Starcrasher: Shades Space Opera, #1

By Rock Forsberg

A flat-broke captain. A deadly cosmic device. It's his time to save the universe.

 

Tredd Bounty's life hasn't been the same since he was kicked out of the Navy. And bouncing between shady jobs and risky missions barely keeps a roof over his head. So when he picks up a rich gig to capture a deadly device that could tear the stars apart, he keeps his incredible power at the ready: the ability to stop time itself…

 

With his eccentric team of misfits by his side, Tredd flies up against an old sweetheart, a vindictive former commander, and a shadowy force racing toward the same artifact. As they hunt for the extreme weapon, the captain uncovers a dangerous secret that could send them crashing into a fiery supernova. It's a good thing Tredd isn't the only one with hidden abilities.

 

Can Tredd reach the device in time to save the galaxy?

 

Starcrasher is the first book in the exhilarating Shades Space Opera series. If you like gritty heroes, alien encounters, and paranormal powers, then you'll love Rock Forsberg's action-packed novel.

 

Buy Starcrasher to take the action to light speed today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rock Forsberg
• Release date: Feb 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393563082

Book preview

PART 1

‘Did you ever think what happened to the wonder of our childhood? The world was once a magical place, full of exciting possibilities. Even now, in this vast universe, we are nothing more than children, understanding but a tiny slice of what really is.’

---

— Jill Faith, in the Ragust restaurant, Initia

CHAPTER ONE

Tredd’s cover was blown.

He stood in a huge lounge on the 251st floor of the Twilight building, a Spit City landmark. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a gaping view of the nearby buildings as they contrasted with the dark red storms of the gas giant, Heeg. In front of him, in the middle of the room, stood Daler Tait.

‘Tredd Bounty,’ Daler said as their eyes met. ‘Welcome to my lair.’

Daler had aged since Tredd saw him last. Silver streaks appeared near his temples and his stubble had started to grey out, but his sleeveless shirt revealed a strapping frame.

Tredd was surprised that Daler remembered him. It had been ages since the incident in Runcor.

‘It’s that obvious?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Daler said. ‘Your fumbling electrician’s outfit fools nobody. I know a bounty hunter when I see one, and only Tredd Bounty would take a break from scavenging scum to harass a reputable businessman like me.’

Tredd stood silent and surveyed the room: grey walls, white furniture on shaggy black carpets, a few glossy control items with buzzing blue lights, and tall crystal vases holding pink flowers.

‘Things being different,’ Daler continued, ‘you might have been a useful ally. We could have been friends... but you got in bed with the wrong folks.’

Tredd shrugged, and took a few steps towards Daler. As he moved, he noticed a service robot following by his side.

‘Stop right there,’ Daler said.

Tredd did, and raised his eyebrows. His eyes fixed on Daler while he remained aware of the room as a whole.

‘Good boy,’ Daler said as he opened his arms. ‘You see, I’ve just installed a new S11 field in the middle of this room, perhaps two metres from where you stand—it will scorch you on touch.’

Tredd saw the force-field generators on the walls, and, while they were nearly invisible to the eye, he could sense they were on. Most force fields just bumped you back like a physical wall, but Tredd recognised that this was a nasty one, one that would cut right through a man like a sausage slicer.

Daler gave Tredd a sly smile before continuing. ‘My time is limited,’ he said, ‘so please, let us skip the formalities. What do you want?’

Tredd shrugged. ‘I’m here to pick you up.’

Daler snorted.

‘For FIST,’ Tredd added.

Daler looked agitated. ‘Blast it, man. I know what’s going on—my intelligence bots are at work as we speak, scanning the network for any activity regarding my businesses. I knew FIST put out a warrant on me and that you were coming with your old terminal... and here you are, trying to take me to them. But the question remains... why?’

‘It’s what I do,’ Tredd said.

‘It’s what I do,’ Daler said, mocking Tredd with an evil grin. ‘Still the soldier. Do you even know why they want me?’

Tredd had no idea, and he didn’t care. He was in it for the money that FIST, the private police monopoly in Spit City, would pay for his head. In addition, the warrant specified that they also wanted his body, preferably alive.

‘Of course you don’t,’ Daler mocked, ‘but you must know that I’m not planning on meeting with those smut-suckers.’

Daler’s face turned grave; then, from behind the table, he pulled out an assault rifle.

This escalated quickly, Tredd thought. ‘I wouldn’t…’

‘How stupid are you?’

So, that’s it for the smooth in-and-out approach, Tredd thought. ‘You got me... Now tell me whatever it was that made them want you.’

‘It’s complicated… like my marriage,’ Daler said with a dry chuckle. ‘Let’s just say it involves stakes bigger than you could ever understand.’

‘The city, the planet, the universe?’

‘All of them. And as a bonus, a superweapon.’

‘A superweapon?’

‘That’s why they want me. I know all about it, but I’m not going to take it to FIST. I’m a businessman, and I know an opportunity when I see one,’ Daler said as he narrowed his eyes at Tredd, ‘and that means it’s time for you to go. I like you, sport, but I can’t have you running around poking your bits into my bytes. Server, take him down.’

‘Taking down the intruder,’ said a friendly computer-generated female voice from behind Tredd.

Tredd whipped around and saw the service robot gliding towards him, as a small hatch opened on its forehead, exposing a narrow pipe. It was a standard security feature of any service robot—the ability to shoot a tranquilliser to neutralise an infiltrator.

In a flash, Tredd dove to the side, just barely avoiding the needle as it shot from the robot’s forehead. He yanked the gun from his hip and delivered a hot burst. The robot’s head exploded, leaving only a burnt black stub of a neck. The robot fell backwards onto the plush carpet, and its white lights faded to grey.

Tredd rolled on the floor and turned to Daler, firing a single burst at his feet. He had to get him alive, but he wasn’t going to get killed in the process.

The force field between them repelled the burst in a flash of white light.

‘You should have listened to me,’ Daler said, shaking his head. ‘I really liked that robot, and now I need to call the cleaning service.’ Then he raised his rifle again and smiled. ‘Well, why not make it a good mess?’

An alert sounded, a painful noise, and red lights started to flash.

Four heavy duty cannons emerged from the walls, the door behind Tredd opened, and three security guards stepped in, holding assault rifles, dressed in black body armour, including full helmets that completely concealed their faces. Tredd wondered whether they were human or android.

Tredd could hear Daler’s annoying laugh from behind the force field.

He drew a sharp breath.

He turned his mind inward.

His complete focus became the present as his being became the centre of the universe.

The security guards shot their assault rifles and the cannons fired, but just before they hit Tredd, all the blasts froze, suspended in mid-air.

Tredd had entered a time-lapse.

He called it by that name, but nobody else knew about it. It was his secret. Entering one felt like he could merge with every atom around him, blending in with the entire universe. As the blasts froze, the colours around him faded to a washed-out black and white. The shrill clamour of the alarm was gone, and for the moment he was safe. But he also felt the drain of energy starting and could see his body bleeding atoms like grey smoke into the air around him.

He had to move quickly.

Instead of a static wall, this force field was a high frequency scan, like a slicer sweeping through thousands of times per second. Now that Tredd was in a time-lapse, it had turned into a slow-moving horizontal line of energy moving up and down between the floor and the ceiling, its movement reduced to a crawl of ten centimetres per minute. At this speed you could see most of the force field was just empty space with a thin line of the slicer creeping about. Tredd’s movement, however, was unencumbered. The time-lapse allowed him to step into another state of being, something science could not explain—at least not the science Tredd had been exposed to, which wasn’t much.

Tredd started running towards Daler, but registering the guards behind him, he stopped and turned around. He pulled a tube of paste from his electrician’s bag and ran back to the guards. He quickly stuffed paste into the barrels of each of their weapons. There was not a second to waste. His heartbeat was already pounding in his brain.

He dashed up to the force field and bent down to slip below the slow-moving slicer. Then he ran up to Daler.

He set his gun to tranquilliser mode and positioned himself behind Daler, pressing the gun against the back of Daler’s neck, and putting his left hand on his throat. As he did this, he felt his stomach turn, a nauseating feeling of something coming up his throat in any second. The pressure in his head was building up, and he was starting to feel light-headed. It was time.

He released the time-lapse.

Behind the force field, the blasts from the cannons hit the floor, scorching the carpet on four spots around where he had stood. The first blasts from the guards’ guns turned into white light as they then hit the force field. The second ones made their guns burst in their hands—the paste had done its work. Grey smoke filled the space behind the force field.

Daler winced under Tredd’s grip.

Tredd whispered in his ear, ‘I’m your cleaning service,’ and pressed the trigger.

The shot passed from the gun into Daler’s neck, felling him instantly.

Tredd was now safe behind the force field, with Daler tranquillised, but at the same time he was trapped. He could not use time-lapse for a while, and the door behind the guards was the only way out. It would not be long until the guards could deactivate the force field and get to him. He pulled up his handheld terminal and pressed the recall button for his shuttle.

Come on, he thought, urging his shuttle to hurry.

The emergency ventilation sucked up the smoke through the ceiling and Tredd could now see the guards. He noticed one of the guards had fallen on the floor, and the two remaining ones were fumbling around behind the force field like headless chickens, hands bleeding from the exploded guns. One of them darted out through the door as the other one staggered about, cursing and spattering blood on the carpet as he pressed buttons on his communications device while eyeing Tredd. There would be more guards on the way.

Tredd could see his double-winged Perisher shuttle float into view behind the panoramic window. He pulled up the shuttle’s remote control, pressed a button, and said, ‘Perisher, activate manual control.’

The screen responded, ‘Manual control activated.’

‘Turn ninety degrees left.’

The shuttle turned, its white nose now facing into the room.

‘Move forward twenty metres.’

‘Your command would result in a collision. Please confirm.’

‘Yeah, yeah, confirmed, move forward twenty metres.’

The shuttle thrust forward and crashed through the glass wall. The collision delivered a shock wave to the building that almost shook Tredd off his feet. Shards of glass burst inside the apartment, and the sudden draft blew over the carefully arranged flower vases as it suddenly became very chilly.

‘Touch down and open.’

The shuttle set down on the floor, crunching broken glass under its landing gear. It opened the side door and lowered a flight of stairs.

Tredd put his hands under Daler’s elbows and started to pull him towards the shuttle. Daler was heavy, and Tredd felt small as he dragged his thick body beyond the force field and up the stairs to the shuttle. By the time he reached the door, he was panting; that was before he felt the sudden muscle ache—perhaps a tear—on the left side of his back. He grunted and straightened his back. It didn’t help, and neither did the sight of the security coming into the room.

‘Aw, man,’ Tredd groaned as he bent down to give Daler’s large frame one last pull.

Six security guards stood poised for battle. Their faceplates enhanced their voices to a boom: ‘Stop now or we will fire!’

The warning was clearly only a formality as shots of white flames immediately began bursting against the hull, stairs and door, fortunately missing Tredd.

‘Argh!’ Tredd cried out as he pulled Daler in and dropped on the floor, panting. His back hurt, but at least he had gotten in.

‘Close the door, close it now, faster, you stupid machine!’

As the door came down, blocking the wind and the noise of the alarm, it suddenly felt very quiet. The bursts from the guards’ weapons were barely audible as they rapped against the hull of the Perisher. Still, there was no time to lose. The Perisher, an economical two-seater with a lightweight chassis, was no fighter.

Neither, Tredd noticed, was the unconscious Daler. His own security forces had hit him in the right leg, turning his foot into a black mess.

Bet they’ll cut this from my pay, Tredd thought.

He jumped into the cockpit and lifted off. In reverse, he flew the shuttle out through the blasted window and swung it around before swooping down to the devilish maze that was Spit City.

CHAPTER TWO

Spit City had its place on the list of the wonders of the galaxy. It was built on a small moon around planet Heeg, which gave its days and nights a distinctive dark red glow not found anywhere else in the known universe. But maybe the most striking aspect of the city was that it covered the whole moon, which had only a fifty-kilometre circumference. The highest buildings were more than a kilometre tall, and made the whole moon city look like a giant ball of titanium spikes. There was nothing else but the tall dark buildings with their minuscule windows. Since the artificial atmosphere had been set up, Spit City had drawn in settlers and visitors from the farthest corners of the universe. If there ever were anything you wanted, how weird, unlikely or perverse, you would find it in Spit City. Although it had become more cultured since its inception as an early Dawn Alliance prison colony, it still held many a dark corner.

After handing Daler over to FIST, Tredd flew the Perisher shuttle into a tight alleyway between two tall obsidian buildings, and through an unassuming entrance to a dimly lit hangar. He landed on a pod that, once he was out, was going to take the rental shuttle back to the lot where it had come from.

Tredd swallowed to ease the lingering nausea as he walked across the empty landing dock, his head still throbbing from the time-lapse. Bright green signs that showed the path to the returns office did no favours in relieving his pain. Instead of following the path, however, Tredd took a turn from the designated route and opened an unmarked door.

He slipped into a dark grey corridor and pulled open a second nondescript door. He entered a large room filled with screens, lights, and equipment, the purpose of which Tredd could only guess. The air smelled of dry electricity.

His old pal, Gus, a sturdy, white-bearded, bald man wearing classic button suspenders, was hunched over a large metallic box. He owned this Shuttler-shop franchise, which, with its gimmicky green front, served to cover what he referred to as an ‘intelligence business’. They never really discussed what it meant, but Tredd was content in knowing that Gus would arrange for him any ship he required, no questions asked.

Gus grunted, trying to pick up the box, but it seemed too heavy for him. He sighed with defeat and raised his head. ‘What’s up?’

A smile appeared on Tredd’s lips as their eyes met. ‘You need help with that?’

Gus grunted. ‘Whatever…’

Tredd walked up to him, and they lifted the box together. Grabbing the cool handle, Tredd found it wasn’t too heavy—he could have lifted two of those boxes by himself. Gus was definitely getting weaker with age.

‘Why not install some mods? Could do this yourself… Where do you want this?’

Gus released his grip and sighed. ‘Just there, beside that shelf. I don’t see many mods on you either.’

Fair point. Tredd carried the box over and set it down on the concrete floor. ‘Good?’

‘Beautiful. Thanks, mate. How was your gig?’

‘Too easy,’ he said. It wasn’t exactly true, but he had to keep up appearances. ‘Picked up the man and delivered him to FIST. Their capture crew gave me a bit of a rap for his condition, but it should be fine. The Perisher was ace… I owe you big time.’

‘Yes, you do. Wanna fix me up now?’

‘Of course.’

‘Let me see,’ Gus said. He sat down in front of a screen and pulled up the data about the Perisher. ‘Multiple blast damage and a collision to a building… Not too bad, soldier.’

Tredd chuckled. Gus was right, he had had it much worse.

‘Here’s what you owe me,’ Gus said, pointing at the screen. ‘You good with that?’

Tredd nodded and confirmed the funds transfer, regardless of his low balance. On returning Daler, the plump capture crew officer of FIST had told him there would be reductions from the bounty due to Daler’s condition. This was expected, but seeing the receipt in the system had left his mouth hanging open. After deducting the costs of Daler’s revival from a too strong a tranquilliser, provision of a new leg, damage to shuttles on lower levels, information security scans, and finally taxes, Tredd had pocketed 10% of the advertised bounty.

‘We’re all done here,’ Gus said.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Tredd said. He looked around the room full of screens, lights, wires and boxes. ‘Did you need a hand with anything else? While I was here I—’

‘Trust me, I’m good, and I’ve got work to do.’

‘All right, I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again.’ Tredd stretched out his hand, and Gus grabbed it. They locked eyes.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ Gus said.

‘Thanks for an open chequebook,’ Tredd said, and stepped out to the corridor smiling.

He walked past the brightly lit shop front, where a perky shop assistant in a tight green Shuttler-shop branded uniform greeted him from between two standard white shuttles. The brightness of it all hurt Tredd’s head. He dismissed her and stepped into the elevator that was going to take him down to an ancient magnarail station for a cheap ride home.

Shady rain poured down outside Tredd’s stained window. A few days had passed since Tredd had delivered Daler to FIST, and since then he had been mostly lounging in his apartment, drinking, scouring the Dawn Network, and pondering his life while letting it slip right between his fingers. The headache from the time-lapse still lingered in the back of his head. It was like a hangover that lasted for days, and to which there was no cure. Alcohol made it better for a while. A medibot had diagnosed his lower back pain as a strain, and offered painkillers. They worked wonders, and he should have started to exercise his back by now, but he felt stiff and out of steam.

Tredd’s apartment was on the lower levels, and from his two small windows he could mostly see the opposite building. If he put his head right beside one corner, he could see another one. This was not exactly what he planned for himself.

As a child, he had wanted to become a professional hover-bike racer. He had started riding a modified bike, which he called Rover, when he was just five. Racing in the Pit, a muddy piece of land between the native trees of Southern Dandelia on the outskirts of Initia, he had dreamed of fantastic tracks in Five Ways, New America, Darnison, and Shin-Chuong, all which he had planned visiting as a professional. He had dreamed of marrying Jill, the most beautiful girl he knew, and living with a family of four blonde, curly-haired children, near a peaceful sea on Eura, or perhaps on another planet with even more beautiful a star, two moons and halcyon skies.

He had never planned his current pitiful existence, but as life turned out for so many people, plans were not the same as reality. The past was gone, and thinking about it made him only feel nostalgia for the green and clear seas of Eura, his home. Once it was the secret place he could take his mind to in a time of trouble, but now it only served to depress him.

Delivering Daler didn’t help much. After the deductions, the net bounty had only covered the Perisher and a few unpaid bills. Nothing remained for him to save and soon he would need another gig.

Tredd realised the mission did have some positive outcomes. He got out without a scratch—well, there was the strain—and he had delivered. He had removed a piece of harmful blast-scatter from the city, settling a long due debt with the Tait brothers.

He remembered all too well the bunkers of Runcor, back in the days of Taits’ power. Usher Tait, the eldest of three brothers, had offered a gig to a number of tough guns for hire. It had been a typical briefing until an Andron bounty hunter with a full skeletal upgrade had recognised Tredd. Putting the finger on him, the Andron had broken the news on how Tredd, as a Dawn Alliance Navy officer, had helped uncover people who wanted to stay hidden — including one of the Taits’ weapons suppliers. Regarded as a two-faced vermin, Tredd had been lucky to get out of Runcor alive.

After the incident in Runcor, the Taits had made sure everyone knew of Tredd’s work in the navy, destroying the little reputation he had been building for himself. Since then, two of the brothers had been blown up in space in a skirmish with a rival group, and Daler Tait had regressed to being a small-time criminal in Spit City. At the same time, Tredd had been slowly rebuilding his reputation with carefully selected clientele such as FIST. Now the circle had come to a close: the last of the Tait brothers was put away. FIST never specified why they wanted Daler, but one thing was for sure: he was not going to see light of day for a long time.

While getting rid of Daler had brought him joy, the gig didn’t push him closer to getting out of Spit City. Quite the opposite. Unless he found a real way of making money, this city would be the end of him. His failure in the navy had left him outside the Dawn Alliance welfare network. He had no pension to look forward to, but rather a high-interest debt to cover the costs of the debacle. It took over three quarters of his income, and would take more than a hundred years to pay back—and that was when he was doing well. He did not want to think about it.

Tredd poured another glass of brown Kikuchian spirit in his empty tumbler and took a sip. The comforting burn traced down his gullet, and he let out a long sigh.

He looked around. This is what I’ve gotten to, he thought, alone in the lower levels of Spit City. In this tiny bunker of an apartment. With no way up and no way out. Only death. I’m stuck in this bloody hell as long as I live.

Bounty hunting was a tedious job. You had to be street smart and know what was happening around you—including the latest tech developments—because the guy you were up against could be anyone, with anything. There were enhanced brains, muscles, eyes and ears, titanium body parts, brain extenders, finger-embedded knives and guns, life extensions, brain carriers, wheels and wings—if you could imagine it, someone already had it. No matter what you did, you could never prepare for everything. The entropy of development had just galloped away, and you had to rely on a few good strategies that worked for you. For Tredd it was the time-lapse, and there was no way he was going to risk it with a body mod.

Without the time-lapse he would have been dead. It was worth dozens of lives. He could race anything that moved, shoot hostile people and monsters, fight in hand-to-hand combat, and lead troops to battle—he had been a goddamn captain of a battle cruiser. Had been.

While the time-lapse provided him with an inhuman capability, it also took a price. Every time he used it, he swore it would be the last time. There was the headache, but that was not it. It was the dread. The infinite blackness that sucked out his life force and left him empty, like an abandoned fuel cell. It pulled him down to a deep dark well of depression, and at the bottom he faced the glowing yellow eyes that saw right through him. There were always the eyes, and they pulled him in. They were in his dreams, but also those wakeful moments when the dark slipped into his consciousness. They always followed a time-lapse.

Time-lapse was his blessing and it was his curse; it was part of who he was, and it had everything to do with his present situation.

What is a suspended, heart-broken, and delusional ex-military man good for anyway? Tredd thought and emptied his glass with a one big gulp. He eased down on his couch and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Tredd woke up to an annoying electric chime.

The hot-screen on his wall was telling him about an incoming video call. Who calls me at this hour, and on video? he thought, but answered without the video, just to stop the sound.

It was FIST. Their red and black logo came on the screen: a highly stylised graphic of a fist, made out of five rectangles representing fingers, with a circle around it. In your face! it seemed to shout—even without the upwards middle finger the mockers drew on it. The logo spun around and revealed a young man dressed in the standard red and black FIST uniform. Tredd had never seen the guy before. He had short black hair, combed to the sides with a parting that was sharp as a blade. In contrast to his looks, his eyes looked around as if at a loss, and he coughed to clear his throat.

‘Tristram Boxley, we assume you can hear and see us.’

Tredd hadn’t heard that name for a long time. He waited for a while, letting the boy on the screen clear his throat before he responded. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

‘Good,’ the boy said, unable to hide his relief. ‘I am here to inform you that you have been summoned to a mission briefing at the FIST headquarters tomorrow at ten hundred hours.’ The boy held his breath as he waited.

‘OK, tell me, what is it about?’

‘The matter is confidential, and will be explained to you upon arrival. Please note that a failure to comply with a summoning is a criminal offence with a minimum fine of one thousand teradollars. Do you have any questions?’

‘No,’ Tredd said, and leaned back in this chair, hands behind the back of his head. He did have questions, a whole lot of them, but it was clear that this fellow knew nothing. He was only a young messenger. Tredd wanted to tell them to piss off, but he refrained. You didn’t bite the hand that fed you, however annoying they became.

‘Goodbye,’ the boy said, and his face gave way to the FIST logo. After a few seconds, that too disappeared to the standard stand-by wall pattern.

Tredd rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sure for a while if what he had seen on the screen was real or just a fantasy. He had never been summoned, and while his first thought was that he was going to court—perhaps because of the dozens of occasions he had broken law or property while on their missions—he realised the boy had said it was about a mission briefing.

Normally FIST just posted their jobs on the Dawn Network. This was something different. Tredd hoped there was money in the end. Being a non-citizen, he needed it desperately.

FIST was a like a force of nature. Nobody seemed to know how it had come about or who actually controlled it. All knowledge was hidden behind a tightly controlled organisational structure with multiple layers of clearance. The highest level Tredd had ever talked to was six, and he had never heard of anyone at level three or above. While Tredd was a free agent, as long as he operated in Spit City he was chained to FIST. Any other jobs were few and far between, and seldom offered a feasible risk-to-reward ratio. He could have applied to work for FIST, to enjoy a steady income with prospects of upward mobility, but after the navy exiled him he never wanted to join a large organisation again.

The next morning, after another night of medicine-induced dreamless sleep, Tredd pulled his shuttle up to the side of the Pentafol building somewhere around the 160th floor—the main entrance to the FIST headquarters.

He was led up through vile brown-and-black-patterned corridors to a room where three men in standard red and black FIST uniforms sat behind an angular desk. If FIST acted at all in their usual way, they were not going to introduce themselves. The room was spacious, and had little in terms of decor, except the curvy pattern on the wall, which seemed to accentuate the table.

‘Mr Boxley, please sit down,’ said the oldest of the three, gesturing towards a small, uncomfortable-looking chair in front of them. Tredd assumed the man was the oldest as his hair was grey and his face had heavy lines. He looked upright, like a soldier who was used to giving orders standing, not sitting down. He was clearly the boss.

Tredd sat down on the hard chair, its metal feet giving away a creak.

‘My name is Sarthon Exxoc,’ the boss said with an austere expression. ‘I run the interstellar operations.’

Wow, an introduction… That was grand, and with a Head of Interstellar Ops? Tredd thought. The man must have been the highest-ranking FIST officer he had ever come across—a least level three.

‘And this here is Lincoln Lyford.’ Sarthon Exxoc gestured towards the skinny man on his left. In contrast to his boss, this junior looked like he had not been anywhere else than behind a desk and would fall down if you handed him an assault rifle. ‘He’s from Finance.’

Figures, Tredd thought, as the finance guy nodded with a face of a serious child.

‘And here,’ Mr Exxoc said, gesturing towards the bearded man on his right, ‘is Hugo Rembon from Mobilisation.’

Hugo flashed a smile and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. Size-wise, he went right in between his boss and the junior. His suit fitted him perfectly, especially when compared to the pencil-neck’s jacket, which was a size too large, and the creases on their superior’s lapel. A relaxed gaze above his triangular nose made him appear the most approachable of the three.

‘Well, I guess you know me already,’ Tredd said, and lifted his right leg to his left knee.

‘That’s right, we know all about you Mr Boxley,’ the pencil-neck from Finance started, and as he did Tredd knew he was not going to become friends with the man—while he appeared soft, his snarly voice betrayed his intentions. ‘And it is only fair for us to tell a little about ourselves. We acknowledge the services you have performed over the past few years, and assume you recognise our role as the servants of the public of Spit City.’

Tredd nodded, wondering where this was going.

‘But that is not all… As you might know, we provide a broad range of banking, insurance, health, and protection services to our private and business clients. With our vast resources, we are positioned—’

‘Wait a minute.’ Tredd raised his hand. ‘You didn’t bring me here to talk about my finances? If you want to sell me something, you’re wasting your time.’

‘Your finances,’ the bearded mobilisation man, Hugo, said, and chuckled. Tredd couldn’t figure out if he was his senior or junior—you never knew the age of a man with a full beard with a reddish tinge, did you? The man continued, ‘We know all about your finances—and trust us, there would be over a hundred million inhabitants our system would pick as more prospective clients before it picked you. We know all about your situation.’

Tredd raised his eyebrows. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

‘Well,’ Lincoln the pencil-neck started, ‘where do we begin… You started off as a juvenile criminal, were deported from your homeland and sent to an intergalactic assault force of the Dawn Alliance Navy, made up of fellows just like you, where you somehow managed to get into a position of a captain. Getting comfortable, you tried to play them, and it was only a matter of time before your leadership found out what you were up to and dismissed you. Now you scrape whatever missions come your way, but without a team you can count on, risking your life to pay back your debts, on a steep downhill slope to—’

‘You brought me here for this?’ Tredd stood up. ‘I’m leaving!’

‘Look at you—you have seen thirty-five years, look like fifty, and act like fifteen,’ Hugo said with open arms. ‘The last time you brought us a man without a leg.’

Tredd wanted to object. Daler had a leg when he brought him in. Whatever happened afterwards was out of his hands. Before he could say anything, the Sarthon Exxoc raised his thick arm. ‘Enough. We brought you here because we want to offer you a job.’

A job? Tredd felt confused. ‘Well, this has been a weird way of going about it—why don’t you just put it onto the Dawn Net like you normally do?’

‘This is job is different,’ Mr Exxoc said with a commanding voice. He sat tall between his minions, who were placid at his sides like a tiger and a dragon, waiting to be sprung upon command. ‘To complete the assignment, you must travel out of Spit City, and out of this solar system. There is a device we want you to find and deliver.’

The mission is outside Spit City. Of course—Interstellar Ops was involved. Interstellar travel multiplied the risks involved, but the opportunity to get out—perhaps abandoning the mission and not returning—was quite intriguing.

Tredd sat down. ‘What kind of device is it?’

Mr Exxoc stared down at Tredd with a face of stone. ‘It is a weapon. Something that threatens the existence of everyone in Spit City.’ He paused—in perfect silence and stillness—and continued with a low voice, ‘but also the solar system, the galaxy… possibly the universe. ‘

There was a moment of silence. Waiting for him to continue, Tredd traced the brown lines on the wall with his eyes. He found these antics very theatrical. ‘Well, isn’t that always the case?’

Hugo from Mobilisation touched his collar, and Linc from Finance turned a paper in his hands, both eyeing their superior, seemingly unsure about what to say.

‘No,’ the boss said with a heavy sigh. ‘This is different, and you helped us uncover it.’

‘I did?’

‘In his brain, Daler Tait held information about the whereabouts of the device. That was the final piece of the puzzle we needed.’

Hugo nodded with a close-lipped smile.

‘What happened to him?’

Linc grinned, showing his small yellow teeth. ‘What do you care?’

‘He’s in the hold,’ the boss said. ‘A brain in a box, if you know what I mean.’

Tredd knew, but he was unsure if he should be happy or not. They had gotten Daler for some obscure reason, different to what Tredd had thought, and now they had him suffer as a head in a box. Would they do the same to me if I got on their wrong side? he thought, but brushed the thought away. Thinking like that will never get me out of Spit City.

‘So, about the device,’ he said. If he was to find it, he needed to know. ‘What exactly is it?’

‘It is now confirmed from multiple sources that the device in question is able to rapidly reverse the expansion of the universe—causing the stars to start crashing into each other, bringing about the next Big Bang. We call it the Starcrasher.’

‘But what does it is look like?’ Tredd asked, eying the thin row of bright LEDs that made a circle of light on the ceiling, like it was a weapon that could concentrate energy to move stars. ‘I guess it’s not a gun, or is it?’

‘Unfortunately the shape or the composition of the device is still unknown to us. What we do know is that for some reason the device cannot be activated yet. Our highest probability scenario is that it is still being prepared and safeguarded by someone waiting to unleash its powers.’

‘Who do you think would want to crash the universe?’

‘We don’t know—perhaps the New Existentialists want to deliver the big rip, or the Kisha Clan intend to use it as a threat to rise up to the Dawn Alliance. With the information we have it is impossible—’

‘What do you want of it?’

The boss took a deep breath. ‘We want to get rid it. A device like that should not be allowed exist. However, it would be unwise to blast it away. Before we render it harmless, we want to understand how it was made, track its origin, and make sure similar devices will not be created. Destroying one would just bring about another. You must bring it back for research.’

Whatever you say, Tredd thought. To him it sounded like FIST wanted to add another piece to their arsenal. It started to sound almost like… ‘What if it was the Dawn Alliance Navy’s doing?’ Tredd asked.

‘That possibility cannot be completely discounted, but as far as we know, they don’t know any more than we do. Our intelligence indicates that they have interests in relation to the device, and are after it too. The bottom line is that whatever it takes, you must find to the device, secure it, and bring it back to us.’

‘I must, if I choose to take up your crazy mission,’ Tredd said, and held his breath to emphasise the point ‘And that, my stiff-suited friends, depends on how much you are going to pay.’

‘If I were you,’ the Mr Exxoc said, ‘I would not be worried about the compensation.’

Tredd looked at the man, his face a question mark. ‘What does that mean?’

Sarthon Exxoc turned to Lincoln Lyford, who looked somewhat restless. ‘Go ahead, tell him.’

‘Well,’ the pencil-neck started, looking down, his hands moving about the screen in front of him, ‘the monetary compensation for delivering the device to us in a functional condition is fixed at five million teradollars.’

Holy goddess of Efia. With five million, he could easily leave Spit City and set himself up for a new life on a nice distant planet with abundant beaches. He reconsidered the idea of abandoning the mission, because while he would get out of the city, he’d still be penniless and outside the welfare system. On the other hand, with the reward he could pay off his debts and set himself up for a good life. The job suddenly sounded interesting, but something nagged in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was that it all felt too good to be true. The story the suits were selling him was too weird, too vague, like something from a poorly written on-demand flick.

‘What do you say?’ the pencil-neck asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

‘We are ready to respond to any questions you might have,’ the bearded man added. ‘You will also receive a full briefing, should you choose to accept.’

Tredd leaned back and crossed his arms. ‘Last time I got a fraction of what you promised. Barely covered my expenses—’

‘This is different,’ the pencil-neck said. ‘Fixed compensation means there will be no reductions. In addition, we will provide you with a ship, and cover your out-of-pocket expenses, such as fuel or crew.’

This can’t be real. Tredd squinted his eyes. ‘What’s the catch?’

‘There’s no catch.’ The pencil-neck shrugged.

‘I mean,’ Tredd said, leaning forward, ‘why do you want me, specifically me, when you have hundreds of operatives who are likely to cost way less than five million?’

‘Good question,’ Mr Exxoc said with a slow nod. ‘We selected you not only because of your experience as a bounty hunter in our service, but also your tour of service as a captain of a battleship. That experience will come in handy—and while our operatives are well trained and yes, they are cheaper than you, they don’t necessarily possess the same kind of… the word escapes me, but let’s say, on this one, your lack of respect for the authority will be an asset.’

Tredd was thinking of showing some lack of respect to this man, but bit his lip and stared at the three with a blank face. ‘And how would that be, sir?’

Sarthon Exxoc chuckled—the first flicker of emotion on that stony face. ‘You are a man of humour after all. On a serious note, you will be going against the Dawn Alliance Navy. Our intelligence has it that they are seeking the device as well. They wish to use it to build a new type of weapon, capable of destroying stars, to increase their rule over the galaxy. Make no mistake, I want to emphasise that the navy must not get the device.’

So there was a catch after all. Going against the Dawn Alliance meant that living as a free man had just gotten closer to