag so large an illegal credit transfer"
But for me it reads ok.
I was confused to begin with about the woman, if the Fixer killed her then it is not immediately apparent, perhaps something along the lines of washing the blood from his hands (if he did kill her that is....)
Good read as usual.....
ie.. "and flag so large an illegal credit transfer"
But for me it reads ok.
I was confused to begin with about the woman, if the Fixer killed her then it is not immediately apparent, perhaps something along the lines of washing the blood from his hands (if he did kill her that is....)
Good read as usual.....
'Infinite Possibility = Infinite Variation' (Or maybe even the possibilty of infinite nothing?)
Interesting read Steve 
I did wonder about some of the typo's, the tape etc. but as you have probably guessed from previous postings...i'm loath to point out errors or mistakes...
...perhaps i should look at your stories with a more critical eye?...*shrugs* ...anyway, i'm still wondering about the woman.
The text 'seems' to indicate that the Fixer has killed the woman...but there again.. ...the 'task' could mean something totally different, for example...maybe he's drugged the woman or something.
The sentence " I have some very bad news", this puzzles me because it's left open ended. I'm thinking that the intention is to let the reader make up their own mind on this, plus the follow up of 'washing hands' leads one to think the Fixer has just commited murder.
But knowing the way you like to lead the reader up the garden path (sometimes) i'm not so sure this is what has actually happened....*shrugs again*...*with a big grin*
It seems to me, looking at this guy's (The Fixer's) character that although he's an assassin i wouldn't have thought he'd get quite so personal, more of 'at a distance' type of operator. As you have hinted, this person dosen't like getting his hands 'dirty'.
Oldman
I did wonder about some of the typo's, the tape etc. but as you have probably guessed from previous postings...i'm loath to point out errors or mistakes...
...perhaps i should look at your stories with a more critical eye?...*shrugs* ...anyway, i'm still wondering about the woman.The text 'seems' to indicate that the Fixer has killed the woman...but there again..
...the 'task' could mean something totally different, for example...maybe he's drugged the woman or something.The sentence " I have some very bad news", this puzzles me because it's left open ended. I'm thinking that the intention is to let the reader make up their own mind on this, plus the follow up of 'washing hands' leads one to think the Fixer has just commited murder.
But knowing the way you like to lead the reader up the garden path (sometimes) i'm not so sure this is what has actually happened....*shrugs again*...*with a big grin*
It seems to me, looking at this guy's (The Fixer's) character that although he's an assassin i wouldn't have thought he'd get quite so personal, more of 'at a distance' type of operator. As you have hinted, this person dosen't like getting his hands 'dirty'.
Oldman
Thanks - I'll think about those. I left the killing as a cut away as I hoped it would be more chilling but if its confusing I'll have to rethink it.Nithral wrote:If you wanted, you could always use 'Stock Market' speech.
ie.. "and flag so large an illegal credit transfer"
But for me it reads ok.
I was confused to begin with about the woman, if the Fixer killed her then it is not immediately apparent, perhaps something along the lines of washing the blood from his hands (if he did kill her that is....)
Good read as usual.....
Nice little addition
Spotted:
"The sector was right out on the edge of explored space and the jump-drive supply runs needed to bypass the interdicting Xenon sector north of Black Hole Sun, infrequent."
I'm not 100% sure on re-reading it but at first I thought it could do with a comma following "supply runs"?
Al
Spotted:
"The sector was right out on the edge of explored space and the jump-drive supply runs needed to bypass the interdicting Xenon sector north of Black Hole Sun, infrequent."
I'm not 100% sure on re-reading it but at first I thought it could do with a comma following "supply runs"?
Al
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Gandalf The White
- Posts: 2185
- Joined: Sat, 9. Nov 02, 12:21
Not sure about Al's missing comma, but I've read this sentence about 5 times now, and for the life of me I can't work out what 'infrequent' is doing there... Perhaps it's just late (which it is), and I'm tired (which I am) but it seems out of place.Al wrote:Nice little addition
Spotted:
"The sector was right out on the edge of explored space and the jump-drive supply runs needed to bypass the interdicting Xenon sector north of Black Hole Sun, infrequent."
I'm not 100% sure on re-reading it but at first I thought it could do with a comma following "supply runs"?
Al
That aside, sounds good as always.
Cheers,
Rob.