“You want to tell me what Zen Corp thinks they’re all about?” Loman Haley snarled. “They dropped disruptor drones on our ore planet. How’d they even get to the eighty-second system?”
The hologram didn’t respond. The woman glowing in Haley’s office almost looked frozen in place, like the holo-call had lost connection and was stuck on the last frame. But Loman knew better. Ciara Prince was one of his finest security administrators. If anyone could get to the bottom of Zen Corp’s attacks on Ahzco’s planetary interests, it was her. But she was frustratingly patient—never wasting time or energy on unnecessary tasks like trying to answer rhetorical questions.
“That has to be our first priority,” Loman continued. “Find out how they’re moving between systems. Then I want to hit them back. I want to make those arrogant, back-stabbing phonies pay.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Ciara replied.
Before he could end the holo-call, she vanished. Her lack of respect was frustrating. Loman was the Vice President of Ahzco’s security division. Thirteen thousand people worked for him, and millions more depended on his security teams to keep them safe. His job was simple, with two main priorities. The first priority was to recruit the best fighters in the galaxy and equip them with the finest fighting machines that could be made. Ahzco had their own armaments and weapons manufacturing divisions. Developing and building could be regulated and oftentimes improved. But the best weapons in the galaxy were worthless without operators, and it took more than just a warm body to strap on twenty tons of armor and carry heavy weapons into a war zone.
The second priority was to make sure the portals between systems remained proprietary and safe. Knowing where the space tunnels were located and how they linked planets together was one of the most profitable resources that any corporation could possess. Finding new planets could be done from a distance, but committing the resources to travel through space to reach a new star system was incredibly risky. New planets didn’t always equal usable resources. And since the corporation retained complete ownership of planets in their listed star systems, responsibility for keeping them safe also fell to the company. Unfortunately, that meant that attacking a rival’s planetary interests was legal, so space had become the domain of big corporate interests like Ahzco—thus Loman Haley’s job and subsequent power within the corporation.
He smoothed back his hair, took a drink from the mug of coffee on the corner of his desk, and cleared his throat.
“Connect me to NP8261, Security Chief McKinna,” Loman said calmly.
There was a chime while his AI established a connection through the space tunnel system with a planet over four-hundred light years away from Arcadia, where Ahzco’s universal headquarters was located.
Loman waited as patiently as possible. He had already read the initial report, but all that told him was that six disruptor drones had fallen onto the planet and been neutralized with minimal damage to company property. Even that was surprising, considering NP8261 was a minor planet with mostly older operators, many of which had suffered near career-ending injuries. It was supposed to be a quiet outpost on a relatively unimportant world. The ore mined there was of great value, but only after being hauled into orbit and across the galaxy, where it was refined into usable material. Ahzco had enough rare metals in storage that even if their supply to the raw materials was completely shut off, they could continue manufacturing at full capacity for a decade.
So why the attack? Was it just to prove that Loman’s agents had failed to keep their trade routes secret? Was it a crime of opportunity? If so, it was an expensive failure. Drones had the distinct advantage of not requiring the operators to actually face danger, but they cost twice as much to manufacture as battle suits. And no one knew Ahzco’s secret to their unparalleled control of their mechanical fighting vehicles.
Loman rubbed the back of his head, where the hair was long to conceal the scar where his own Implanted Neural Controller had been drilled into his skull. That had been a long time ago, but sometimes it still sent a shiver down his spine when he thought about the process of implantation. Fortunately, there had been improvements on that technology. New recruits were in and out of the facility in just twenty-four hours and filled with enough narcotics in the process that they hardly remembered the procedure afterwards.
A chime sounded and Loman stood up in the projection circle. The computer had made its connection and would begin recording his body and its movements to project a hologram of the vice president in Breck McKinna’s office on NP8261. The air in front of Loman shimmered and then McKinna appeared, a glowing but nervous hologram.
“Tell me everything,” Loman ordered.
“Not a lot to tell,” McKinna said. He had lived on backwater planets so long he was starting to sound like a lifer. “They dropped six drones, and we deployed all six MP Defenders. We took some damage to ground vehicles, two compressor stations, and a hit on the school, of all buildings. Damn robots.”
“That’s all?” Loman asked.
“It is,” McKinna said with just a touch of pride. “The compressor stations are repairable, as is the school. We’ll have to replace the ground vehicles, but they were recreational-use machines, so there’s no rush.”
“Your people are on their game,” Loman said, looking for something to be angry about. “Any casualties?”
“Well, that’s a bit of an interesting story,” McKinna said.
“This holo-call costs a thousand credits a minute—make it short and to the point.”
“Grady Ulrich got hit close to the hangar. A shock weapon sent his suit into reboot and fried his INC.”
Loman almost fell over. Was it a coincidence, or had someone discovered their secret?
“Fortunately, a local saw it and pulled him to safety before he sustained serious bodily damage. The kicker is, the kid that saved him then climbed into the suit, powered it back up, and destroyed the drone.”
“With assistance?”
“No,” McKinna said. “The comm system and half the weapons were offline. He’d even failed CFD training. We had no idea about this guy. And he didn’t just destroy the one drone. Bradley Teague was pinned in the quad behind the land vehicles and under heavy fire from three drones. The kid took them all down.”
“Impossible,” Loman said.
“I’m telling you the truth. I’m going to question him as soon as we’re done. He’s in the waiting room and I’ve taken a look at him; he’s a tall, gangly, pimple-faced seventeen-year-old. His old man’s a mechanic. They’ve been on-world sixteen years. His mother works in the community hydroponics. One sibling—a sister, age eight.”
“And you’ve been training him?” Loman said. “Off-book? You’ve got a soft spot for this kid or something?”
“No, I’ve never seen him before,” McKinna said. “I’ve questioned all my operators. A few said they’ve seen him skulking around outside the hangar, but no one has ever even spoken to him before.”
“That can’t happen,” Loman snapped. “We train the best candidates for months before they’re able to operate a system like the Defender.”
“Don’t I know it,” McKinna said. “I remember basic. I still have nightmares about it. This kid’s a fighter. It’s like it all just came naturally to him, and he didn’t hesitate. We’ve got drone footage of him in action, sir. I’ve sent it through to you. Should be landing on your side any minute now.”
“You find out how he did it,” Loman said. “And if he really is a natural, you get him to sign. If he slips through your fingers, you’ll be out on your ear. That clear enough for you, McKinna? And I want a full write-up of your interview with the kid as soon as you’re done.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Haley.”
“And one more thing,” Loman said, leaning forward. “I want you to run a back-channel investigation into all your people. If there’s a leak in the department, we have to find it.”
“Roger that, sir,” McKinna said. “I’ll be in touch shortly.”
“See that you are,” Loman snarled, then he switched off the call so that his hologram disappeared first.
A kid ran a battle suit, Loman thought. That should be impossible—not physically impossible, but mentally. Getting into a mech and making it work would normally overwhelm a person’s senses, or at least frighten them half to death. But taking out four drones is no glitch, and it’s more than just getting lucky. He would have to do his homework on the boy, but if McKinna was right, then they just might have an ace on their hands. Loman couldn’t lose the chance to recruit an ace, and he was determined not to.
“Find me a transport going to NP8261,” he ordered his AI. “Book me passage, no matter what type of ship it is, and clear my calendar for a week.”
“Of course, sir,” the sultry voice he’d assigned his computer replied.
He pulled out an old-fashioned metal flask he kept hidden behind some files in his desk and poured clear liquid into his coffee. He snapped the lid shut and screwed it tight, then replaced his secret libation. Liquor was a controlled substance on Arcadia, but Loman had his sources—and after a day like he was having, he needed a little something to calm his nerves.
He sipped the coffee, which burned pleasantly all the way down his throat and into his stomach. The heat spread through his entire body and brought a smile to his face.