5 Years Ago

  He felt alive.

  He had over a hundred years to sate the call of death, and while he'd learned to temper the yearning, it never grew less powerful. Tonight was no exception.

  Absently whistling a half-remembered tune, the Man sat on the deep couch that stretched across the back of his limo. A Risonian whiskey, its smoky peat scent filling the vehicle’s interior, sat forgotten in a tumbler in his left hand.

  The limo he rode in made its way slowly through the decaying neighborhood, the quiet hum of its hover system announcing its owner’s arrival. The Man watched the city, his city, drift by with eyes as cold as glacial ice.

  As the limo moved forward, the news of his arrival rippled out like a stone tossed into a still pond. The regular nightlife that plied their trade on the streets thought it best to stay indoors, and they quickly finished their business, disappearing around corners and into darkened entryways.

  Within moments, the streets were empty in all directions. News had traveled fast. The Man was in town on business and the locals prayed it didn't involve them. The Man didn’t bother much with the local small-time crews; he had lieutenants and enforcers for that job, but one never knew where his focus might turn. The Man had a reputation, one that said he didn't mind getting his hands dirty in the day-to-day operations of his empire.

  “We’re here, sir,”

  The driver brought the limo to a gentle stop in the middle of the avenue. It looked like the rest in this part of the city, darkened alleyways and storefronts with their crash gates pulled down for the night. The neighborhood was the same as the hundreds the Man's organization controlled. His reach touched seven of the nine planets and most of the inhabitable moons in the Solvonus system.

  “Thank you, John,” The Man took one last sip of the whiskey before placing his glass onto the sideboard. “I’ll call you when I finish, but it won’t be for a few hours. Why don’t you go back to the spaceport and relax? I’m sure Katrin wouldn’t mind sharing a nice dinner.”

  “Are you sure, sir? I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I appreciate that, John, but I’m not sure how long this will take. Besides, I don’t want our guests to notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  The Man’s staff were loyal and tried to meet his every comfort and convenience. When doing business, he was a hard man, but he treated his employees with respect and provided them with better lives than they would have otherwise. That duality ensured the Man’s employees were loyal to him beyond what simple credits could buy; they knew he would protect them fiercely as long as they did the same for him.

  He opened the rear door to the limo himself; there was only so much fawning even he could endure. He stepped out of the limo, closing the door behind him, and allowed himself a slow, lazy stretch. At almost seven feet of solid muscle, even the comfortable cabin of a custom limo from the StarDocks of Aria was too small for his colossal frame. He could have had the custom coachwork fit him better, but then the limo wouldn’t fit in its compartment on his spacecraft, The Vagabond.

  As he finished his stretch, he did a slow turn to survey his surroundings, tugging distractedly at the thick red beard that lay in a heavy braid down to his chest. The only movement he saw was the receding lights of the limo moving briskly out of the area.

  He smiled to himself.

  Good. Everyone still knows who owns the place.

  He had counted on that reaction. Tonight’s meeting was necessary, and he didn’t want any extra eyes or ears prying on his business. In truth, this reaction, recognizing who he was and what he could do, drove him in most endeavors. He wanted that power over people; he always had, and he’d worked tirelessly to gain his reputation.

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  The meeting was to take place at a bar a few blocks further into the dying neighborhood. The Man was careful, methodical, and wanted to get a feel of the area before his contacts arrived. From his suit jacket pocket, he produced three small drones, each about the size of an imperial credit, which he tossed into the air.

  A slight whine filled the night as the drones powered on, ascending to their pre-programmed altitudes. As they rose, the noise their tiny motors produced faded until the night was silent once again.

  His eyes, shadowed by heavy lids, blinked twice in rapid succession, activating the Heads-Up-Display projected onto the man’s corneas. The HUD, connected to a tele-chip installed just below his right clavicle, allowed him access to the data-web from anywhere in the system. The mod had been a costly and illegal procedure, but one that had been worth every credit. He was the only one who could see the information now streaming across his eyes. It was as if a transparent screen hung a few feet in front of his face; the capability giving him an edge in negotiations and even saving his life once.

  He wondered, not for the first time, if this was what it felt like to be a Power, especially those from T’sannu, like Bitara.

  The data currently showed him a 3D line map of the neighborhood, overlaid with the feed from the drones. They were scanning a five-block perimeter centered on the bar where the meeting was to occur. The scans came back clean, showing no unexpected movement or heat signatures. With a blink, the Man enabled a function and connected his feed to his ship’s tech team for the bulk of the monitoring. The Man began to walk down the street towards the bar, keeping to the center, casually taking his time, resuming his whistling.

  As he approached the bar, its location highlighted for him on his HUD, he looked around, choosing a perch where he could wait and watch while not being seen. He wasn’t worried about the neighborhood knowing he was here, but the Man didn’t want tonight's contacts to see him until he chose to let them.

  The Man's organization had only rudimentary background knowledge on who the contacts were, and it maddened him to no end that they hadn't been able to access more. His team of hackers thought the imperial classified databases stored the information, but the firewalls stopped them from exploring further. He suspected his benefactor had access but deemed it an unnecessary risk to involve him.

  He approached one of the many crumbling apartment buildings that lined the street, one with a clear line of sight to the bar’s entrance. He blinked a pattern, and his HUD engaged its secondary optics. The darkened entryway appeared to brighten considerably, and he could see a dark figure curled up in the far corner.

  With a slight cough to announce his presence, the Man climbed the three steps leading to the entryway’s alcove. He stood at the top of the stairs and waited for a moment. It stank in here. He could see a scruffy beard poking out of the threadbare bedding that covered a prone figure, who didn’t seem like the type to keep his surroundings clean. Not that the Man cared, he had been in spots far worse than some bum’s home, and the smell didn’t bother him.

  After another moment passed, the man reached down and gently shook the bum with a large hand, the heavy signet ring on his pointer finger glinting in the light from the street.

  “Time to wake.”

  A groan came from under the blankets, the owner not wanting to leave the drunken dreams of a better life.

  “None of that, old-timer.” The Man continued to rouse the bum gently but firmly, “I need your perch for a few hours. I’ll pay.”

  The promise of credits had the intended effect, and within a few moments, the Man had the entryway to himself.

  He chuckled softly.

  Maybe the old bugger will even get some food. He negotiated enough credits for this stinking hole to live like a king for a week. Good for him, though; that took some serious balls.

  Two hours passed before his guests arrived, entering the bar. He had watched them come into the neighborhood on his HUD, trying to be nondescript. However, as they had been the only ones out on the streets, they might as well have hung neon signs on their backs. Most likely, the pair recognized this anomaly, hating it, but they had no choice.

  He continued to wait, watching the feed from the drones on his HUD. An hour went by as he waited to see if anyone else approached, but the neighborhood remained undisturbed. He sent a prearranged signal to his men in the bar before leaving his perch in the entryway. As the Man descended the steps and walked across the street, he began to whistle again, that same broken melody from a life long ago.

  His whistling trailed off as he approached the bar, but he couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

  He was about to arrange the assassination of an Empress after all. That was a noble reason to smile.