The Battle For Cyclops: A Xander Cain Novel Page 5

  Xander rubbed his chin as he thought. He hadn’t even considered they would need a dropship for the operation. It was standard procedure for an employer to provide them, but if stealth was going to be a priority, having their own was a necessity. Xander realised that having a dropship would be a good match for the Sunchaser, capitalising on its independence from the defined jump routes.

  “It’s not going to be cheap. You think twenty-five million will be enough?” Xander said. The question was more rhetorical than anything else, Xander was sure Sergei had no clue either.

  “No idea,” Sergei said, confirming Xander’s assumption. “But we’ve got less than that to spend. We’ll want to put away some of that money for a rainy day. I’m new to this, but common sense tells me it’s a good idea to build up a nest egg. We should only be risking what we can replace in…assets? Is that the right word, for mechsuits and stuff?”

  “Materiel. But yeah, that makes perfect sense. How much have we got in our accounts right now?”

  “Just shy of five million. We didn’t get anywhere near as much as he hoped for the lost tech on the Sunchaser. If that mechsuit had survived, that would have been a different story. That thing had to be worth billions.” Sergei let out a long sigh, mourning what could have been. “As it stands, we can afford to run the ship for a few months and that’s about it. Fuel costs more than you would think. This job will keep us in the black for a little longer, at least. Provided you don’t trash any suits or anything.”

  “Hopefully not. We’ll need to take a look at the salvage rights when we get the contract sent to us. If there really is a Black Rose base there, then that means there might be plenty of stuff ready for the taking. Doesn’t hurt to earn a little extra whilst on a job.”

  “I guess that all depends on how big this job exactly is. A base could mean anything, right? Two guys in a shack or a small armed city, and everything in between. You know, I wonder why they would attack the station, it’s a dead giveaway that someone is there, right?” Sergei stood up straight as the elevator came to a stop, the sensation in his stomach fading.

  “Not necessarily. If a message hadn’t gotten out, then people would have just assumed there had been an accident of some kind. Space construction is a dangerous job, especially in a system like Cyclops. Wouldn’t be the first time something had gone wrong during building a station. The really weird thing is taking the crew prisoner. What’s the point of that? From what we saw on Hades the Black Rose hardly seem the type to bother taking captives.” The door opened before Xander and he stepped out onto the promenade. “They must want them for something.”

  “Maybe they’re building a station of their own?” Sergei said with a shrug. “Or expanding the base. You would need skilled people for that, and it isn’t like you can just contract someone in if you’re a terrorist group.”

  “True, but Black Rose are hardly your usual group. The sheer scale of their operations means someone with real power has to be funding them.”

  “That’s a fun thought.” Sergei’s stomach growled as he spoke. Their dinners had been discarded when Miranda had approached them, business taking precedence. “I’m starving. We should get something to eat.”

  “Well, I’m sure that kebab stand is still open.”

  Sergei went white. “No way. This time I'm paying, and I'm choosing. Hopefully, we'll at least get something edible this time.”

  ***

  The hangar was a cramped squalid space, the walls covered with scorch marks and dirt. The ship nestled inside wasn't any better looking, an old worn-out thing, its hull mismatched in colour where new plates had been welded on over the years. Xander didn’t even recognise the model, and he had grown up around armour, mechsuits and dropships. This thing had to be ancient, easily a hundred years old or more.

  Beneath the cockpit of the ship was a folding chair. It had been attached to the decking with magnetic clamps, the large dark grey devices an ill match for the white metal and blue plastic they were holding steady. In the chair was a woman. Sitting was a poor description of what she was doing. Her legs were fully stretched out, floating horizontally in the zero gravity, whilst her torso was slumped as far down in the chair as it would physically go. The woman had a cap resting on her face and was snoring loudly, her arms laying across her chest.

  “Hello?” Xander said, floating across the bay, Sergei following behind him. The hangar bay was located in the central column of the station, away from the faux gravity of the habitation ring. Finding a dropship available for purchase had proven difficult and finding one willing to sell to a brand-new mercenary company was even harder. It seemed that word had gotten around that the Paladins was founded by freelancers, the lowest rung of the mercenary social ladder. “Excuse me?” Xander said, louder this time.

  The woman awoke with a start, sending her cap tumbling through the air. She snatched it with her right hand, slapping it back onto her short blond hair. She had green eyes and a round, friendly face. Along with the cap she was wearing an olive-green jumpsuit.

  “Sorry, hun. I was just getting a quick nap whilst I waited for y'all. You the boys looking to buy a dropship?” The accent was distinctive and immediately identified the woman as a Hestian.

  “That’s us.” Xander locked his magnetic boots to the floor and extended his hand. “I’m Xander Cain,” he said as the woman shook it, “this is Sergei Bird.”

  “Pleased to meet you. Been a while since I’ve had so many gentlemen callers. The name is Candice. Candice Beaumont.” She gestured behind herself. “This is the Summer Breeze, my ship. And possibly, yours, for the right price. Honestly, it’ll be a shame to part with her, but needs must, you know, sugar?”

  “I think so. What are you looking for?”

  “Oh, maybe, fifteen million or so?”

  “For this ship?” Xander could hardly contain his surprise. “It’s not exactly in good shape. What model even is that thing? I’ve never seen one like it.”

  “This here is a genuine General Starships Chariot. One of only seven ever made! She’s a real peach.”

  “In my experience,” Sergei said, joining the conversation, “if they only made a handful of something, there was a reason for that. Normally not a good one.”

  “Ah well, the Chariots were prototype six suit dropships. GS had to give them some nasty powerful engines to do that. Course, a dropship has a plenty powerful engine anyway, on account of needed to get back into space. There might have been a little…exploding problem with them. Though not my Summer Breeze, of course. This girl has had a whole lick of upgrades to her.”

  “Fifteen million is way too high. We aren’t paying that. We’ll pay five,” Sergei said.

  “No sorry, can’t do five. I’m getting out of the piloting game and I need the credits. Going to buy myself a nice farm somewhere, get a big willow tree, maybe some cows, settle down.” She smiled at the men, her cheeks plumping at the sides as she did.

  Xander didn't buy it. He could see the nervous twitch in her fingers, the wrinkle on her brow, the sweat beading up under her neck. This was a lie, she was running, trying to escape something. He was all too familiar with the desire to do that. Xander allowed himself a small chuckle.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s drop the pretence. You’re looking to offload the ship and vanish somewhere because you did something, right? Something that means you can’t, or won’t fly again? I know your sort. Flying is your life.”

  “Well…” Candice struggled to find the words, Xander’s accusation putting her on the spot. “There was this incident, with the Nemean Lions. They don’t appreciate good flying. If you’ve got anti-air fire coming your way, you would want the pilot to evade right? So, what if some mechsuits weren’t locked in place properly? It was only some broken bones.”

  “Tell you what,” Sergei said. “Forget the payment. We need a dropship, but we also need a pilot. We’ll offer you one per cent of the value of our jobs as payment. You get to keep ownership of the Summ
er Breeze, you still get to fly, and you’ll make the five million and then some if you keep on with us long enough.”

  Candice sat up in her chair, lowering her legs to the deck. Her boots stuck to the metal with a thunk.

  “You’ve got yourselves a deal!” she said excitedly, offering her hand again. “Which ship is yours?”

  “The Sunchaser, dock seventeen,” Sergei said.

  “Oh, I know it. The jump capable frigate, right?” The confused look on the faces of the men before her caused Candice to laugh. “Oh darlin's, every pilot has taken a gander at that thing. Not often you see something so new and sleek parked up at a guild station.” She turned to face the dropship behind her, boots clicking with every step. “Summer old girl, you're going to look good hanging onto the hull of that fine thing.”

  “I’ll let our people know you’re coming. Can you be ready by eighteen hundred?”

  “Sure thing, sugar.” Candice was still looking at the Summer Breeze, admiring the ship that she had been trying to sell not moments before.

  Xander and Sergei began the walk towards the hangar's exit. Their movements were slow, forced to rely on the magnetic boots. There had been nothing to push off of from where they were standing.

  “I hope you don’t mind me taking the lead like that,” Sergei said. “But it saved us trying to find a pilot for that thing, plus with the average value of a job, it’s about what we would be paying to hire one anyway. We get use of the ship for free, basically.”

  “Smart. And no, I don't mind. I actually like your offer to her. It's smart financially, but it also speaks to our company as a whole. We're made of freelancers, pirates, and employees of corporations too stupid to stay afloat. A home for misfits. I think one more isn't going to hurt us,” Xander said.

  “Good, glad to hear it. Let’s uh…let’s just make sure the suits are locked down properly, hey?”

  Chapter Seven

  Xander dropped the stack of boxes onto the desk with a flourish. They clattered as they landed on the table, spilling out across the wood. No expense had been spared in the Sunchaser’s construction, and rich polished mahogany covered most of the tabletops. This particular table was at the front of a briefing room, placed before seating that pitched upwards like a lecture hall, focusing the attention of the people occupying those seats onto Xander. Xander had plenty of experience in public speaking, his parents had made sure to include it in his tutoring as a child, the leader of a large mercenary company was to be expected to give speeches after all. He had never been comfortable doing it though and could feel the sixty-three eyes glaring at him, the odd number generated by a pirate wearing an eyepatch without any sense of irony.

  “These,” Xander said, gesturing to the boxes, “are for you.” He picked up one of the boxes and opened it. The small black container had a single hinge and opened with a pop. Inside was a small gold disc, delicately etched with the image of a soldier, a woman carrying a spear and flat round shield. The hoplite was a badge, both figuratively and literally, the symbol of the mercenaries’ guild carried by all its members. Resting beneath it inside the box was a plastic card, a licence with an image of its holder printed onto it, a somewhat less grandiose version of membership.

  “Each one of these has two parts. The badge, and the license,” Anya said. She had found herself acting as a trainer for the Sunchaser’s crew. Whilst they were all experienced pirates, they were still amateurs compared to a properly trained soldier and Anya had taken it upon herself to whip them into something resembling a professional unit. She had the right kind of temperament for it, Anya suffered no fools and could stop an argument with a single glare. “You keep the badge on you at all times. It’s what marks you as a member of the guild. The license is more for the specifics, what you’re registered as and so on. Important, but any station will have that information. Do not lose either, they’re expensive to replace. Everyone clear?”

  The assembled crew murmured in response. They knew better than to disagree with Anya.

  “Good,” Anya said. She crossed her arms and nodded as if agreeing with herself.

  Xander looked out across the assembled crew. He had to admit, they had earned this. The alliance with the pirates had been a thing of convenience, a way off a world ravaged by war. Their leader, Mikal, hadn’t seemed like the most trustworthy person, and Xander had expected a last-minute betrayal that had never come. Xander had found himself developing respect for their skills, thirty-four had taken up his offer to stay on and work for the Paladins, less than a third of the number of crew the Sunchaser was designed for, but they had managed to make the ship run anyway. He supposed that it was the norm for pirates, forced to make do under stressful circumstances.

  “In a minute I’ll call your name. When I do, come and collect your badge and license,” Xander said. He picked up the nearest box and opened it. “Graham Halston.” The pirate with the eyepatch stood up and began to wander down the steps next to the seats.

  The informal ceremony continued in this fashion until all the licenses had been given out. Xander gave the silent nod that the pirates took as permission to leave. He found himself correcting his thoughts. No, not pirates. Mercenaries, crewmen. Mikal was the last in line, peeling off from the crowd and stopping before Xander’s table.

  “Very fancy. Well, fancier than anything this lot would have seen anyway. Felt like we should all have those flat cap things that you chuck into the air. You know, the hats with the square on the top? I'm going mad here, the words on the tip of my bloody tongue. Ain't that the worst thing?” Mikal drummed his fingers on the expensive wooden table as he thought.

  “Mortarboard?” Anya said, raising an eyebrow.

  “That’s the bugger!” Mikal slapped the wood with both hands, the noise echoing through the briefing room.

  Xander laughed at the thought that Mikal considered this formal. He had spent too many evenings when he was younger attending boring functions with his parents. “Next time we have something like this, I’ll get you some caps and gowns. Make it really formal. Maybe even get some music going, hand out diplomas…”

  “Very funny.” Mikal took his hands off the table, slipping them into the leg pockets of the black jumpsuit he was wearing. “So, we’ve got a new job then?”

  Xander and Sergei hadn’t announced the guild’s mission, but it wasn’t surprising that news of it had already spread through a ship. Mercenaries were notorious for passing on rumours, and it seemed that former pirates were no better.

  “Where did you hear that?” Xander said.

  “Nowhere. I just assumed that had to be the reason why an ancient dropship had docked with the Sunchaser, aside from ‘istorical curiosity. That really the best we could do?”

  “It came cheap, and with a pilot. Plus, it's got a six-suit capacity. That's rare and useful.”

  “We've only got four riders though. And no offence none of my boys are exactly raring to get the you know what fitted.” Mikal tapped above his left eye. He was talking about the wetware connection that all the riders had implanted, a device connected to their nervous system that allowed a mental connection with their mechsuit. It left those who had it fitted with a noticeable row of inputs protruding from their skin.

  “I’m not sure that more riders will be much help for this job anyway. I actually needed to see you about it anyway, I need your input,” Xander said.

  “Well, well. You need my input. I feel bloody honoured.” A smile crept across Mikal’s face, before vanishing suddenly. “Wait. If you need an old pirate’s advice, then there’s something dodgy about this. What, exactly, are we doing?”

  Xander shot Anya a glance. The woman nodded and strode across the room towards the intercom on the wall. “It’s probably best we gather everyone, so we can discuss it fully.”

  ***

  With the crew sent on their way, Xander had activated the screen behind him, using the briefing room for its intended purpose. The image of the bizarre-looking planet filled the wa
ll, an eye leering down at the seats. Mikal was still sat down, examining the badge he had been given with a mixture of confusion and pride. He pinned it to his jumpsuit, the gold gleaming in the room's bright fluorescent lights.

  “That where we’re going?” Mikal said, his attention switching from his badge to the screen.

  “Sure is.” Xander didn’t look up from the tablet in his hand.

  “Eyeball world, tidally locked. More common than you would think.”

  That caught Xander's attention. He put the tablet down, looking up at the now-former pirate.

  “You know much about planets?”

  “Some,” Mikal said. “That’s kind of your basic tactics for piracy, ‘iding in places where no one looks. You spend a shit load of time in undeveloped systems. That’s how you find your marks, waiting at the edge of jump range of the kind of ships you think you can take, lurking there in the darkness.”

  “I always assumed such. Trying to jump someone in a developed system seems like a great way to paint a target on your back,” Xander said. “That can’t give you long to get into engagement range though.”

  “Eh, you would be surprised. People are pretty predictable when it comes to where they come out. Besides, we’re waiting for them, our jump ship has its drive ready to go. We can appear next to them right away. Always catches the buggers by surprise.”

  “Jump ship? You know, that makes sense, but I always assumed that you wouldn’t have access to them.”

  “They're a bit more…ramshackle than your normal kind. Stolen drive parts bolted to a big frame. It's not like we could just hire one like you can. Makes it all very dangerous, but then, such is life when you're a pirate. Frankly, I'm glad to be done with that bollocks, settle down into something safer.” Mikal tapped his brand-new badge.

  “Being a merc is hardly safe. We’re choosing to get shot at,” Xander said.

  “Ah, but that’s down there. I’ll be safe up here.”