Traveling Tyrant: High Stakes

By Richard Marsden

The government of Earth has decided to wage war, on Mordid personally, and unite mankind under their unrelenting, loving embrace. Faced with the prospect of a war far beyond his scope and perhaps his means, Mordid flees to the hidden casino of the Three Regrets, either to find answers or to hide. Meanwhile, Earth unleashes an old foe that will s

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tyrant Industries
• Release date: Apr 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9780999290361

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The Traveling Tyrant: High Stakes

By Richard Marsden

Copyright 2010, All Rights Reserved

ISBN 13 - 978-0-9992903-5-4

Edited by – Cara Patterson

Cover Art by – Ksenia Kozhevnikova

Formatted by – Henry Snider

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, recording, photocopying or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Incidents, names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual locales or events or persons living or dead is coincidental.

The Traveling Tyrant Series

Paradisa Lost

Casual Fridays

Audacity of Pope

High Stakes

End Road

The Truly Most Greatest Battle Ever

For Cara, the Editor

I

Upper Arm -Shipyard System-

The controller sat at his dirty panel, looking out a dirty viewport at a dirty space. Space could be dirty. High in orbit on the station known simply as Shipyard, he looked at a brown, ugly world smudged by the black plumes of unremitting strip mining; all was dirt and pollution. Even the air the controller breathed had a dirty smell to it as if he were on the world’s surface. The air had the scent of oil, of hot steel, of grime. The smells of labor and industry. Here, in the Upper Arm, the Shipyard built, repaired, and bought and sold ships. They were not graceful craft, nor advanced, but they were durable. Dirty and durable. Often for the dirty business of hired out war.

The communication panel barked and blared. A signal pounded through on all channels. The controller cursed and lurched up in his worn seat, nearly knocking over a hot cup of Wake Me Up! with his arm. Tipping back his billed hat, he pressed a button to hear what exactly was emitting from transpace.

It was music, something akin to an anthem. Words came soon after the music.

United forever in combat and valor,

Our mighty fleet will ever endure.

The great Traveling Tyrant will live through the ages.

The dream of investors their profits secure.

The controller grunted. Mordid? He hadn’t heard of the Tyrant’s impressive fleet in some time. He smacked a button to try to kill the message. It was clogging up every channel. He imagined on every ship, in every deep mine, throughout the station, and on the planet below, the music was playing.

Quit it, he spat.

A chorus answered him.

Long live our Traveling Tyrant, guided by Mordid’s mighty chant.

Long live our Company and onwards in the name of Me!

Strong in our partnership tried by fire. Long may our crimson fist inspire,

Shining in fear for all men to see.

The controller rolled his eyes. When you guys emerge, I’m gonna see that the station director Reltz fines you and—

He cut himself off as the Tyrant’s flagship, the impressive Merciless, appeared out of transpace so close to the station that it was unsafe. The gray, dagger-like ship was immense and known as one of the, if not the, most powerful warship in the Upper Arm. Her hull was pock-marked with black smudges, and bits of gray metal were bent, curled up, and open to the void of space.

Another gray ship appeared, smaller than the Merciless, but by no means small.

Through days dark and stormy where great Mordid led us

Our eyes saw the bright sun of money from above

and Mordid our Leader with faith in himself,

Inspired us to build up the forces that we love.

Another ship appeared. Another and then another. A swarm of gray ships emerged, each sporting the red fist of the Travelling Tyrant. All of them were damaged. Some so much so that they sparked and flashed. It was a wonder they made it through transpace at all. The emerging fleet continued to flood all channels with music. Another advantage of the Merciless, besides its raw power, was that it could jam and overtake communication channels. The controller stared at the fleet and gave up on trying to shut them up.

Long live our Traveling Tyrant, guided by Mordid’s mighty chant.

Long live our Company and onwards in the name of Me!

Strong in our partnership tried by fire. Long may our crimson fist inspire,

Shining in fear for all men to see.

Another ship appeared, this one painted a dull and chipped red with half its hull torn open as if it had burst. Others of its ilk appeared, and they too looked like twisting bits of metal only roughly still in the shape of ships. The controller frowned.

We fought for the money, destroyed the defender,

And brought to our investors the Laurels of Fame.

Our glory will live in the memory of our clients

And all future will praise Mordid’s name.

More and more ships appeared, no less than three other fleets. It was an impressive and thoroughly battered armada. They were all working with the Merciless to boost the signal of the Tyrant’s anthem. They were all following in the wake of the Merciless.

Long live our Traveling Tyrant, guided by Mordid’s mighty chant.

Long live our Company and onwards in the name of Me!

Strong in our partnership tried by fire. Long may our crimson fist inspire,

Shining in fear for all men to see.

The music died down, and the controller licked his lips. The channels opened up, and he nervously tapped a few buttons. Clearing his throat, he said, Uhh, this is Shipyard station, you uhhh, you have come out of transpace awful close. And um, uh, you know it’s not allowed to hijack every—

A voice broke through, cutting his channel with ease. This is Mordid. I’m parking here with my fleet. I need repairs and new paint jobs, and I want you to know that I have money. Endless money. So much money that it’s going to have to be spent. Let the station know, and the whole damn galaxy, that Mordid, the Traveling Tyrant is hiring. He is hiring everyone.

The controller swallowed. He peered at the fleet, which, though damaged, was formidable enough to destroy Shipyard and everyone docked there. If Mordid had wished it. The controller took off his hat. Director Reltz will want to speak with you. You’re welcome to dock. I’ll guide you in. He paused for a moment. Welcome home, Tyrant.

Why thank you.

#

Mauss crossed his arms and stooped his shoulders. He watched intently at the other mercenary commanders who nodded in agreement with Mordid. They were all arrayed on an observation deck with the world the station orbited clearly in view. It looked like a ball of dripping wet mud. Mauss could smell it from here.

Short but imposing due to a combination of lifts in his knee-high boots and an impressive uniform of gray and black, Mordid looked the part of the Traveling Tyrant today. He had one of his large hats on as well, though as usual he refused to remove some of the more inane pins from it, including a yellow smiling face, and Mauss was sure he saw a cupcake among the more martial bits of gleaming metal on his person.

The dead mercenary on the ground didn’t object, though. Neither did the living ones.

Mordid slid his pistol back into its holster. Where was I? he asked.

A bearded mercenary with a metal patch over one of his eyes cleared his throat. We were just working out terms. Never mind him. Serves him right. He looked at the dead man. Never liked him from the start.

Mauss waved a hand. Very good then. Return to your ships, or the station if you represent foot soldiers, and I will have contracts brought to you shortly. Consider yourselves employees of the Traveling Tyrant.

The door to the observation deck opened and a man entered who was short as Mordid but wide and corded with muscle. His jaw was square, brown with stubble, and his clothing choices were almost rustic in appearance. Like all employees on Shipyard, he wore a billed cap on his head with a logo of a ship entwined by a black, fanged snake, a symbol popular in the free-minded, and lawless, Upper Arm.

Mordid broke through the collection of mercenaries and strode toward the man extending his hand. He smiled brightly. Director Reltz?

Reltz shook Mauss’ employer’s hand, but was quick to remove it. He sidestepped the mercenaries who left the deck and muttered pleasantries without wanting to pause for a moment.

What the hell is that? Reltz pointed at the lone mercenary who remained and was making a mess of the deck with a growing pool of crimson.

Mauss cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. Someone who thought to slyly mention how much the bounty on the Traveling Tyrant is. Perhaps he thought to be coy. Perhaps he thought to test the waters to see if his fellow mercenary captains might try, then and there, to seize the Tyrant.

I shot him. Mordid shrugged. I believe the word will get out that if anyone wishes to apprehend or kill me they best not announce it first. I’d like my enemies to at least take me seriously. Put in some effort! He swirled his coat back and placed his hands on his hips.

Mauss inwardly groaned at the bravado, but since the day he met him, Mordid had a devil-may-care attitude that did well to hide his ambition and ruthlessness. It also annoyed Mauss on more than one occasion.

The station’s director stared at the dead man, then at Mordid. I don’t like violence on my station.

Mauss sniffed. Ironic given what your line of work is.

The man turned his glare onto Mauss. He spat on the deck near the cooling corpse. I export violence. I don’t want it on my station. As much as can be helped. He looked at Mordid. So, are we hostages here? You come in, nearly crash into my station, and now occupy a good chunk of it. That will piss off the Upper Arm.

No, no, Mordid assured him. He strode beside the man and took him by the arm. Reltz resisted for a moment, but eventually followed the Tyrant. Mordid strode along the observation deck, and the blackness of space and the dullness of the planet below framed the pair.

Mauss followed behind, listening intently. They had pre-planned this and gone over every possible reaction the station’s director might have. It was time to see which reaction that would be.

I’ve come here to hire the biggest mercenary fleet and army ever assembled. I have a great deal of money, Reltz. A great deal. I’m also very willing to share that money. He paused and looked at him. Managing the immense horde of scum that will be piling into this place is going to take years off your life. Years I’d like to buy.

Reltz chewed on his lower lip. That’s a lot of talk.

Mordid nodded. Yes. You could wait and see if I am telling the truth. Watch as I hire mercenary company after mercenary company. As I pay to have my ships repaired and the newcomers decked out in my colors. You could wait to lap up the fortune I seem intent on spending. Or… He peered hard at Reltz.

The man was chewing on his own lip so much that Mauss thought he might bite it right off. He was very much like a fish that had taken the bait.

Reltz grunted. I’ll have quite the bill for you. This station is not meant for the scale of operations you’re suggesting. Have to ask, why not do this in Corporate Space? Hell, Mercenary Hub is only two weeks out. I’m surprised you didn’t pass through it.

We did, Mauss interjected.

Mordid nodded. Corporate Space is going to be having difficulties shortly. Loyalties will be tested. Here? Here I can trust you. I can trust the Upper Arm.

Reltz’s eyebrows shot up. Trust? He barked a laugh. You are sounding more and more crazy, Tyrant.

I trust, Mordid continued, that you are all loyal to money. That you are all loyal to our particular free-wheeling ways. I trust in your greedy hearts, but mercenary brains. You’re more loyal to the banner of cash than anyone in Corporate Space is, despite their claims to serve the bottom line.

Mauss cleared his throat, warning his employer not to overplay his hand. There was no need to tell everyone that Earth Government was launching a massive offensive to bring the Corporate Worlds and eventually the Upper Arm into their choking, yet loving, embrace. Those facts would arrive without Mordid’s help, and thus be all the more believable and motivational when they did.

Catching the hint, Mordid placed his hands on Reltz’s shoulders as they stood before an ugly blur of brown called a planet. Are you the man for me?

I can’t be hired directly. I work for the company that manages this station. I can arrange for you to—

Mordid leaned in and whispered in Reltz’s ear.

The station director turned pale. His eyes goggled, and he looked at Mordid. Then he looked at Mauss.

Mauss nodded slowly, confirming whatever it was that Mordid had offered.

The station is yours. There’s going to be a lot of, well, uhh, problems. But, for that much. Yes. Hell, rename it for all I care. I’ll get the ships squared away. How many more do you expect to come in from the Upper Arm?

All of them, Mordid said with a smile.

When the director left, he wobbled as if drunk. The door shut, and Mauss was left alone with Mordid and a corpse. His employer had his hands behind his back and was pretending to admire the unattractive planet below.

That went well. However, I’m worried, Mauss confessed. I wouldn’t quite call him, he gestured to the dead man, an assassin, but he surely would have been one given the chance. And this is on our first day here. News of our exploits in the Khan system, with the pope, with Earth, will all make you many new enemies. You trust in the base nature of mercenaries? Then you can be sure that some will be motivated entirely by the quick cash they will get for delivering your head. Long-term consequences will not factor into it.

Mordid replied, a bored tinge to his voice, I quite agree, Diplomat Mauss. That is why I have a plan. It is, of course, very risky. He looked over his shoulder and flashed a smile.

Mordid’s charm had always had little effect upon him. Less so, now that their entire way of life was threatened and a planet-spanning government had declared war on Mordid, personally. Mauss peered. There was no need to ask for more details. The stare ought to do the trick.

I plan on leaving, Mordid explained after a moment of silence. I’ll need a small, fast ship and a hand-picked elite crew. I’m departing while you get the difficult, dangerous, and, frankly, tedious task of assembling the greatest collection of mercenaries. You will need to root out the assassins, smooth over old wounds, prevent fresh ones from opening, and pretty much do my job for me. But, use my name. A lot. Lots of pictures of me too. I want all the credit for your labors. Mordid turned his back to the planet and stared at Mauss with his blue eyes.

The plan was not entirely bad, but it was risky. Mauss stroked his bare chin with bony fingers. This might do. You do not need to be here in person for the raising of the troops. I will need to see to your safe-keeping, though. I have some places in mind to stash you.

No. Mordid shook his head. I know where I’m going to go. Somewhere that I assure you is entirely safe. Somewhere that Earth Government is not going to find me. Somewhere that even the most wicked of men will have a hard time getting into if they mean me harm.

Oh? Mauss crossed his arms. And where is this fantastical place?

Mordid grinned. I’m not telling you. I’m not telling anyone. Not even those coming with me. Besides, I have my own reasons beyond my well-being to depart for a bit.

The idea was no longer a good one. Mauss shook his head. Mordid—

The Tyrant held up a finger. No. No, Mauss. No speeches. No explanations. No warnings. I know what I am doing. Mordid approached him. I know every risk. I have to go. You cannot stop me. The best you can do is betray me and take the company for yourself. I’m leaving you with some of my newfound and ridiculous wealth. More than enough.

The temptation Mordid offered never even grazed Mauss’ mind. He was content to manage the Traveling Tyrant, whoever he happened to be, from behind the scenes. I will do as you ask. He pursed his lips, and it was a struggle not to offer wisdom. What if Mordid was needed? What if Mordid was in danger? There were many what-ifs, and Mordid had not shared this part of his plan with Mauss. It was disconcerting. However, he bit his tongue.

Good, Mordid replied. I’m taking Eryn with me, along with Jenkins, Karlson, and Sasha.

The last choice was so strange that Mauss couldn’t help but let out a cough. Sasha? Why? The man was an unknown to them. The former Director of the Vladstock Corporation on Khan 7 had at first tried to use his armies of drones to capture Mordid, but changed his mind when he realized Earth had plans to claim his world as their own. Sasha had joined with them and even been invited into some of the more senior meetings en route to Shipyard, but he was hardly loyal to Mordid.

Mordid turned his back and looked out into space. I have my reasons. You are going to have your own hands full. Thrask and Rodriguez. Neither are to be entirely trusted.

Especially when you are not around, Mauss warned.

I know. However, we’re engaging in a war, Mauss. That’s different than anything we’ve done before.

Mauss frowned. How so? We’re mercenaries.

Mordid tapped the glass of the viewport and breathed, leaving a smudge of condensation. He lazily drew a smiling face. This time, we’re not fighting someone else’s war. We’re fighting one of our own. You get me the fleet and men we’ll need. I’ll not be idle. I promise you.

You sometimes impress me, Mauss said. He then sniffed. Out of curiosity, how many times have you practiced this speech, which has been clearly designed to win me over and keep my many chiding questions at bay?

Mordid smiled and glanced over his shoulder. Every day since we left Earth behind.

#

Revealing some of his plans went well enough with Mauss, Mordid figured. Mauss was cold, cool, and entirely rational. Eryn would be another matter. He strode through the narrow pathways that connected the various parts of the Shipyard station. It was familiar to him. The lights above were overly bright, yet lacked even a bit of warmth. The air smelled of machinery and still somehow had a tinge of sterility to it. His boots clanked on the metal floor, echoed by the pair of armor-clad marines that followed him. This was the Upper Arm he knew best—the tight confines of a station and a world of artificial light, sounds, and tainted air.

He halted by a red door whose paint had faded and numbers were nearly worn off. Pressing the button to announce his arrival had no effect, so Mordid pounded on the door with a heavy strike of his fist.

One of the marines escorting him hefted his beamer. Want me to cut through, sir?

Mordid glanced at him. I just knocked so not yet, though it is appreciated.

The armored man smiled beneath his high collar. He cleared his throat expectantly.

I’m not giving you a raise just for voicing expedient and unnecessary ideas, Mordid snapped.

The smile turned into a pale grimace.

Ever since Mordid had become irresponsibly rich, everyone in the company was angling for a raise. However, to too richly reward was to invite folly. Mordid knew he’d invite folly in entirely different ways, no need to exacerbate it by being overly generous.

The red door groaned open and Eryn stretched. She was clad in a tight-fitting black uniform, with tall boots like Mordid’s. Her long raven hair was smooth, and her eyes glittered like a pair of freshly sharpened knives.

These are the best quarters in the station? Her pert nose wrinkled, and she giggled. The laugh was not genuine, but a reflex and façade she was so used to using that even alone with Mordid she did it.

She was beautiful. Dangerous. She was about to be mad.

I came to talk with you. I’ve handled the preliminaries. Mind if I come in? He pushed forward, not waiting for her reply. Before his hulking guards could follow, he raised a hand. Watch the door.

The two saluted and took up their positions.

The room was one of the best the station had to offer. Meaning it was slightly larger than the tiny private quarters offered to well-paying guests and absolutely mammoth compared to the coffin-sleepers most were given. There was a viewport, and it revealed a tangled spider web of metal corridors, hubs, decks, and docking stations. There were many ships in dock, most of them painted in his colors. The Merciless hovered not too far off, too large to directly dock and getting repaired from afar. Mordid could see little sparks and blinking lights about the other ships, indicating that the great fleet was already under repair, and swarms of men in zero-G suits and robots were hard at work repairing the damage from the battle of the Khan system.

Mordid could tell Eryn had already altered the room to her liking. A pair of chairs had been moved to be placed at a table, which had also clearly been moved to frame it with the viewport. The bed was made perfectly, and the closet nearby revealed Eryn’s various outfits, all kept in order according to their color. From darkest, to darker.

The door groaned shut, leaving them alone.

So, she ventured and gestured to a seat.

Mordid took her up on the offer and removed his cap. He ran a hand through the widow’s peak of his black hair and caught her glaring.

What?

She shook her head. A few bits of gray.

I’ve earned it. In the past few weeks I doomed a valuable star system, wrecked a fleet from Earth, and paraded about the home system only for them to, quite unfairly, declare war on me. What sort of government declares war on one person?

She snorted as she sat down across from him. You’re excited by all that. You love the attention.

She was right. True. I also have a great weight on my shoulders. People to manage, a war to fight, and no easy way to fight it. Who am I, really? A mercenary. I’m not a king. I’m not a despot of a system. I’m no governmental representative. Mordid shrugged. But I need a fleet, I need an army, and I need to find a way to win.

I’m already on it. Videos, holograms, propaganda pieces the likes of which you’ve never seen. Your name will be on everyone’s lips, and this war will be crafted to fit our needs. You don’t need a flag to fly. You don’t need a government. She leaned across the table. You just need you. If you weren’t already a raging egomaniac, what I have planned would push you over the edge.

Mordid smirked. Oh, and since I am a raging egomaniac?

You’ll be insufferable. But, you didn’t come here to discuss the war, or propaganda. You’re here about the bigger announcement. Her eyes widened. Marriage. You and me. Together.

He cleared his throat. Slowly, he pushed his seat back, just out of her arms’ reach. About that.

Her expression twisted up in an instant. About that? About that?! Eryn’s hand snapped out and tried to grab him by the throat, but Mordid had moved far enough away that her nails barely scraped his neck, leaving behind thin, red trails.

It’s not what you think! He held up a hand and swallowed. What I said back on Khan 7 was all true. You and me. Together.

Yes, and, but, however, well… She tilted her head. What platitude are you going to spit out? I worked very hard to have you.

How romantic.

She hissed. Don’t change the subject. Out with it. I want to hear you try to slither out of what you promised me. Look me in the eye and say it was a mistake or you have changed your mind. She grasped the table’s edge and her teeth bared while her eyes bored into his.

Mordid tapped the table. Calm down. He adjusted his uniform. The golden shoulder boards felt out of place. The usually comforting, enveloping coat weighed him down. We will be married. But we’re going to do things a bit differently. A honeymoon first. Then the big announcement.

She was taken off guard. What? Her long, slim body eased back in her chair.

Pressing on, Mordid said, You heard me. We’re going on a honeymoon. Soon as you are ready. We’ll be gone for several weeks. Make any preparations you need and meet me at docking bay four in about, oh… he shrugged. Twenty minutes?

What?! She was on her feet.

I know, it’s sudden.

Eryn rounded the table and stared down at him. Where exactly are we going? We have a war on, as you mentioned. We can’t just jaunt off somewhere. We are needed here. Is this a trick? You’re tricking me. You trick everyone.

Mordid looked up at her. No, we aren’t needed, and, no, I am not tricking you. Your team can crank out all the propaganda we need. I don’t need to be here for that. And I definitely don’t need to be here at all. I was almost potentially a target for assassination.

Her gaze narrowed. What do you mean potentially?

Someone might have possibly thought about killing me, so I thought about killing him first. He then added. And then did it.

She shrugged, and her rage visibly cooled. Makes sense. But, beyond that. Where are we going? You’re being evasive. You’re going to try to talk me into something. Eryn placed her hands on her hips. How long have you practiced this little speech you’re about to give?

Since we left Earth. Mordid stood up and placed his hands over hers, partially to squeeze them, to feel the coolness of her murderous hands, and partially to prevent them from finding his throat. "The government of Earth is bloated, self-righteous, and so inefficient and weighted down under regulations that they let a good part of mankind’s domain be outsourced. Now, that’s all changing. Their fleets, which seem far more advanced than I recall, are pushing into Corporate Space as