Chương 28: Escalation arc

"The Starspawn of Nirkel, oftentimes simply called the Starspawn, are a population policed by mercenaries. Pirate suppression, theft investigation, bounty hunting and so, so much more falls under their purview, but most would-be mercenary companies don't survive their conception. A few dozen fresh adults, banding together with dreams of riches and a gun in hand? Death is likely, and being absorbed by a bigger group the preferable outcome. Frankly, it is the lone mercenary that does best.

The master of their craft, one who knows their own limitations. That is who survives." An interview segment found onboard an abandoned starship, unsigned.

"Mat's Warriors of Doom," Tobi suggested. Mat glared at the man, which seemed to accomplish absolutely nothing.

"The Cult of Nine Fingers?" Jason hummed.

"Sevenfold Breakers of the Immortal Sun."

"What in the actual fuck are you two even talking about anymore," Mat asked, cutting off Tobi's imminent reply.

"I asked for name suggestions, not whatever that is." Tobi snapped his fingers.

"Oh! The Herald's Heroes. Alliteration is cool, my tutors said so."

"We don't need to decide right now," Reg soothed. Ah, good, the voice of reason. No, wait, yes they did. They had to decide right now. Reg paused, and Mat felt dread pool in his stomach.

"Bladesworn." That— that one Mat actually kind of liked. Jason shook his head.

"Already taken by some group out in Federation space."

"How the fuck would you know that?" Tobi asked.

"Because I thought of it yesterday. No offence, Reg."

"None taken." Reg shrugged, nodding to a group of passing… people. Mat was trying to stop referring to them as bladeslaves in his head. It wasn't going so well.

"Something with blade, I think, to remember those who died both during the uprising and before." Tobi tilted his head, clearly glancing at a passing tag on the wall. Obedias, hanged from the third level of the domus cells. The detail was shockingly good.

"How about Ironblade? We did fight with steel for most of the fights."

"Wouldn't steelblade be better, then?" Jason held up his hand at Tobi's annoyed hiss.

"Chill, I'm just asking. Ironblade… Ironblade what? Or are we so awesome we'd get away with a one word name?" Reg tilted his head.

"We won't just be fighting, will we? The Challenger is one third storage by volume, and it'd be foolish not to take advantage of that. Mitigates the risk of a single venture group, too. Ironblade Industries?"

"That sounds like we make something," Tobi complained.

"Branding is important. The name has got to tell people what we do, because the vast majority of them won't have the attention span for anything more."

"Ironblade Irregulars?" Mat snorted.

"You think Stef will stand for her soldiers to be called irregular?"

"Ironblade Incorporated, then," Reg said.

"We not only combine trade with mercenary services, but we incorporate people from all walks of life." It would do. Mat nodded to the end of the hall.

"Ironblade Incorporated it is, because in about two minutes, I'm opening the company for recruitment. So any complaints better be aired now, because once the word is out, I'm not changing it."

"Good," Bea said, having contributed nothing but her usual silence so far. Mat raised an eyebrow, and she clicked her tongue.

"I care not what we're called. But leadership is about confidence, no matter how you actually feel. Show fear, hesitation or doubt, and the men will pick up on it." Jason nodded, as if he'd said that himself.

"Quite right, my terrifying friend. There's nothing hotter than a man who knows how to take charge—""Tobi, punch him." Tobi glanced at her.

"You're not my boss."

"Tobi, punch him," Mat said. Jason squealed and dodged the fist by inches. Mat shook his head, unable to fully suppress a smile. But the hallway was coming to an end, and beyond spread the half empty storage deck, already filled with hundreds of souls. One of the few spaces on the ship big enough to fit that many.

"Showtime." Jason shot Tobi one last glare, then settled down. Bea didn't acknowledge the word, and he'd only seen Reg un calm the once. So the five of them walked into the crowd, which split open to allow them access. On the other side, a crude stage had been created. Uhhg, public speaking. He wasn't bad at it, really. Not in the sense that he clammed up or broke out in a cold sweat. But there was something uniquely uncomfortable about having hundreds of pairs of eyes on you, no matter the context.

Below the stage, a dozen of Stef's people were already there, overseen by Yon. Gods, he hadn't spoken to Yon in what felt like months. Not since before the uprising. He didn't blame the man for sticking with Stef, not when they clearly had a history, but neither should that destroy what was otherwise a perfectly amiable friendship. Regardless, Stef's people stood ready both as a show of force and to process the influx of recruits. Who might not come, of course, but plan for success and all that.

He'd look twice as stupid if hundreds wanted to sign up and he hadn't prepared to actually process them. Paperwork. Delicious, self-replicating, orderly paperwork. It had been his life, once. His working life, admittedly, but his life. But it involved boilerplate mercenary contracts, not fact checking shipping manifests. Same idea, different application. Man, it always caught him off guard how transferable most skills truly were. Up the little stairs he went, and then he was facing an entire crowd of people.

Some of them looked bored. Some didn't appear to be looking at anything at all. But most, maybe half, looked interested. Intrigued, and even hungry. Jesus fucking Christ. Then Nova streamed into the room, his forty-odd droids surrounding the stage in an orderly, organized march. The closest of the crowd moved back, wary. That was alright. Tobi had assured him it was better for them to be here, war and guard droids both. Right then. Speech time. If anyone laughs, ignore them. Yeah. He could do this.

"I killed Obedias," Mat began, and was immediately forced to pause as much of the crowd screamed in bloodthirsty approval. Fucking hell. He only continued when they had calmed, his voice enhanced by the surprisingly normal looking microphone.

"I killed Obedias, and I took his ship. I took his droids, his little slavers' paradise, and I took all of his blood money. The how of it isn't much of a secret anymore." Nova stomped on the floor, all forty of him, and Mat felt a flicker of amusement as the floor vibrated.

"My AI was what stopped Obedias from venting us all into space during the uprising. It was what infected his droids, forcing the man to rely on flesh and blood. But Obedias is dead now, and his corpse has long been sold by some enterprising bladeslave, who by now is probably half the galaxy away." Dark laughter greeted that. Approval for the disrespect, the insult. Bought and sold, like they had all been. No better than a slave, in the end.

"I have nowhere to go," Mat continued, and the laughter petered out to something much more depressing. Doubly so because all those who'd had some place to return to were already gone.

"Obedias took that from me, and I repaid the slight by bringing the world down over his head. We all did. But now he's dead, and we have a choice to make. Because my best skill is with the blade, now. My only skill that's worth a damn. So before every mercenary company within a thousand lightyears comes to tempt you with riches and purpose, allow me to tempt you first." He waved, as if to indicate the entire space. Tobi really had been helpful with putting this whole show together.

"I own the ship, and it will fly where I tell it to fly. It will fly where Ironblade Incorporated will tell it to fly. I am, likely as not, a bladeslave for life. But if I am to fight, I will fight for my own future, and not so that one man can profit off my labour, feeding me nothing but slop in return. Noah and Stef are with me. Bea and Reg and Jason and Tobi are with me. If you would like to join, speak to the men and women below. If you don't, I am proud to have fought with you, and wish you luck."

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Mat paused, decided that was enough, and turned back to walk off the stage. That was done with, at least. Now to see if Noah really did have the ear of hundreds of their brothers and sisters, and if Stef's soldiers really were hers now that the uprising was over. Julian tilted his head, watching the herald walk off the stage.

"Not terrible. Seven out of ten. Maybe eight, for having the droids there."

"I couldn't give two fucks about his speech," Ethan grunted.

"Weak-willed fools, the lot of them. This is why I don't like crowds, Julian. Too easy to rile them up with some fancy words." Sofia shrugged.

"I liked it. Not too long, namedropped Noah, all of it. Good call on sticking near the edge, though." Already some hundred people were queuing up at the recruiters. Not all would sign up, Julian knew, but most of them would be. It depended on the money, usually. Maybe less so here than elsewhere. The herald had earned his reputation of blood. It didn't matter.

"What does Noah say?"

"That we will have representation," Ethan replied.

"Better than low-ranked meatshields in most other companies. But I'm an engineer. I won't be fighting much anyway. If the pay's good, fuck it. We've been fighting for years. Fight for a few more, and we have enough money to set ourselves up wherever we go." Sofia sniffed.

"Not fair that the Herald took all the money. Even a fraction of it could have set us up."

"Not fair," Julian mocked. Sofia glared at him.

"Life isn't fair, and it's not like we could have stolen it without an AI of our own. Besides, that Reg guy came by to ask for donations, right? For those poor fuckers Obedias kept on ice? They didn't need to do that, but they did." Ethan shrugged.

"I know a guy who knows Reg. Swears by him. Something about chocolate, I don't know. Point is, do we join a fresh company with no reputation, an older company with shit rights, or make our own way?"

"We could at least see the pay," Sofia offered.

"They can't keep us here, and I don't think the Herald would want to anyway."

"Herald this, Herald that. Am I the only who thinks that's a stupid fucking title?" Julian rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest, Ethan. We'll take a look. And someone find that fucker who's close to Noah. I'll be damned if I trust him, but better him than the would-be soldier or whoever the fuck Reg is." Ironblade Incorporated. A name Reg had suggested only a day ago, and now four hundred people were on payroll. Four hundred. Mat wasn't a stranger to large-scale operations, but he hadn't been in charge of one.

Unfortunately, that also meant that when the station governor invited them for a meeting, it was his problem to deal with. At least now that they were a full mercenary company—paperwork pending—it didn't feel quite so strange to have an eight-man squad trailing after them. All soldiers, all from Stef. He'd been somewhat nervous about putting her in charge of all military assets. He was pretty sure Bea was still laughing at him for that. She's a soldier, Bea had said.

Now that the chain of command has been formally established, she'll fall in line. He hoped so, he really did. Otherwise he just handed the woman everything she could ever need to violently overthrow him. Tobi glanced at him, somewhat subdued after failing to find any trace of Pabol. The odds of Obedias keeping him around had always been low.

"Still worried?" the man asked, tone curious.

"It's the right call, you know. It's her specialty, and your AI… and you're better off being free to act as you see fit, without being bogged down by a hundred mundane duties. What are those people called again?" Jason rolled his shoulder, watching another group of mercs pass them by in the busy market.

"Elites, I think. People more powerful than the norm, either countering others of their kind or wreaking havoc if not. You don't want your fifty million credit killing machine stuck directing soldiers." Mat snorted, accepting the point. Maybe Stef would fall in line. Maybe she wouldn't. Until things became clear, he would be keeping his eye out. And speaking of that.

"Tobi, can you watch Noah? I'm sure the man is already settling into his new role as crewchief, but I'm not used to politics like that."

"Sure, though I wouldn't say I'm exactly the top of the— Tim?" Mat turned his head, tracking Tobi's own stare. There, listlessly walking through the market, was Tim. Tim, who should have already been on a ship back home. Tim, who was bumping into people left and right, and as Mat watched, bumped into a massive, already irritated merc. He was too far to hear the curse, but he saw what happened. The man slammed Tim against a stall, which rattled ominously, and Mat moved.

Only for Tim to, seemingly unconsciously, twist his footing. The merc moved with it, and Tim's hand lashed out. The stranger leaned aside, and then Tim had a moleknife in hand. Jason's foot rammed into the back of the merc's knee before anything else could come of it, and the man stilled as molecular steel pressed against his throat, balancing precariously on one leg.

"Easy there, big guy. Wouldn't want to stain this nice stall here all red, would we?" The owner, stepping into view, paled and vanished again. Mat shook his head, ignoring the merc and stepping closer to Tim. No alcohol that he could smell, but the man's eyes were dead. Unfocused and half closed. He snapped his fingers, and Tim blinked, finally focusing.

"Mat?"

"Hey," Mat replied, tugging him away from the stall and into the crowd. Behind them both he could hear Jason releasing the man, and Tobi saying something or other. A warning, probably.

"What'ya doing here, man? I thought you would be on a ship back home by now."

"There was a fire. Both my mom and sister are dead." Well, fuck.

"I'm sorry. Come on, let's talk." The meeting with the governor couldn't wait, not for Tim. Still, that didn't mean he was going to leave a brother to his own devices. Tobi took their old cellmate, speaking quietly. Tim mostly ignored him, from what Mat could hear. There was just so much to do. The Challenger needed a captain and crew, only some of which Noah had found in-house people for. Repairs needed to be made, supplies bought, money allocated to both, and a dozen other things.

Stef needed military hardware, biomods, techplants and doctors. The list was neverending. Hells, that didn't even mention the mess of turning over the remaining prisoners, but that issue he at least hoped to solve today. Before, them being killed wasn't really his concern, even though Stef wouldn't hear of it. Prisoners of war, or something as such. Mat was pretty sure she was more concerned with stamping down on revenge killings, and the detriment it would bring to discipline.

Now they were prisoners of Ironblade Incorporated, and he wanted them off his ship, before someone did something stupid and he was forced to punish them. Through the market they moved, and Mat ignored the call of a dozen professions. Back alley modsurgeons loudly advertising their wares. Busy restaurants, specializing in everything from cheap meat to luxurious dining. A shoe maker's shop, two rival clothing brands right next to one another, then a shooting range.

Half of the stores had that damned man, faced by two birds. LandTech. Everywhere he went, LandTech. It took maybe another half hour before they got to the governor's place. Which, from the look of things, was not the man's main residence. A trio of women stood outside the empty warehouse, each of them taking in their party with the kind of calm, easy confidence he only saw in exceptionally dangerous fighters. The governor took his security seriously, it seemed. Mat jerked his head.

"The guards can stay outside. I'm taking these three with me."

"Disarm, then you can proceed." Mat paused, then shrugged. His gun, moleknife and emergency grenade were put in a clear plastic box, though he was only proficient with the second of those three. Then he was walking into the place, ignoring the rundown, dusty exterior. Whatever the place had stored, now only empty, ceiling high racks were left. There, sitting on a faded chair, sat the governor. Mat had seen a picture of him before, of course. Nothing much, really, if it wasn't for his eyes.

Clear purple, without iris or pupil. The man spoke before Mat could.

"This place has been sitting empty for two months. The previous record was nine days. Empty space, on a space station. The times we live in." The man pushed himself up, walking over as Jason, Tobi and Tim joined them inside. Mat didn't find any sign of nerves on the governor, which either meant he was supremely confident or supremely arrogant. Then again, Obedias had shown the kind of power one could achieve with the right investment of credits.

"You requested the meeting," Mat finally said.

"Why am I here?" The stranger offered a shallow bow.

"First, let me introduce myself. Eerdium Banks, governor of Last Point Station. I owe you, and those of the Challenger, an apology."

"Apology accepted," Mat replied.

"That's not why we're here." Eerdium frowned.

"I am sincere, Mister Brooks. Slavery is not a matter I take lightly. Nevertheless, you and yours have resolved the situation, and have even benefited, if what my people tell me is correct. To the victor go the spoils, I say. Doubly so if the victors are bladeslaves." Yet that hadn't stopped station security from loitering around while Obedias' backup plan threatened the so-called victors. It didn't matter. Mat wasn't about to argue with someone who he might very well never meet again.

"To the point, then," Eerdium continued.

"I have, as a courtesy, accelerated the paperwork regarding Ironblade Incorporated. Yet there has been an irregularity regarding the transfer of the Challenger, which I fear must be addressed. Legally speaking, neither you nor Ironblade Incorporated have a claim on the ship." Mat paused, and closed his eyes. Being forced to give up their weapons made a lot more sense, in hindsight. The door opened again, and multiple footsteps walked inside. Beside him, just in range of Local Omniscience, Tobi tensed.

If the guards he'd left outside were dead, Mat hadn't heard a whisper of it. Blood. It always comes down to blood. Afterword One more chapter tomorrow, but then I'm afraid we're going back to one chapter a week. I won't leave you on this particular cliffhanger, but safe to say, Royalroad does not care much for sci-fi stories. As I said, this work isn't getting abandoned, but reality is a thing that exists, and unfortunately, has to be faced.

I can promise to finish out book one, at the very least, but after that I make no promises. Thank you all for the overwhelming amount of support, but against the almighty algorithm, there is only so much we can do. o7 Discord