Randolph Lalonde - Spinward Fringe Broadcast 08 - Renegades (3 page)

The second war in the
sector was based in trade, and the Warlord had every reason to watch
and learn from that mess. It was like the big war in the area,
undeclared, but fought tooth and nail regardless. Too many companies
to count fought to get their cargo through and around the Iron Head
Nebula, to and from the Order of Eden frontline. They hauled
everything from raw materials to slaves, and the competition for
contracts as well as the rivalries between companies often became
lethal. Add in a liberal smattering of pirate crews who preyed on
these cargo haulers and messenger vessels, and you ended up with a
mess that presented as much danger as it did opportunity. The Warlord
had managed to steal two cargo trains without firing a shot, hacking
one ship’s main computer and simply menacing another into dropping
its cargo train and making a run for it. Captain Jacob Valent knew
how to pick his targets, but it involved a lot of intelligence
gathering and careful timing. The survival supplies and equipment
were delivered to the Triton, where they were parcelled out and
distributed to Haven Shore after the Warlord staff took their pick of
the prizes, resupplying the ship and taking equipment vital to its
reconstruction.

The last of the three
wars was the most difficult to watch. The Order of Eden and Regent
Galactic were on the other side of the Iron Head Nebula, expanding
their territory and routing distant armies. The largest of the
opponents in the sector, the British Alliance, had declared war.
However, after no combat between them and the Order, they withdrew
their declaration after agreeing on a border they called The
Frontier. It was endlessly frustrating, watching the largest power in
the sector go on as though what was happening in the adjacent areas
had nothing to do with them. This was the war the Warlord gathered
intelligence for, constantly hacking into computer systems of all
sizes, spying on the few Order of Eden officers in port, and tagging
ships hired by Regent Galactic to transport their manufactured goods
to the frontlines. They had recorder tags on hundreds of active
vessels that collected and retransmitted communications and unsecure
data. Minh-Chu couldn’t help but see the intelligence gathering as
the Warlord’s deep breath before issuing the war cry and charging
into battle.

His thoughts returned
back to the present, and to their activities on the planet. Vinuto,
named after the resource-heavy solar system it called home, had
become one of the biggest trade centres in only a few months. If you
wanted to buy and sell supplies over any of the lines drawn through
the warring sectors, chances were you’d end up on or near Vinuto.
The same law stood if you were a freebooter preying on the mercenary
traders or shippers. All were welcome, and in many areas, like the
commerce centre the Warlord crew were visiting, law was lax. The
local business owners were responsible for their own security and for
meting out the punishment for breaking the local laws.

“Yeah, so if I can’t
use this, I’m going to get something with real kick,” Kipley
said, starting to get up.

Minh-Chu elbowed him in
the shoulder, putting Kipley off-balance just enough to send him back
into his chair. “An impatient man will find balance elusive,”
Minh-Chu said just loud enough for his charge to hear. Stephanie
Vega, the first officer of the Warlord, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Stop doing that!”
Kipley shouted at Minh-Chu. “I’m not some private you can push
around! I bet there’s a thousand ships in port who could use a guy
like me, and I could find work right here.”

He’d made the threat
before, and Minh-Chu knew he should ignore it, but couldn’t resist
turning it around. “Please, go ahead.”

Kipley stared at him,
furious. Minh-Chu turned his attention to Agameg and a few other
crewmembers as they made their way through the crowd bearing two
trays heavy with mugs and pitchers.

“Fine then,” Kipley
said, starting to get to his feet.

Minh-Chu elbowed him
again, kicking his foot out from under him at the same time. Kipley
spilled out of his chair, sending the flimsy seat into the table
behind them. He scrambled to his feet in time to come face to face
with the eight human men and women behind Minh-Chu’s table. They
glared as though Kipley had interrupted the most important meeting of
the century.

For reasons Minh-Chu
didn’t care to ponder, Kipley righted his chair and quietly sat
down across from him. He and Seamus Frost had found that there was no
limit to how far you could push Jack Kipley; the man just wouldn’t
leave, no matter how miserable his social existence became. “Sleep
with one eye open,” hissed Kipley. Threats weren’t uncommon,
however.

Minh-Chu raised his
glass as though toasting the idiot sitting across the table and took
a sip of his herbal drink. It was unlike Minh-Chu to provoke or tease
anyone, but Kipley was a rich and worthy target. He was Lucius
Wheeler’s former first officer, and a child of Freeground. He’d
leered at and groped several women on the crew, including Ashley and
Nerine, picked fights with a few others, and had a habit of making a
bad situation worse. On the other hand, Kipley was a walking trove of
information, and the more Minh-Chu and Frost pissed him off, the more
he revealed to other crewmembers about where he’d been and what
he’d seen while he was whining about his problems. To Minh-Chu, it
was the longest but most effective interrogation he’d ever heard
of, and Kipley had no idea it was happening. The ship idiot would
spend plenty of time venting that evening.

“Hello, Ronin,
Stephanie,” Agameg said, smiling at them. The Issyrian’s big
green eyes and smooth face made the smile seem comically exaggerated.
Agameg had learned how to fortify his skin against foreign
environments, a skill that took members of his race a long time to
master. The result was a rounder-faced, smoother-skinned Agameg who
seemed more confident on planet-side visits. The cilia that once
lined his facial features were hidden, and humans who weren’t used
to an Issyrian’s native features felt more comfortable around him.

“Hey, Agameg, you
wouldn’t happen to have an extra mug for Kipley, here?” Minh-Chu
asked.

“I have several extra
mugs,” Agameg replied, putting a frosted mug in front of Kipley and
filling it with fizzy amber liquid from one of the pitchers. “They
say Munger Draft is the easiest drinking beverage in the Grand
Concourse.”

“Thanks,” Kipley
said, regarding the mug, which was half filled with liquid and half
with foam. “Too bad you can’t pour worth a damn.”

Agameg was frozen in
place for a moment, until he blinked one eye at a time and moved on
to pass out the rest of the mugs. He took his seat once one pitcher
had been poured out. “I think Frost and Finn will be here shortly.
The captain is meeting a friend not far from here, so he may be along
if he has time.”

“Is he still walking
around without a disguise?” Stephanie asked.

“He said there are
plenty of notable captains in port, so many that he and the Warlord
are minor players,” Agameg said.

“That’s a yes,”
Stephanie said. “A notable captain is still a noticeable captain,
who cares how many others are around?”

“I spoke to him about
that,” Agameg replied, nodding. “I believe I could mimic him well
enough to pass, but he told me that he doesn’t need a double, and
the Warlord is more of a failure here than a danger, since we haven’t
taken any prizes by force yet.”

“He’s right about
that,” Kipley said, refilling his mug in a slow, artful pour that
kept foam to a minimum. “I thought we’d be taking merchant ships
down by now, making real money. I should’ve known better.”

Kipley’s comment
quieted the table, and Minh-Chu was relieved to hear human music
start drifting across the sea of people. It was artificially created
pop starring a fabricated voice that tapped into the mathematical
formulae for sexy sound and motivational appeal rather than actual
inspiration, but at least he could tap his foot to it.

“The show’s about
to start,” Stephanie said, pointing to the arched main entrance as
Finn walked in with a small crate under his arm. He strode with so
much self-importance that it was almost comical to Minh-Chu, and he
was only outdone by Seamus Frost, who followed a few paces behind.

With a practiced
flourish, Finn placed the short crate on the floor and stepped away,
as rigid as a rail. Frost stepped onto the crate, not so much as
glancing at it, his gaze falling over the numerous tables in front of
him. “I bet he pulls five qualified crew in,” Kipley said. “I’ll
put three pips on it.”

“I bet he’ll sign
four,” Minh-Chu said. It earned him a punch on the leg from
Stephanie. “He pulled three the first time and four the last,”
Minh-Chu explained. “Just playing the odds.”

“I bet he pulls
seven,” Stephanie said to Minh-Chu with an exaggerated sneer.

Frost’s silent
theatrics didn’t go unnoticed. The first two rows of tables were
turning to look at the heavyset man with the thick brows. Frost’s
clothing spoke as loudly as his demeanour; he was dressed in heavy
survival armour that featured extra horizontal strips of shielding
and a helmet so sturdy only the face shielding could retract. His
normal bulk was formed in such a way that he seemed stout and
powerful. “I call for your eyes and ears,” he commanded, his
voice amplified by his suit. A glass hurtled towards him, smashing
against his energy shielding. He didn’t grant the thrower so much
as a glance. “I’m here to call on the bravest, the craziest, and
the greediest of you,” Frost started, putting all his vocal weight
on ‘greediest,’ to the crowd’s amusement. “I’ve seen the
fight, aye, more times than I can count, and come through it like the
hell-sent bastard I am, hungry for more. That’s because I fight for
the fastest, hardest ship you’ve ever seen.” To Minh-Chu’s
amazement, Frost had their attention. He’d changed his speech –
it was more over the top than ever. “The marks on my armour were
earned in combat with those damned Regent Galactic thieves and damned
Eden machines. I’ve even had it out with Carans and Order of Eden
ships. We came through under the direction of the greatest combat
leadership and teamwork of our generation. The ship I serve is
looking for qualified gunners and crew to join the fight.”

“You expect us to
waste our lives fighting with you on that planet hopper?” shouted a
woman behind Minh-Chu.

“No, and we’re not
going out just to fight those whoresons, we’re going out to steal
their supplies, their machinery, their ships. And we’ll be slagging
what we leave behind. This isn’t a fight for revenge, my good lass,
this is a fight for hard cash. Our service to war comes in close
second. We take more loot on one run than any ship here does in
three, and we have our own safe harbour.”

“Here they go,”
Stephanie whispered to Minh-Chu. Dozens of crewmembers were making
their way out of the barroom, most of them wearing company uniforms.
They weren’t lining up to volunteer, they were leaving the presence
of a pirate, a crewman who would, under different circumstances, be
blasting their ships and stealing their cargo. “We’re up,
Agameg,” she told him, and they both casually left the table to
follow the larger crews while avoiding notice.

“This is a just war,”
Frost shouted. “One that should be fought by every able body, but
that doesnae mean we can’t make a killing while we’re fighting
for the right side!” His conclusion was met with cheers, applause,
and jeers in nearly equal measure. Minh-Chu was starting to
understand the motivation behind the over-the-top reaction Frost got
out of crowds every time he put on his show. The people weren’t
reacting to the contents of his speech – well, most of them weren’t
– but the theatrical presentation. Live entertainment was still
worth something, perhaps more than ever in the absence of artificial
intelligences, and Minh-Chu had to admit: Frost knew how to put on a
show.

“I’ll be at that
table, right there,” Frost announced, pointing to a nearby table
that only moments ago had a crew from a Noro Co. ship sitting around
it. “Line up if you think you’re ready to kick some ass and make
some cash.”

“Why doesn’t he
just post a notice on the board like everyone else?” Kipley asked,
annoyed.

“Because the people
we want are here, dumbass. We don’t need some innocent scrub from
Harvest Side who thinks he’s signing up for adventure and profit,”
replied Shanda, one of the only security officers who were registered
with Haven Shore before signing up for service on the Warlord.

Kipley glared at her.
“You watch that mouth, little miss,” he started.

Minh-Chu took Kipley’s
freshly refilled mug out of his hand and splashed the contents on the
floor. “You’re done, and on your way back to the ship.”

“You mother-“

“I’ll freeze your
suit and leave you behind,” Minh-Chu said, slamming the mug on the
table. “Test me.”

Kipley and Minh-Chu
stared at each other for the better part of a minute. The eight
crewmembers from the Warlord didn’t even consider interrupting.
“Back. To. The. Shuttle. Now,” Minh-Chu finally grunted, so fed
up with the man that he was beyond tempted to harden Kipley’s
vacsuit so he couldn’t move, an act called ‘freezing,’ strip
him of the little gear he had, and leave him behind, damn the
consequences.

Kipley abruptly stood
and started for the exit. Minh-Chu followed. “Watch Frost’s
operation then follow him back,” he said to the Warlord crewmembers
left at the table. He didn’t realize his hand was resting on his
sidearm until Shanda glanced at it, wide eyed. Minh-Chu left it there
as he followed a dozen paces behind the tantrum-driven Kipley.

Perspective