The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Chairman

 "For over three thousand years, Sydentel Industries has been the leader in its field. When the Decision Matrices were pioneered, our board was among the first to adopt its practice; when Flebaro Donitiar made his first expedition into Deep World Sector Twelve, we followed and established the first lines of communication and supply. When it was clear we could mine more resources from planets with new methods and technologies, we ensured we were the first in our industry to explore those possibilities. When public outcry necessitated a change in leadership, the Matrix was quick to act. What we do, we do so fast others still think it's impossible. Delays are not in the DNA of this venture."

—Ridole Grambak, Former Chairman of the Terra Sion Corporate Guild, in a legal bid-memo to the Synatorium for rights to strip Bichevel Outpost

Zaina Quin tilted her head back to see the peak of the skyscraper before her—its highest point, like many buildings on the Garden World of Rishaval, pierced through the clouds and extended into the upper atmosphere.

"You sure this is the right place?" she asked.

Stepping up to stand beside her, Xyrthe Belgrand bit into a piece of red fruit with a sweet aroma. "A-yup."

Even pulled behind her head, Xyrthe's long brown hair was disheveled; her usually-vibrant green eyes were muted by grog-fog, and deep, black bags had nestled beneath them, contrasting with her pale skin—and accenting the black mark on her forehead.

Xyrthe dug a scrap of paper from her pocket and double-checked it. "Terra Sion Corporate Guild Deep World Sector Three Headquarters, Resource Acquisition Division on Rishaval."

Zaina winced. "It's like you're speaking another language."

"They do," Xyrthe said, then stared at Zaina with a bemused grin.

"What?"

"You nervous?"

"No," Zaina lied. "Why the hell would I be nervous?"

Xyrthe shrugged. "I was on my first real mission."

Zaina crossed her arms. "What, cargo and diplomatic details don't count?"

"Correct," Xyrthe replied.

"We could've been attacked by pirates or something."

After an eye-roll Xyrthe replied, "None of those escort missions had a HPI above fifteen percent, much less what we're dealing with now. This time there's nearly a certainty of action—finally."

Zaina gulped, rubbing her clammy hands together. HPI—Hazard Probability Index—was a scoring system that determined how likely a lancer was to encounter a violent situation on a given mission. And this task had a rare one-hundred percent HPI rank.

"Look," Xyrthe continued, "don't worry about it, all right? We're probably dealing with a small band of pirates. Merchants ask for our help with pirates all the time. Of course, the real danger is what's in this building here."

Zaina's eyebrow rose. "Aren't these guys the ones giving us this mission?"

Xyrthe crossed her arms and stared into Zaina's eyes. "Remember, kid—they aren't giving us the mission, the scholars are. We don't work for these assholes—we work for those assholes. Got it?"

Zaina raised her arms in surrender. "Yeah, yeah, I've got it, I've got it. Well, what's so bad about these guys? Didn't they make a big donation or something—they must care about the galaxy, right? How bad can they be?"

Xyrthe's gaze drifted toward the building, her eyes narrowed into a spiteful glare. "You'll see when you meet them."

With a sigh, Xyrthe pulled up the vis-screen on her wrist and pushed a few buttons. A console by the building's door emitted a beep. Part of the concrete sidewalk detached, sliding to make way for a descending mechanical staircase hidden beneath.