Chapter 1
“I’ll fucking kill you!” screamed William Emmerson as he ordered his security personnel to fire in my direction.
“Good luck with that!” I returned, brushing the side of a moss covered tree, nearly tumbling in the process.
I tore through the woods outside the Emmerson Estate, having just stolen an object worth two hundred thousand galactic credits—a small metal orb about the size of my fist.
A merchant named Fitz, one of Emmerson’s rivals, had hired me to deliver this junk for a reasonable price. I didn’t really give a damn about their feud, but the pay was good and I needed the work.
“Stop him!” shouted Emmerson. “Someone stop him!”
Dogs barked far behind me as I neared the clearing. If Emmerson thought a couple of mutts and some hired goons would be enough to slow me down, he was in for a wild surprise.
“Excuse me, sir,” said a calm and familiar voice in my ear. It was Sigmond, my ship’s A.I. unit. “I see you’re being chased. Shall I drop the cloak and prepare for departure?”
Another energy blast buzzed my head, throwing a shower of splintered tree bark and oxidized sap into my face. I gripped my pistol and swung around, spotting the guard responsible between the many branches and thick undergrowth. I waited for a clean shot, squeezed the trigger, and fired.
The bullet flicked through a patch of leaves and went straight into the man’s leg, causing him to dive to the ground. At that, I turned back around and kept running. “That’d be great, Siggy!”
“As you wish,” he replied.
I tore through the tree line and entered a vast, green field. “Try to make this quick, pal, unless you wanna be homeless.”
“Perish the thought, sir.”
The Renegade Star rippled as it phased into visibility right in the middle of the valley. Several more security personnel came running, emerging from the forest, setting their sights on me and firing.
I burst forward, shredding grass with the heel of my boot. Several shots echoed from behind. No time to slow down.
“Hurry!” shouted Emmerson, joining his hired help near the trees. He continued with a garbled, unintelligible slew of insults.
Meant for me, of course.
I turned and aimed as I ran, shooting as accurately as one could expect, given the situation. I was a decent shot—maybe even good—but I couldn’t hit a target that far away while I was running in the other direction, much as it pained me to admit it. As a result, nearly every shot dug into the ground or, at best, the overhead leaves of the surrounding trees.
Four dogs entered the field a second later, snapping their jaws as they raced after me. Within a few short seconds, they were already halfway across the glade.
“Get us out of here,” I said, finally reaching the lowered gate at the rear of my ship. “Raise the lift!”
The dogs were closing in. I could hear the anticipation of the kill in their labored breaths as they gained ground.
The cargo bay gate began to rise, and I leapt into it, sliding along the floor with my pistol trained out the narrowing airlock.
The animals tried to jump in after me but fell short. They leapt and snarled, showing their teeth as the half-closed lift continued to raise.
Several blasts struck the hull. I heard Emmerson screaming with hate in his voice, but the words were too distorted to make out.
The Renegade Star ignited its thrusters with thunderous acclaim, rattling the metal flooring as I tried to stand.
The nearby screen along the wall blinked to life, showing the view from outside my ship—nearly two dozen armed guards and their master aiming their rifles at me and firing.
More shots peppered our hull, but I knew we could take it. This ship was built to withstand a hit from a quad cannon, so a little handheld firepower wouldn’t do much except scrape the paint.
As the airlock sealed and daylight was replaced by the cruising floods, we accelerated. For a brief moment, I felt the pressure, until the stabilizers kicked in and it was smooth sailing.
At about this time, we entered the stratosphere. From Emmerson’s point of view, we were already gone.
I ran up the stairs and made my way to the cockpit, where I took my seat and strapped in. On the dash, an old bobblehead of Foxy Stardust, a cartoon character, was still bouncing from the earlier turbulence. She had a white helmet with a neon-blue visor and a pink spacesuit.
“Raising the cloak,” said Sigmond right as we entered the stratosphere.
No doubt, Emmerson was fuming over what I’d done.
It wouldn’t matter soon. After I delivered this trinket to Fitz, all the blame would shift to him. If there was any revenge to be had, Fitz would bear the cost of it, not me. That was how it usually went for people in my line of work. We did the job, but the client shouldered the blame.
My name is Jace Hughes and I was a Renegade, a hired hand to steal, smuggle, or loot anything you needed. I’d been known to do any manner of unsavory job if the need arose and the money was right.
And I’d keep on doing it until I was dead.
It was the life I’d chosen, and I had no regrets.
* * *
“What the hell is this?” I asked, staring at the blinking red light on the dash.
“That would be the warning light, sir,” remarked Sigmond.
“Since when do we have a warning light?” I asked. “And how do I make it stop?”
The light went dead as soon as I finished. “Apologies, sir. It seems our sudden departure triggered it. The sensors were overwhelmed.”
“Oh,” I said, turning back to the holographic display on my dash, showing the current battlefield. Over four hundred ships across two fleets were currently fighting it out, blasting themselves to pieces. I couldn’t say why this was happening. That’s not why I was here.
We were flying above Galdion, an isolated planet on the edge of the galaxy. I’d arrived in pursuit of an item of interest—the orb currently resting beside my right leg. Had I known I’d be leaving through a war-zone, I might have come at a later time.
“Any sign of detection?” I asked, referring to the nearby ships.
“Not yet,” answered Sigmond. “They appear to be unable to detect our cloak.”
“How soon can we jump?” I asked, bringing up the star map.
“Approximately forty-five seconds," responded Sigmond. "Longer if we die.”
“Funny as always, Siggy.” I punched in the coordinates for Taurus Station, our next destination and my current home of record.
“Thank you, sir,” said the A.I. “I really do aim to please.”
The ship jerked sideways, and I gripped my chair. “The hell!” I barked.
“Shields are holding,” remarked Sigmond, an unimpressed tone in his voice. Normally, A.I.’s weren’t outfitted with personalities, but I made it a point to request one when I had Siggy commissioned. If I was going to spend weeks at a time inside this ship, it wouldn’t be with a monotone, talk-me-to-sleep artificial intelligence. “Neither side has spotted us yet, thankfully, and the cloak is holding. Both enemy shots were targeted at other ships.”
Some distance from the planet, several Master Class Cruisers lay waiting. It would be difficult to leave this area without being spotted, even with the cloak. The smaller fighters won’t be able to detect us, I thought. But those Cruisers might. “We’ll have to show ourselves soon right before we make the slip. Think we’ll have enough time?”
“I believe so, sir,” said Sigmond. “Though I may have to return fire should they spot us.”
“Let’s try to avoid a firefight, Siggy. The last thing I need is another warrant.”
“Perhaps next time you won’t bring us to such a dangerous location,” said Sigmond.
“I will if I want to eat,” I told him. “Or would you rather we not get paid?”
“There must be easier lines of work,” said Sigmond.
“Easier ain’t always better, Siggy,” I said with a grin. “I’ll take the Renegades over sitting behind a desk any day of the week, thank you very much.”
Another blast rocked the ship, this time from the rear, and the attacking vessel passed by overhead. It was an Arnesian raider. “Are we ready yet?” I asked.
“Incoming slip in twelve seconds,” said the A.I.
I watched the two fleets duke it out, with ships exploding across the battlefield like fireworks, leaving fields of floating debris in their wake. In a matter of hours, the entire orbit of this planet would fill with wreckage. Dozens of salvage crews were likely already standing by, eager to resell the parts to the open market, possibly to the very organizations involved in this fight. Ships would be rebuilt, pilots trained, and the cycle would continue. Before I joined the Renegades, I might’ve been there with them, waiting for my scraps.
Not anymore. Now I had a more active profession. Sure, it was dangerous, and I’d probably get myself killed before I turned fifty, but I’d rather die from a blaster than boredom.
“Dropping the cloak and initiating slip,” announced Sigmond.
I gripped the manual controls for the quad cannons. “Let’s do it.”
The screen showed the cloak dropping, leaving us vulnerable to detection. “Readying slip,” indicated Sigmond. “Six seconds until activation.”
I nodded. “That should be quick enough to—”
Before I could finish, two Arnesian raiders broke formation, turning toward us. “We’re being scanned,” said Sigmond. “They are readying weapons.”
I let out a quick sigh. “Can’t say I didn’t try.”
I aimed the digital reticule at the first ship, squeezing the trigger once the computer had the lock. The quad cannon sprayed a series of rapid shots at the enemy vessel, punching a six-meter hole straight through its cockpit, obliterating the pilot and setting the ship to drift like a dead fish in a calm lake.
Immediately, I turned my attention to the second, firing another wave. To my surprise, one of the shots tore through the center of its hull, splitting it apart instantly and igniting its core. The propulsion engine reacted the only way it knew how—by exploding.
The ship shattered into countless pieces of unsalvageable dust, scattering towards the planet.
The rest of my shots continued, unabated, into the darkness of space. A few fell to the planet’s surface, followed by the debris from the destroyed ships, most of which would disintegrate before it could touch the ground. My shots, however, would continue until they hit something. Part of me wondered if any of them would strike Emmerson’s plantation, but I wouldn’t stick around to find out.
I had things to do.
“Initializing slip,” said Sigmond, and suddenly, the entire battlefield vanished.
I watched as we entered the slip tunnel, the buried dimension that doubles as an express lane. Most of slipspace was still largely unexplored, but at some point, we figured out how to use it to transport ourselves across vast distances. Traveling through it wasn’t instantaneous by any means, although it was certainly faster than using normal space. Instead of taking centuries to travel from one star system to another, you only had to wait a few hours, maybe days or weeks, depending on how far apart the systems were.
Right now, I was looking at six standard hours, give or take a few minutes. That gave me time to nap and take a piss, maybe snag a sandwich. “Siggy, let me know before we’re out. I need to be alert when we get there.”
I leaned back in my chair, observing the passing lights along the slip tunnel. I had no idea what they were, and I didn’t care to learn. I wasn’t a scientist, and I liked the mystery.
I reached down beside my foot and touched the package, a metal orb, tightly secured. I’d risked my life to track down, retrieve, and deliver this thing.
Whatever it was, it must hold some kind of value, I wagered, but gods only knew if I’d ever find out. Scans had shown it to be safe, so it wasn’t a bomb or anything dangerous.
In my time running jobs, I’d pulled a few heists for collectors, so I knew this crap sold well on the market. Fools like Emmerson paid millions to have them dug from the ground and placed in a dark room, giving artificial value to a meaningless trinket. If you asked me, it all came down to someone with too much money to spend, looking for more ways to spend it.
That was fine with me, because jobs like this kept me employed.
Being a Renegade sometimes meant doing whatever job you could get, so long as it kept your ship in the sky. It meant shutting up and getting paid.
Outside of that, nothing else mattered.
Chapter 2
“Ten thousand credits,” said Fitz, pressing his thumb to the pad. “Now, give me the orb.”
“Here you go,” I said, tossing it to him.
He caught it with both his hands, right in the flab of his gut. I watched him gawk at it, studying the detailed designs engraved in the metal. “Marvelous.”
“Glad you approve,” I said.
“Oh, yes. This is great!” He smiled. “That fool Emmerson must be so pissed right now. I hope he’s ripping his hair out. Did you see his face when you took it? How angry was he?”
“It was hard to tell with all the gunfire.”
“I bet he killed one of his men after you left. He does that sometimes,” Fitz said, laughing.
“You got any other jobs for me?” I asked.
“More?” asked Fitz. “No, nothing else right now. Maybe in a few more weeks. Things are slow these days, you know?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Why you asking? You feeling an itch in the old trigger finger?”
Dammit. I could’ve used another job. “I’ve got some debts I have to square.”
“That’s too bad,” said Fitz, grinning. “You ought to make better life choices.”
“Says the guy who hired me,” I remarked, ignoring his sarcasm.
He gave me a cheeky smile. “Maybe so. Say, you wanna know what you stole?” He lifted the orb in front of me.
“Not particularly,” I said.
He chuckled before tossing it behind him. “Well, it’s nothing really. I just heard it was Emmerson’s favorite toy. He collects old trash and pretends it’s treasure. He thinks it makes him sophisticated or something.”
The orb rolled along the floor, stopping when it hit the base of his chair.
“Oh,” I said.
“When he finds out I have it, he’ll be so furious. I hope he tries to come after me. Did I tell you what he did to me?”
“He stole your territory,” I said, hoping to avoid what he was about to tell me.
No such luck.
“He did more than that! I was the only dealer in X-92 fuel for three systems until he showed up. I had a monopoly on over thirty high-demand items. Emmerson comes around and starts undercutting me on every bid. Can you believe that? He’s got no idea who he’s messing with. I’m going to—”
I turned away and started to leave. “See ya later, Fitz. Good talking to you.”
“W-Where are you going?”
“I’ve gotta be somewhere. Call me if you get another job.”
He swallowed, recomposing himself with a large grin. “Maybe I’ll have you steal the rest of his collection next time. I’ll be in touch!”
“So long, Fitz,” I said, leaving his foyer. You crazy bastard.
When I was outside, near my ship, I tapped the com in my ear. “Siggy, how’s my money looking?”
“Ten thousand credits have been transferred from multiple shell accounts into yours,” said Sigmond.
“What’s my total after the transfer?” I asked.
“Ten thousand, forty-seven credits.”
“Hold on a second. You mean I only had forty-seven credits in my account before this? Where’d the rest of it go?”
“Fuel and repair costs to the ship, as well as the new coffeemaker you installed.”
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