Make or Break the Hero (The Hunter Legacy Book 4) by Timothy Ellis Page B
Authors: Timothy Ellis
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limped up to my bathroom, and showered in
full suit, to make sure I didn’t have any blood on me. As I stepped out, the
suit was already dry. I looked in the mirror. A large red welt covered my left
temple, extending from the eyebrow to the top of my head, and back to the ear.
Angel greeted me in the bedroom, so I sat
on the bed, scooped her up, and cuddled her for a few minutes. I sat there
doing another two releases. Oddly, for what had been deliberate murder on my
part, the releases were very minor in effect. I pondered that, absently
stroking Angel.
What am I becoming?
What you need to be.
Will I like what I become if I do this sort
of thing?
Liking yourself is not a requirement.
What is?
Loving all beings, even those you must
kill.
Must?
Silence.
I set Angel down in her cat bed, told her I
had to go out for a few hours, and started down again.
"What was that about?" asked
Vonda, when I was back at the ramp.
"Which that is this?" I asked.
"You're yelling at station cams?"
"The cams were following me the whole time.
The entire thing was recorded. I'm very sure it'll get back to whoever ordered
the hit. I just wanted them to know I wasn’t mucking around, and when I say
no-one who comes after me will survive, I mean it."
"Are you ok boss?" asked BA.
"I'll live. But I'm going to be
limping as bad as Alison for a day or two."
"How do you want to do this Jon?"
asked Annabelle.
I counted us. Fifteen, including Jane.
"Diamond formation I think. Vonda
leads, George and Jane bring up the rear."
"You heard him. Form up!"
Vonda strode out a couple of meters.
Annabelle went to behind and to the left of her, and I took the right. The rest
formed up behind us.
We moved out in step, Vonda setting the
pace. Alison and I were limping badly, but Vonda didn’t set a hard pace. I
concentrated on keeping in position, and had my PC synchronize my steps. My
medical monitor upped the dose of pain killers. Behind us, the combat droids
fell back to a close ring around the Cargo Bay.
The celebration was in full swing when we
arrived.
We had to surrender our weapons at the
door, which I did reluctantly.
We moved into the mass of people as a
group. Amanda steered Alison and I to a group of easy chairs, and we gladly
slumped down in them. George came up with beers.
"Would you rather something
stronger?" he asked me.
"Actually, alcohol of any sort with
pain killers, isn’t a good idea. Can you get me something soft? Ginger Ale or
something?" He nodded.
"Me too," said Alison.
George nodded again, and left.
"Are you okay Jon?" she asked me.
"Very sore. My suit took the hits
okay, but I'm still going to have a major set of bruises again."
"Spa when we get back?"
"You're on."
James McLauchlan came up to me. He pulled
over another chair, and sat facing me.
"You’re a miracle worker Chief,"
I said to him.
He smiled, but waved away the compliment.
"We have some business to
discuss," he said.
"What do I owe the shipyard?"
"Oh that. No, it wasn’t about the
bill. I'll send you an invoice in the morning, after we know what the cost of
repairs to Gunbus will be."
"I look forward to it," I said
with a shudder. He laughed.
"No, what we need to discuss is
royalties and license fees, on designs. I've had enquiries about the new
dropship design already. With your permission, we'll call it a Python class
Dropship." I nodded. Sounded like a good name. "Since it was designed
by Bob, from your requirements, fine-tuned and built by me, I propose we split
the royalties, or license fees, three ways. Assuming you agree, I'm building a
half dozen to put on the sales room floor, expecting a rush on them. What do
you think?"
Bob Derr was the owner of Sydney Shipyard,
and becoming a good friend.
Royalties would be paid each time a ship
was sold, or built to order. License fees were the same amount, but paid for a
license to build it yourself. The former would most likely be private or
corporate buyers. The latter most likely
full suit, to make sure I didn’t have any blood on me. As I stepped out, the
suit was already dry. I looked in the mirror. A large red welt covered my left
temple, extending from the eyebrow to the top of my head, and back to the ear.
Angel greeted me in the bedroom, so I sat
on the bed, scooped her up, and cuddled her for a few minutes. I sat there
doing another two releases. Oddly, for what had been deliberate murder on my
part, the releases were very minor in effect. I pondered that, absently
stroking Angel.
What am I becoming?
What you need to be.
Will I like what I become if I do this sort
of thing?
Liking yourself is not a requirement.
What is?
Loving all beings, even those you must
kill.
Must?
Silence.
I set Angel down in her cat bed, told her I
had to go out for a few hours, and started down again.
"What was that about?" asked
Vonda, when I was back at the ramp.
"Which that is this?" I asked.
"You're yelling at station cams?"
"The cams were following me the whole time.
The entire thing was recorded. I'm very sure it'll get back to whoever ordered
the hit. I just wanted them to know I wasn’t mucking around, and when I say
no-one who comes after me will survive, I mean it."
"Are you ok boss?" asked BA.
"I'll live. But I'm going to be
limping as bad as Alison for a day or two."
"How do you want to do this Jon?"
asked Annabelle.
I counted us. Fifteen, including Jane.
"Diamond formation I think. Vonda
leads, George and Jane bring up the rear."
"You heard him. Form up!"
Vonda strode out a couple of meters.
Annabelle went to behind and to the left of her, and I took the right. The rest
formed up behind us.
We moved out in step, Vonda setting the
pace. Alison and I were limping badly, but Vonda didn’t set a hard pace. I
concentrated on keeping in position, and had my PC synchronize my steps. My
medical monitor upped the dose of pain killers. Behind us, the combat droids
fell back to a close ring around the Cargo Bay.
The celebration was in full swing when we
arrived.
We had to surrender our weapons at the
door, which I did reluctantly.
We moved into the mass of people as a
group. Amanda steered Alison and I to a group of easy chairs, and we gladly
slumped down in them. George came up with beers.
"Would you rather something
stronger?" he asked me.
"Actually, alcohol of any sort with
pain killers, isn’t a good idea. Can you get me something soft? Ginger Ale or
something?" He nodded.
"Me too," said Alison.
George nodded again, and left.
"Are you okay Jon?" she asked me.
"Very sore. My suit took the hits
okay, but I'm still going to have a major set of bruises again."
"Spa when we get back?"
"You're on."
James McLauchlan came up to me. He pulled
over another chair, and sat facing me.
"You’re a miracle worker Chief,"
I said to him.
He smiled, but waved away the compliment.
"We have some business to
discuss," he said.
"What do I owe the shipyard?"
"Oh that. No, it wasn’t about the
bill. I'll send you an invoice in the morning, after we know what the cost of
repairs to Gunbus will be."
"I look forward to it," I said
with a shudder. He laughed.
"No, what we need to discuss is
royalties and license fees, on designs. I've had enquiries about the new
dropship design already. With your permission, we'll call it a Python class
Dropship." I nodded. Sounded like a good name. "Since it was designed
by Bob, from your requirements, fine-tuned and built by me, I propose we split
the royalties, or license fees, three ways. Assuming you agree, I'm building a
half dozen to put on the sales room floor, expecting a rush on them. What do
you think?"
Bob Derr was the owner of Sydney Shipyard,
and becoming a good friend.
Royalties would be paid each time a ship
was sold, or built to order. License fees were the same amount, but paid for a
license to build it yourself. The former would most likely be private or
corporate buyers. The latter most likely
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