"Mr. Consera, I'm going to be honest with you," began Shade. "I know you work for Dux Electus." Orlando laughed incredulously.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Marshall."
"We both know that’s a lie, Mr. Consera. For months now, you and your group have been attacking key positions all along the Crasmidean Sector. You have cost the Confederacy and the Empire billions of dollars and have killed thousands of people. And," Shade laughed darkly, "I have to say, I'm impressed." The two men were sitting a dimly lighted room, on either side of stone desk. Rosiak stood in the corner, next to a softly bubbling fountain.
"Is that so?" asked Orlando. "And what does this gang have to do with you - or me?"
"Profit. Times have changed, Consera. The Confederacy and the Empire have come to terms with each other, and the Galaxy is at peace again." Here Shade paused, allowing for dramatic effect. "But we, Mr. Consera, are not men of peace. We are men of action, of war. We need a fight to pay the bills. And Dux Electus is the perfect solution to that problem."
"So, what exactly are you offering me, Mr. Marshall?"
"350 grand. In return, I will give you jigsaws, cutters, blasters, grenades, DC-98s, and any other weapon you could think of."
"Is-is he for real?" asked Michaelson over the com. "Earth to Dexter; we do not have that kind of arsenal. This Consera guy, he's gonna want proof, alright? No creepy ass leader is just going to let 350 grand walk out the door before inspecting the merchandise."
"It's called a Trojan horse job, Michaelson. Dexter's going to bluff Consera to reveal where the bomb is by tempting him with a gift."
As if to prove Rosiak's point, Consera chucked darkly and folded his arms. "And what makes you think we need your weaponry, Mr. Marshall?"
"Well, it's just that up until today, no one has seen proof that Dux Electus has actually killed anybody. For all we know, your little gang could just be hiding behind Nature's shadow, taking the praise for heart attacks and disease." Consera's face darkened considerably and the knuckles of his hands tightened until they were white.
"This allegations are uncalled for, Mr. Marshall. You told me that you wanted to do business."
"Mr. Consera, as of right now, Dux Electus has done nothing to prove itself. I will do business with you, gladly, if I get proof of your... dedication.”
Consera’s teeth were perfectly white and were sharpened ever so slightly. It made Shade shiver.”Mr. Marshall, Miss Melia, it would seem your timing is fortuitous.”
“How so?” piped up Rosiak. Consera stood, straightening his suit.
“I believe you will find your answer waiting for you at the Calypso bar. I assure you, you won’t forget it.”
Before Consera had even left the room, Irena slipped in. She padded around, like a cat stalking its prey. It didn’t take her long to find the bomb. It was oddly very sophisticated for a bomb; it was little more than a smooth black box with red numbers glaring out from one side:
5:49
As she watched, the '49' faded into '48'.
"Guys, we've got about five minutes to disable this bomb." Irena reported. "I'm going to open it up."
"Wait!" Irena froze, her fingers glued to the side of the bomb. "Irena, that bomb is pressure sensitive, understand? You move and you go boom."
"Yeah, I know what pressure sensitive means, thanks."
"Cyan-"
"Already on it." Cyan burst into the room and walked over to where Irena was. "I'm with Irena."
“OK, Cyan, you’re going to have to disable the bomb for me.” Michaelson said.
“What?!” Both Irena and Cyan shouted. It was harder to say who looked more nervous; Irena or Cyan.
“Look, I know this isn’t what you’d call ideal circumstances-”
“Ideal?” Irena’s voice had gotten slightly higher, as if she had taken a gulp of helium.
“Damn it, Michaelson, I don’t know how to disable a bomb!”
“Well, you’ve got about two minutes left, so either keep bitching at me or let me try to help you survive.” Cyan ran a hand through his hair. He looked like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall. Irena closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Are you ready?” Michaelson sounded oddly calm.
"No," said Cyan, his voice cracking. Out of all the years Irena had known him, she had never seen Cyan so scared.
"Cyan, are you ready?" There was a pause before Cyan answered.
“Yeah.” His voice was steady now, although his eyes were slightly unfocused, as if he were focusing on something else.
“Cyan, there’s a panel where those red numbers are. Open it slowly.” Cyan carefully did as he was told, revealing a maze of red, blue, and brown wires. They all led straight to a metal box.
“Right, see those two connector wires running to the capacitor influx-”
“In English, Michaelson,” Irena said warningly.
“Uh, yeah, ok, those would be the two blue wires.”
“Why couldn’t you just say that?” Cyan growled. The little screen showed 60 seconds. The time for bickering was over.
“Cyan, you’ve got to yank those wires while I send a power surge through the system. That might trick the system into thinking it’s gone off.”
“Might?” Cyan looked murderous.
“Man, this isn’t an exact science! We’ve got about half a second lee way, so I need you to focus.” Thirty seconds remaining.
“Not helping!” Cyan said through clenched teeth.
“On my count.” Michaelson said. Cyan reached out towards the wires, his hands shaking badly.
“Three, two, one.” Cyan yanked the wire just as the lights dimmed, signalling a power surge. The numbers froze at 0:03. Irena relaxed and tossed the bomb on the table. Cyan flinched and pressed his hands to his face briefly. Michaelson whooped and laughed.
“Cyan, Irena, what the hell is going on?” Cyan and Irena spun around to see Rosiak standing in the doorway, a puzzled look on her face.
“We just deactivated the bomb,” explained Cyan. “How’s Dexter doing?”
“Last I saw him he was about to wrap up. He wants to meet up for drinks when he’s done.”
“Race you there,” Irena teased. She jumped out of the window, as the others raced towards the door.
“Something has gone wrong,” Consera murmured. “The explosives should have gone off by now.” Dexter raised an eyebrow.
“Explosion? What do you mean?”
“I-” Consera stopped himself. “Doesn’t matter.”
“You told me Consera, that I would have proof of your dedication,” Dexter pressed. “I warn you, I’m not a patient man.”
Consera blew out a breath. “As I recall, Mr. Marshall, you came to me, not because of my revolutionist aims, but because you saw a profit. Your concern is purely financial. If you wish to be done with this, just say so, and we can part ways. Although I doubt you’ll find a better organization than mine,” he added with a touch of vanity.
“That may be, Consera,” Dexter said silkily, “but if I am nothing if not connected. Business involves having influences everywhere, and I’m sure other businessmen, like myself, would not be interested in a client that showed no future. Arms dealing is a long term investment, Mr. Consera, as doubtless you are aware.”
Consera’s eyes narrowed, and his smile was noticeably frigid. “Then it seems we are at a draw, Mr. Marshall.” He twisted a ring on his finger thoughtfully. “I do not know what went wrong tonight, but I will tell you this; in the future, Dux Electus will cripple the Empire and the Confederacy. Our roots go deep, spreading into your worlds and taking hold, ready to splinter the hypocritical joke that you call government.” Consera looked up to gauge Dexter’s reaction. Dexter kept his face nonchalant, but the message sounded too close to a threat then he would like. “Perhaps a man like yourself would like to join us.” Dexter stood, hand reaching inside his jacket.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
The windows smashed open, raining glass across the room. Five Imperial commandos jumped through them, guns already primed and raised. They pointed at a sprawled figure on the ground. Cursing, Dexter knelt down to check on Consera. Dead.
“The building is clear,” said one of the soldiers. “We are going to sweep the nearby buildings.” The five soldiers left just as Cyan, Michaelson, Irena, and Rosiak rushed into the room.
Cyan ran over and examined the deceased. “Codazintine. Administered by poison dart to the neck.” Cyan looked up at Dexter. "You didn't-?"
"No. Nor did any of the soldiers here." Dexter rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
"Wait, you can tell what kind of poison was used just by looking at him?"
"It's a very distinctive poison," grumbled Cyan.
"More importantly, if Consera's dead, that means the real boss is still out there."
"Codazintine is a military grade poison," Cyan said slowly. "Only top commanders in the Empire can get access to it."
The five friends exchanged uneasy looks. Although none of them would say it, their worst suspicion had come true; they had been betrayed.
Rosiak suddenly burst out laughing. The others stared at her as if she was insane.
"Amelia?" Michaelson asked cautiously. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
"Dux Electus just handed us over a weapon," Rosiak explained. "They gave us a clue to who their leader is by killing Consera. We now know for a fact that Dux Electus has roots in the Empire."
"So?" The others asked. Rosiak's laughter died down. "So, they know we'd be here. And if I were them..." Rosiak and the others suddenly raced for the door.
They barely made it outside before the top floor exploded. Massive fireballs shot out of where the windows used to be. Glass and rock rained down, some flying at the speed of a bullet. Rosiak was clipped in the shoulder by a stone, and a piece of glass cut her cheek. The concussion threw her off her feet, and she was thrown onto her stomach. Rosiak coughed on the smoke and wiped the blood out of her eyes. Dexter gave her a hand up. The others surrounded them, like children looking for answers.
"Now what?" Cyan asked gruffly.
"Now, we find a base. Then, we'll worry about Dux Electus," said Dexter.
"So we're in this together?" It was hard to tell if Michaelson was cheered or apprehension by the fact.
"Looks like it," Rosiak replied.
"For better or for worse?" Irena asked.
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