Artemis Slade & The Renegades: Road to Redemption (2 page)

"That was quite a show," she gushed, a look of satisfaction on her face as her pretty green eyes touched briefly on each of the fallen youths. "You've got some serious skills!"

"Uh...thanks," I stammered while I drank in the sight of her sexy, athletic body. 

Her sensuous lips curved into a grin as she brushed a hand through thick auburn hair that provided a nice contrast to her cinnamon colored skin. From the knowing look in her eyes it was obvious that she was used to men gawking at her. "Who are you?"

Her husky voice brought me out of my scandalous ogle, and I flashed my most charming smile. "I'm just a stranger in a strange city trying to enjoy a good meal."

"Ah but you're much more than that my friend," exclaimed an exuberant Skeezly as he approached and gave my shoulder a hearty slap. "Jax and his animals have been preying on us merchants for years but the authorities never do anything about it."

"And why is that?" I asked, once again ignoring the urgings of my inner-voice to not get involved in the affairs of these erstwhile folks. This new-found concern for others could easily become a pernicious habit.

Skeezly spared the unconscious forms of Jax and his crew a disgusted look then turned bitter eyes back to me. "That's just the way it is. Jax is the nephew of Cole Deshler; one of Restan's Judicial Managers which pretty much makes him, and his dogs, untouchable as far as the local law is concerned."

"Ah," I replied empathizing with his anger. Such practices were common in outlying communities but putting an end to them was the job of the local law not a lone, though infinitely talented, Sanctioner. "Well perhaps Jax and his associates will learn some manners after this
, and change their wicked ways."

"I doubt it," Skeezly spat. "The only lessons jerks like these understand are the ones that leave you dead."

Several members of the crowd echoed Skeezly sentiment and I was taken aback by their vehemence. In fact, from the way some of the more outspoken of them were eyeing Jax and company I began to wonder if the punks would be allowed to wake up. Fortunately that concern was laid to rest at the sound of approaching sirens.

"You'd better vanish, friend," Skeezly said worriedly. "Most of the Lawmen in this area are on Deshler's payroll and will probably take offense to what you did to Jax and his butt-boys."

I couldn't help but laugh at his statement. "I think you may be right my friend."

"C'mon," the lovely young lady still standing beside me urged, giving me a saucy wink as she tugged on my arm. "I know the perfect place for you to lay low for a few hours!"

Chapter 3

It turns out my new friend, whose name was Tianna, did know the perfect place: her cozy apartment which was about four blocks away from the sight of my little altercation.
Once we were safely nestled behind closed doors, she spent the next few hours expressing her...gratitude for my handling of Jax in a way that would've left me in a med-unit had I not been in top physical condition.

When our lustful aerobics finally wound to a close, Tianna spent the remainder of our time together filling me in on the local history.

Brick Town, the name of their quaint little community, was established a few hundred years ago to house the multitude of tradesmen and their families hired by the numerous conglomerates during Restan's industrial expansion.

Over the decades what started out as a smattering of pre-fab structures for a transient populace grew into a modest city. Establishment of a governing body comprised of local citizens allowed Brick Town to break away from
Restan's restrictive charter but it also opened the door for corruption.

It seems that
Restan's Managers weren't thrilled with the idea of the outlaying burb potentially becoming a threat to the larger city's position in Mylan's industrial infrastructure. Thus began the covert but effective sabotage of Brick Town's development by council members more loyal to Restan than their own constituents, and this Deshler character was the latest in a series of greedy, corporate despots preying on the less fortunate.

Tianna's historical oration concluded with a fervent prayer that someday someone would rid their city of him, and I have to admit the story of Brick Town's plight touched a nerve within me. Perhaps if time permitted I would pay Deshler a visit; have a little chat with him on the ways he could better serve his community.

But first things first: Ms Kyle and I had an early morning appointment and I needed to focus my energies on that.

After enjoying another quick round of carnal calisthenics with my eager companion, I bid her goodnight then made my way back to my hotel. A hot shower and a few hours sleep returned me to my lethally robust self, after which I set out for Geraint Tower.

Getting into the Tower was a snap. There isn't an identi-chip in the galaxy that can't be faked. Trust me I know! For this caper I decided assume the role of a pressurization tech from the Rite-Flow company, one of the maintenance firms contracted by the Tower.

In terms of beauty, space, and functionality, mega-plazas like Geraint were a masterpiece of architectural style and technology, but their monstrous dimensions created a veritable meteor shower of environmental concerns; particularly the chore of maintaining a functional atmosphere within the superstructure. On an average day Geraint's halls played host to nearly two hundred-thousand people. With that kind of demand, the respirators required round-the-chrono monitoring to keep the system operating at peak efficiency.

Geraint's atmospheric needs meant major profit for respiratory maintenance companies like Rite-Flow. For me it meant unlimited access to the endless maze of ventilation shafts that riddled the plaza.

Using the diagram of the vent system I had acquired from Rite-Flow's database in pretty much the same way I had obtained the one for Geraint (apparently Kalians where the office personnel of choice around these parts) I quickly made my way to Redemption's sector.

Fortunately for me one of the floor's main junctions was located above Kyle's office which allowed me to stay sequestered in the vents the entire way, after the dismantling of various monitoring and anti-personnel devices of course. Software companies tend to be a cautious lot, but then so am I which is why I plan for every contingency.

My assumed identity would've easily gotten me where I needed to go but this way was better. If you haven't been seen, you can't be identified. I merrily made my way through the vent, smug in my own cleverness; that is until I ran into the cadre of vent-bots stationed at one of the vent's junctures.

The latest thing in robotic security, these two foot high drones came equipped with a multitude of antipersonnel armament, the most dangerous being the micro laser array attached to the front of their ugly cylindrical bodies. Fortunately the juncture's larger circumference allowed for more maneuverability when the ‘bots opened fire.

My agility training served me well as I twisted, rolled, and squirmed around the barrage of lasers and projectile ammunition directed at me. But not even an operative as superbly conditioned as I could stand up to such an onslaught without eventually getting scathed. One of the lasers managed to crease my left shoulder, drawing a painful hiss from my lips as the yellow beam easily burned through my shirt and a few layers of my skin.

I needed to take these things out fast! As I twisted my torso into a position that would've made the Yoga instructors back at headquarters beam with approval, I grabbed an EMP (electro magnetic pulse) grenade from utility belt, thumbed it on and tossed it toward the bots.

Three seconds later our lethal tango came to an abrupt halt as the resulting blast disrupted the circuits of the vent-bots and every other electronic device within a six foot radius. Luckily the only things affected other than the bots were a couple of air circulators. A few offices would get a bit stuffy until their onboard computers reset but that was it.

Unlike traditional EMP devices, the ones used by Sanction Group were of low yield to keep electronic damage to a minimum. They were meant to distract, not destroy which is why I spent the next several minutes giving the four vent-bots, two of which were already starting to come back online, a more...permanent adjusting.

When that was done I quickly gave my injury the medical attention it deserved, removed all traces of my having been in the area, with exception of the mangled bots, and pressed onward.

I rounded the next bend in the shaft and came to a quiet stop behind the corresponding grill. Kyle was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass-steel window, oblivious to everything but the steaming liquid she was cautiously sipping from a porcelain cup.

I deftly disengaged the locks on the grill, dropped silently into her office...and froze as she calmly turned and faced me.

Chapter 4

"You know you could've saved yourself a lot of aggravation by just spiking my coffee pot before I got here," Kyle said, taking another sip from her cup. "But a man like you probably prefers the personal touch."

Let me take a moment to explain the absurdity of this scene.

Having sanctioned two-hundred, sixty three people during the course of my illustrious career, I've experienced a variety of reactions to my appearance. Some folks try to run. Others beg shamelessly for their lives. A few even choose the glory road, hoping the clichéd 'last stand' will be enough to stop the inevitable. Whatever course they plot, Sanctionees generally try like hell to save themselves.

It's what they do.

What they
don't
do is blithely critique your Sanction methods while drinking a cup of coffee. That just doesn't happen!

"So..." she drawled an amused expression on her face.  "Were you planning on saying anything or are you just going to stand there and stare at me all day?"

Actually staring at her wouldn't be such a bad idea. The holo in her file hadn't done her the proper justice.

Dark eyes set in an attractive angular face that, though seamed with age, exuded an inner strength that was almost palpable. There was also a curious familiarity about her but I couldn't put my finger on it.

She stared at me a moment longer then cocked her right eyebrow. "You can speak, can't you?"

"When the occasion calls for it," I replied when my tongue finally decided to cooperate.

Her smile deepened. "I see. And would this be one of those occasions?"

My traitorous lips returned her smile of their own accord. "I suppose it could."

"Well that's good," she said, glaring at me through the steam rising from her mug. "I must say it's been a pleasure watching you work, Mister Slade. You do indeed live up to your reputation."

A startled look consumed my features. "You know who I am?"

"Well of course I do," she said, giving me a wink. "I'm the one that hired you."

Okay, now this situation was getting bizarre. "What are you talking about? This order was issued by
…"

"Councilor Josef Adams," she finished my statement, "who was in fact acting on my behalf. You see Mr. Slade I've had my eye on you for some time. I have a little venture in the works and a man of your skill and temperament would make a nice addition to my team. However a test was needed in order for me to properly gauge your abilities. Fortunately our mutual colleague, Councilor Adams, was able to arrange this little...demonstration so I could personally watch you in action."

Several tense moments passed while I slowly digested the data being downloaded. "Let me get this straight: You're looking for operatives and when my name came across your desk you had a Sanction order placed on your own life just so you could evaluate my skills?"

"I would say that pretty much sums up my intentions," Kyle confirmed with a shrug and my eyes flashed angrily.

"Then your intentions were dangerously stupid. I could've killed you. Hell, I still could."

Kyle released a scornful snort. "I doubt that."

"And why is that?" I ground out through tightly clenched teeth resisting the urge to slap the smug look from her face.

Her lips curved into a devious smile. "Because of this." She gave the handle of her mug a brief squeeze and a stasis field sprung up around me, putting my body into an uncomfortable state of paralysis.

With her confidence in my incapacitation assured, Kyle strolled casually up to the field and raised her mug up to my face. "As you can see, Mr. Slade I, too, plan for every contingency. When utilized properly micro-remotes, such as the ones tucked into the handle of my mug come in pretty handy."

She gave the handle another squeeze and the field retracted from my head and neck. I did a few neck rotations to relieve the knotted muscles of my neck and jaw, careful not to over extend. Stasis fields were nasty little things.

"When you're finished with your cranial aerobics I'll be more than happy to answer what I'm sure must be a multitude of questions," Kyle announced having watched my efforts in bemused silence.

Her mocking tone added fuel to the fire of my anger. "At the moment I have just one," I ground out, putting as much menace into my voice as possible. "Who the hell are you and what the hell do you want with me?"

"That's actually two questions, Mr. Slade," Kyle responded unimpressed my hostility. "But given the circumstances I'll allow the error."

"Thanks," I said sourly.

Kyle inclined her head politely toward me. "Don't mention it. Let's start things off by answering your first question about who I am. After that everything else should fall into place."

A feeling of unease settled in my stomach. "And just who are you, Miss Kyle?"

The smug grin reappeared on her face. Veronika Kyle is just a pseudonym I use for occasions such as these, Mr. Slade. My real name is Raven Jones."

My pulse quickened and my eyes bulged from their sockets. "
The
Raven Jones; Commander of the Renegades?"

"The one and only," she said then flipped me a jaunty salute. Had my body been free I would've immediately snapped to attention and saluted back.

The Renegades were the crème de la crème of the United System's Defense Corp. Their ranks comprised of the best of the best from all other branches of service. Whereas Sanction Group mostly dealt with situations stemming from political fallout, the Renegades' charter covered every aspect of covert military operations. They were the team the powers-that-be called when the shit really hit the fan.

"Judging by your reaction I take it you've heard of us," Jones remarked dryly.

"I might've heard the name mentioned once or twice," I cried trying hard to sound nonchalant, and failing miserably. "So what is it that you want from me, Commander?"

"Like I said; I've an operation underway and I could use a man of your...attributes."

The tone of her voice when she said 'attributes' sent a shiver down my spine. "And just what attributes are you referring to, Commander? The last time I checked, The Renegade's assassin roster was full."

"Right you are, Mr. Slade, but it's not your Sanction abilities that I'm after; it's your blood."

My mouth went dry. "My...blood?"

Jones chuckled at my obvious fear. "Relax, Artemis; if I may call you that?"

"Yeah, sure," my mouth responded of its own accord. I was still struggling over the 'blood' thing.

"I'm not literally after your blood, only a certain element in it." Once again she raised her mug. "If you promise to behave, I'll drop the stasis field so we can discuss it."

I rolled my eyes in disgust. "Do I have a choice?"

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. "Of course you do. The question is whether or not you're going to make the right one."

As I locked eyes with her, the "bad-ass Sanctioner on a mission" voice inside my head screamed at me to maintain my air of sullen hostility, but Jones' reputation, and the fact that she already had me right where she wanted me, promptly silenced it. "I promise I'll behave," I offered contritely, throwing in a "ma'am" for good measure and was instantly rewarded by the field's disappearance.

"Now then," Jones spoke after giving me a moment to stretch stiffened muscles. "Why don't you have a seat and we can get down to business." She indicated the stylish leather chair positioned in front of her desk.

I gave the proffered seat a wary glance then slid cautiously into its cushiony folds. "So what's so special about me and my blood?"

"The fact that both it and you are products of the peculiar environment on planet
Kraston," she said activating the holo-terminal sitting atop her desk.

Again her knowledge caught me off guard. My planet of origin was one of many personal tidbits I kept safely tucked away in a deep corner of my mind; where the pain associated with my past couldn't hurt me
. I had taken elaborate steps keep it so, though apparently not elaborate enough.

"How is that you know so much about me, Commander Jones?"

"Finding out such details about my recruits is what I do best. Plus you didn't cover your tracks as well as you thought."

My eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

"Meaning your slight...tampering with the Lazon Orphanage's personnel records wasn't as thorough as you thought."

My jaw tightened briefly. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh I think you do," Jones replied, the temperature of her voice dropping several degrees as her eyes locked with mine.

It was obvious from her relaxed pose that such optical challenges were common but such wasn't the case with me. As the seconds ticked by I found myself squirming under this raven-haired witch's penetrating gaze.

In the end it was me who blinked first. "Fine you caught me." The words of admission left a bitter taste in my mouth. "Though I don't see what the big deal is. I'm sure I'm not the first orphan to attempt to sever all ties with his past."

Jones relaxed into her seat. "No you're not, although your attempt is one of the most ambitious I've ever encountered."

Jones typed in a series of numbers on her keypad and a new image appeared in the holo-sphere; one that I instantly recognized. "Jeremy Arten," she began, and I cringed at the sound of my birth name. "Father, Jerrod Arten; mother…unknown." A curious shadow fell across Jones's face but quickly cleared as she continued. "You were remanded to the Lazon orphanage at age two following the hovercar accident that killed your father and left you partially deaf in your left ear; a handicapped that was finally corrected by the med techs during your indoctrination into the Corp in which you enlisted following your imancipation from Lazon."

Jones pinned me with a hard stare. "Of course that last part was done
after
you hacked into The Lazon Orphanage's database, deleated Arten's file and replaced it with that of one Artemis Slade; a fabricated adolescent with an appropriately sad back story explaining his tenure at Lazon and, more importantly to you I would imagine, a chronological age that made you three years older than you truly were allowing for your release from Lazon not at age eighteen like the records say, but at the age of fifteen."

Jones deactivated the sphere and favored me with an approving grin. "Given the normal state of overcrowded orphanages such as Lazon, I'm sure such...inaccuracies are common place, but I still consider it quite an accomplishment."

"Thanks," I muttered through disgruntled lips. "So now that you've discovered my secret, what next?"

"We discuss the reason you're here."

My eyebrows arched upward. "That's it; no repercussions?"

Jones gave a negative shake of her head. "I'm sure you had a compelling reason for doing what you did, but your past motives don't concern me."

Again that curious shadow crossed her face, but it cleared as she leaned forward in her chair and pinned me with a hard stare. "What does concern me is the safety and sanctity of the United Systems, and based on your military service record that's a cause you've whole-heartedly dedicated yourself to as well. Am I correct in that assumption?"

Something about her tone made me sit up straighter. "You are."

A look of satisfaction appeared on her face. "Well in that case, I suggest we put the Lazon matter to rest; permanently."

Once again her fingers danced across the keypad and my youthful image (did I really used to where my hair like that?) along with the data associated with it vanished.

"There," Jones said. "All records deleted. Jeremy Arten is now officially a forgotten memory."

Again that pained expression crossed her face as she watched the data in the sphere dissapear, making me wonder if perhaps she had been an orphan herself. I knew better than to ask so I contented myself with another question instead; one that was more pertinent to the moment. "Before we move on, I do have one question?"

Jones's left eyebrow arched upward. "And that is?"

"How did you find out about me? I wasn't just thorough when I altered the Lazon data base, I was
very
thorough."

"With Lazon's computers you were," she said a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "But not with the backups stored in the electronic brain of your quad's Steward."

Once again I was taken aback. "Old Misses Gateson was a construct?"

Jones flashed me a knowing look. "Most orphanage caregivers are; makes it a lot easier for them to keep track of the
ir numerous charges. That's how I discovered you. When my IT people did a System search for Cranston natives they added the Orphanage Network to their search engine. When the Jeremy Arten anomaly was discovered I had my techs dig deeper and here we are."

Something about her tone made me study her face closer. No doubt necessity had turned the Commander's face into a mask long ago but to a trained observer like myself her mask had cracks; such as slight tightening of her eyes which suggested to me that she was lying, but about what I couldn't figure out.