BOOK 1

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Cover art by Laércio Messias

Cover composition and page design by Ibson Writes, Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication to train AI technologies to generate text, including, without limitation, technologies capable of generating works in the same style or genre as this publication. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

A Kurp Publishing Original

Copyright © 2025 by Jason Córdova

DEDICATION

This book is only possible because of Jacob, Jamie, and Tom.

In my defense, y’all signed waivers.

—» Chapter 1 «—

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES

When I was a child, my pa always said that the only good way to meet the Devil was with steel in hand and a prayer on your lips.

Out in the deepest black, so far away from the sun which birthed humanity that it wasn’t even a pinpoint out in the depths of space, only faith could carry a person. It didn’t matter what they placed their faith in, either. It could be God, gold, one another, or a trusty weapon in hand. As long as they had something to believe in, to carry on, to keep the human drive moving forward. The merciless black cared not where you place your faith, no.

Space was, and forever will be, ruthless. Unforgiving. Uncaring to our wants and needs. The black? Well, it simply is.

Even in the face of this dreadful apathy, humanity continues to stretch forth and spread out amongst the stars. If the planet, moon, or even asteroid could be settled, or if stable LeGrange points in a system were found to be enough for a station, people found a way to make a life there. They’ll form communities, build up towns, elect governments and leaders. They have children, teach, learn, study, love, hate, marry, and eventually be put back into the ground. No matter how far away from our home planet we go, our customs and traditions remain the same.

Eventually, though, things break. Society can crumble. Age has a way of dulling the sharp edge of human survival. Darkness spreads into the communities built by people, whether it be by greed, ignorance, or just plain old bad luck. In the deepest of the black in the Satren system, buried within the bowels of Waystation Zeta, a monster had arrived, a monster that the good people eking out a living needed help dealing with.

Which was how I ended up out in the backend of nowhere on a station most people didn’t even know existed.

This particular monster had a name, one given to him presumably by a mother when he’d been born. Using his name humanized him, though. Made him less terrifying. Names had power, so everyone called him the Composer. Whispered it in shadows, hushed tones filled with fear. Why they associated a stone-cold butcher with someone who created beautiful symphonies was beyond me. Folk had a way of trying to normalize what could never be normal. There was some disagreement between learned men and women alike as to why he was the way he was.

There was one single fact nobody disagreed about, though—the man was a monster, responsible for the deaths of thirteen young women across four systems at least. He’d left a wake of wroth and ruin everywhere he went, poisoned all the lives he touched. The Composer had done some truly horrific things to his victims, and had apparently taken great pleasure in doing so.

Local governments had tried to arrest him, to no avail. Modern police forces weren’t equipped to deal with someone like him. Five good constables, butchered, their bodies left as a calling card. The call went out to Pecos Station. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild, which I am a member in good standing of, answered the call. Three other bounty hunters had taken the job, working together to bring the villain in to face justice for his crimes.

Their deaths weren’t being counted against the Composer’s death tally.

In my not-so-humble opinion, they should.

Louie Washington. Billy Gidd. Stephen “Six-Gun” Knox.

Good men, each one of them. Well, good enough for what we do in this business. All three had been skilled bounty hunters, and had thirty years of experience between them. They hadn’t been neophytes, or inattentive at all. I’d worked with two of them before, and they should have been up to the task. They’d known what they were doing, and had gone in there not underestimating their raven. It should have been a clean collar, one to share with the others over drinks back on Tycho.

Their bodies had been discovered hacked and mutilated, then posed for posterity in grotesque mannerisms which had caused half of the local constabulary to resign immediately. Nobody else stepped up to claim the bounty since, and the Composer continued his devilish ways in the bowels of Waystation Zeta. There’s no telling just how many people he’s slaughtered in the past six months, unmolested by those who might be able to do something about him.

Ernesto Vasquez was murderous scum, a man who preyed upon the young and innocent, the helpless and infirm. He wasn’t even worthy of being called human at this point… but he definitely was worth something to someone. Hence my reasoning for being on this backwater station in the first place.

It was the largest bounty I’d come acrost in months, and payday was close at hand. My team and I had tracked his movements through the station for weeks until we’d finally had him cornered in Bravo Six-One, a section of the station where waste reclamation occurred. It was a hellhole, with leaky pipes and constant condensation throughout, a stench which threatened to never leave you no matter how many lightyears you traveled from the place. Mold of all types grew in abundance here, and while the scrubbers got most of the fungal particles they emitted, enough remained in the air to give me the chills in spite of the humid heat.

The lighting in this particular section was red, which gave everything a surreal look about it. There was no way to be sure if this was a station design or changed because the Composer preferred the aesthetics. Not that I wanted to ask him, though. Truth be told, I only wanted to exchange 86 words with him, at most. Those were the required minimum I’d need to say while bringing him in alive.

Dead? I could do that, but then he’d never face trial. This butcher didn’t deserve a clean death by my gun, though. No, he deserved to have his neck stretched by a rope, as slow as humanly possible, and his death broadcast across thirteen systems to alleviate the suffering of the families he’d destroyed, the lives he’d ended, the very fabric of humanity which his existence threatened.

Plus, the bounty was worth triple if he was brought in alive.

“Which way, boss?” the big man on my left whispered as we came to a split in the corridor. Young, impetuous, but an absolute bull in a fight, Mike Havoc was one solid employee and an all-around good guy to have at one’s back. While he wasn’t a card-carrying bounty hunter yet, he was well on his way. It didn’t hurt that the man was a quick study, had plenty of biomedical enhancements to give him an edge in case it might look like a fair fight, and was the size of a small mountain—which ensured a fair fight did not happen often.

This was his first time chasing a real monster since I’d hired him. Or arrested him, depending on who was asked. His warrant had been fulfilled with some fancy footwork on my part, and I’d taken him on as an employee soon after. Why not? He was perfectly suited for the job.

Mike also happened to be one hell of a mechanic, and those are harder to find than innocence in a discount brothel.

“Whichever way Lazarus tells us,” I said back, pitching my voice low as my eyes swept the darkened corridors. He was lurking nearby, sniffing out the path our target had taken. With as many nooks and crannies this place had, the Composer could have gone anywhere and our biometric scanners wouldn’t be able to determine the way.

Lazarus’ nose, though, was far superior to any scanner.

“Can’t believe you’d trust the wolf to tell us the way,” the other man in my crew muttered. I tried not to roll my eyes at him.

Edison Loret was still relatively new, one I’d hired on reluctantly after I’d been hoodwinked by a local constable at the small mining town of Durango’s Bluff on New Ariz. Whipcord thin but surprisingly tough, the man was otherwise almost plain looking. Edi had the uncanny ability to blend in and disappear in any crowd, no matter the world. It made sense, after all. Once upon a time he’d been a Gasparan Explorer, a small cadre of absolute psychopaths who willingly dropped onto unexplored worlds to see if they would die or not. Sure, there was more to the job than that, and the pay was extraordinarily good, but still… survival rate of an Explorer was lower than a wingless duck in a crocodile pen.

Bounty hunting was safer. Much, much safer.

“He’s got a better sense of direction than any of us do,” I reminded him. He snorted but smiled. Edi knew as well as anyone that the universe was filled with strange and wonderful creatures, most of which we hadn’t even begun to understand the depths of their capabilities—or knowledge. I continued speaking. “Plus, Jaxian quantum wolves are at least a 0.8 on the Hampson Sapience Scale. Maybe higher. We don’t know, and they ain’t talking much. So, we don’t underestimate what Laz’s capabilities are.”

“Like an aich’kandida,” he murmured, his voice thoughtful. I nodded in agreement. According to everything I’ve heard, Star Demons—the most common nickname for the aich’kandida—were almost as smart as Humans. There were arguments they might be even smarter, though that was neither here nor there. One thing all of the scientists agreed on was that they were dangerous alien creatures and best left alone.

“Laz’ll tell us where to go.”

I hoped. Truth be told, sometimes the stubborn young quantum wolf did his own thing. Not often, but enough to give me a slight cause for concern.

I’d had Laz since he’d been a pup. Along with his sisters, I’d pulled him off of Deep Eleven after I’d accidentally killed their mom, a full grown Jaxian quantum wolf, at the behest of a local crime lord. It’d been a mistake, one I still regretted to this very day, but I’d tried to do right by them after. The two girl pups were back on Jaxia now, but according to the Royal Jaxian Game Warden who’d chased me halfway across the galaxy to get the pups back, Laz had bonded with me and wasn’t going to return to Jaxia anytime soon.

I’d never been much for friends, but Laz was probably the closest thing to one I had. Lately, though, his coat hadn’t been looking as shiny as it once had been. He hadn’t changed, behavior-wise, but I was a little concerned. Eventually I’d have to make a trip to Jaxia to see if there was something wrong with the pup.

“This layout sucks,” Mike complained as Laz ghosted around the corner, as silent as an open tomb. Edi jerked back in surprise, then chuckled darkly.

“He likes scaring me, doesn’t he?” he asked, giving Lazarus a pointed look—which was nobly ignored by the pup.

“A dignified critter like Laz? He’s above petty things such as that,” I said. Laz wagged his tail twice and gave me his best goofy grin. I swear, sometimes I wonder if the pup was smarter than all of us. Kneeling, I looked into Laz’s blood-red eyes. There was far too much intelligence in those alien pupils to discount the possibility. “Which way did the bad man go?”

Laz sneezed once, then looked down the tunnel to our left. It was just as dark as the others, with no sign of the Composer ever setting foot there. I conferred with the device attached to my wrist. The bio-scanners weren’t picking anything up, thanks to interference from the machinery and who knew what else down here. Our only chance at finding him in this labyrinth was with Lazarus leading the way, and the quantum wolf was telling me the scanner was wrong.

“That one? You sure?” I asked. Laz’s blood-red eyes looked into mine before he sneezed two more times, and turned back down the corridor. He growled softly in that direction. I slapped my knee and stood upright. “Welp. Good enough for me. Left junction it is.”

“I’m getting nothing,” Edi pointed out as he tapped his own wrist. His bio-scanner was a different model than mine, and newer. Which, if a person knew anything about the Gasparan Explorers, made perfect sense. They always got the best, shiniest toys. They needed them to determine if a newly discovered habitable planet was going to murder future colonists, after all.

Everyone knew about Plagamundo, and nobody wanted a repeat of that environmental disaster.

“I know a thing or two about this job because I’ve learned to trust my gut,” I explained for both of their benefits. Edi, because he had a tendency to question things to the point of exhaustion. Mike because he needed to learn the job, since he was still practically a neophyte in the business. I jerked a thumb at Laz. “Right now, he’s the gut. Hell, probably better. Let’s go.”

I let Mike lead the way. Not because he was newer or anything of the sort, but because he was twice my size and his mass would allow him to soak up more rounds than I could should it come down to a firefight in the narrow passageway. Plus, he had on far more body armor. Edi and I were on the slighter side, though the former Explorer had a few inches in height on me. Even with our body armor, it was simply more tactically sound to set Mike out front and be the bullet sponge.

Not counting Lazarus, I mean. The quantum wolf pup roamed further ahead, scouting out little nooks and crannies, invisible until he chose to reveal himself. With his virtually indestructible coat, he was almost perfectly suited for some light recon work.

Once he developed his phasing capabilities, he’d be untouchable for recon work—though that change would come at a cost.

Focus, I silently chided. Lately my mind tended to wander a bit. My pa always praised a mind which was quiet during the hunt. A bounty hunter needed to be focused. One could not afford to be distracted. A distracted bounty hunter, after all, was usually a dead one.

We came to a dead end in the tunnel. Laz was sitting at the end of the tunnel, his eyes locked on the wall. Mike approached slowly, then looked around as he reached the far wall. There was no evidence of any other way through.

“Dead end,” Mike grunted. My eyes scanned the wall as a seed of doubt formed in my belly. Laz was almost always right. Had the pup made a mistake? Unlikely. But what were we missing here?

“Knew we shouldn’t have listened to an animal…” Edi muttered, just loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough that, should I say anything, he could plead innocence.

It didn’t make any sense at all, though. Even though he wasn’t human, Lazarus was rarely mistaken while tracking things down.

“Laz?”

The wolf continued to stare at the wall. He chuffed once, softly, almost as though he were afraid to make too much noise.

Curious.

In my pocket I carried an old penlight. It didn’t offer much in the way of light usually, but in the dim corridor it worked well enough. Flicking it on, my eyes tracked the narrow beam as I moved it around to inspect the walls. They looked normal enough, but something tickled the back of my mind, warning me. Something was off but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

Shifting the penlight down, I scanned the floor of the dead-end corridor. It was an old metal plating on the deck, clearly having seen years, even decades, of service, judging by the level of grime in the grooves. Only…

I squinted in the dim lighting and knelt down. One small portion of the metal flooring next to the wall was clean. Which shouldn’t have been possible. Every person who’d ever spent time on a station knew that corners were the bane of any cleaner’s existence. Grime, mold, mildew, everything accumulated in the grooves and edges in corridors or anywhere excess moisture gathered.

This was practically spotless compared to the rest of the floor. I grinned.

Behind this wall, something lay hidden.

You only hid something if you did not want it found. This particular wall couldn’t be part of the station design. It had been moved back and forth into place, which created the shiny spot on the deck. If not for Lazarus, nobody would have ever even suspected it being there. It was almost completely seamless and, with the dim red lighting in this part of the station, all but invisible.

“Gotcha,” I hissed and killed the penlight.

“Boss?” a voice whispered in my ear. Tara, the last member of my crew—and arguably the most dangerous one of the lot—was safely back onboard the Sly Fox, my ship. A Coderunner, she was intrinsically linked to any and every network system she desired thanks to her cranial implants and intense childhood training. Unfortunately for whatever syndicate that’d raised her creche, she hadn’t been quite good enough to suit their needs and she’d been tossed out into the streets. It’d been pure happenstance I’d come across her, and she’d been working with me ever since.

“What you got, Tara?” I subvocalized softly, pocketing the small light.

“Station security is moving in on your position,” she reported. I cursed. The station chief had promised me they would give us time before they tried to breach by force, which meant far more innocent civilians might get hurt in the process of bringing down the Composer. “They’re coming loaded for bear. Explosives and everything. Guess they decided the bounty was worth poaching from us after all. Their ETA is ten minutes. I can try and stall ‘em, but…”

“No, don’t reveal yourself just yet.” Tara was my ultimate ace card to play, and the longer we could go without revealing her capabilities to local authorities, the better our position remained. It also helped perpetuate the myths and legends which have sprung up about us.

A lie can travel across the universe five times before the truth had managed to make it out of bed and had its first cup of coffee in the morning, my pa always said.

He had a way with words.

“Got it. I’ll let you know when they’re five minutes out.”

“Thanks, Tara.” I looked at the others and scowled. Sometimes security forces did this to avoid paying out a bounty. It was both stupid and dangerous for all involved. Especially when dealing with someone like the Composer. I dropped my voice low enough to barely be heard over the noise in the section. “Timer’s ticking, people. He’s on the other side of this wall somewhere. Mike, we’ve gotta breach hard and fast into the corridor. Poppers go in once the wall is down. Edi? Swing right, try to get to that access portal in case the target heads that way. Lazarus? Find the bad guy and attack.”

Two heads nodded while one tail wagged in affirmation.

It was difficult, but I managed not to sigh out loud. So much could go wrong that the longer I dwelt on it, the more disastrous outcomes began to pop up in my head. With station security moving in, though, I had no other options. The time to breach was either now or never. My hand drifted to my belt where I kept a trio of stun grenades for potentially sticky situations like this. "Poppers," as I liked to call them, were a breacher's best friend. I always carried some on me on a hunt.

My Pa always believe in being prepared.

“Move,” I quietly murmured. A simple command, yes, but one which set a large and violent man into motion.

Mike kicked the false wall in with a heavy boot. The wall would have stood up to a normal person kicking it, but Mike—heavily augmented with muscle enhancements and density implants, courtesy of a rogue scientist where the kid had grown up at—was pretty far from normal. It crashed to the floor loudly. I tossed in a banger immediately, which popped noisily and created a cacophony of light and sound. It was disorientating on the best days, and even prepared for one, the effects were immediate. Fortunately, all three of us were wearing filtered lenses, so the lights didn’t bother us. The noise, though, was still atrocious.

Mike moved and flowed to the left, the carbine looking stubby in his giant hands. Edi went right, his own pistol up and ready as he covered the blind spots. I followed right on his heels, stacked up, keeping an eye on the left as he continued to clear his sector. As soon as he reached the corner, I broke off and moved to the darkest area in the room.

The shadows cast by the popper hid the small corner from naked eyes. There was a series of decorative room dividers isolating the far bend. As I moved closer, though, a small, narrow alcove which dumped into another corridor appeared from a particularly decorated divider. It was covered with interesting floral patterns of red and black, with what looked like vines running down, and—

It took all of my willpower to not recoil in horror. They weren’t floral patterns and ivy vines, no. It was blood, both dried and fresh, a grotesque parody of beauty. The Composer had definitely been busy, and it was recent. A chill ran down my spine as I looked around the rest of the room, looking for any sign of life.

I really wish I hadn’t.

Stacked against the darkened wall was a horrific organ of agony, a travesty against man and nature, a dire mockery of something designed to create beauty through song and celebration. The monster had designed it to show his contempt towards an instrument used most commonly in places of worship. Men and women alike had been hammered to the wall. Their skins had been flayed down to their sinew in places, exposed parts of their bodies cut in ways which would haunt me to the end of my days. Their throats were the only part of their body untouched by the cruel butchery. There were six in total, three men and three women. How these poor souls were still alive was beyond me. Behind their blank eyes there was a pool filled with unending, ceaseless pain. Their mouths twisted open, screaming soundlessly, their torment a silent symphony.

Connected to their exposed nerves were electrical conduits, the old-fashioned sort which carried the current over exposed wiring. He had connected these wires to an elaborate keyboard with various pullers and levers attached to it. It didn't take me long to figure out what would happen if he played a note.

I understood finally why they called him the Composer.

“Alive, boss,” a voice whispered in my ear. It was Tara. I knew she was able to see everything in the room now that our lenses were inside, and the girl knew me well enough to understand what was raging in my soul. These people deserved vengeance and justice. “We only get paid enough to keep flying if he’s brought in alive.”

She was right, of course. Her words reminded me that I was a professional. I’d hunted down all manner of people in my years as a bounty hunter. Doing what I did required a degree of professionalism I could ill afford to lose. Tara knew what I was thinking. It did little to quell the desire to end this monster’s life, but she was right.

Space was getting too expensive for independents like us to operate in. The Sly Fox could only stay in the black, free from obligations and at liberty to take work that we want, if the Composer was brought in alive. Dead? Sure, we’d get paid, but not nearly as much, and we’d be forced to take jobs we might have moral issues with sooner rather than later.

There were definite moral issues here, but they started and ended with with us having to bring this vile bastard in alive.

The shadows here were long and dark, perfect places for our bounty to hide within. Mike continued moving through the shadows to my left, sweeping into the back corners where the Composer was probably hiding in. Edi, smaller and definitely sneakier, had already finished checking the right and had stopped at the horrific torture site. His normally dark face was pale but his eyes were angry. This was good. It meant that the sight of the tortured souls hadn't broken him yet. He was far more likely of the two to remain professional when the fighting began.

And there would be a fight. "Alive" did not mean "unharmed."

The light from the poppers faded as the brilliant sparklers reached the end of their lifespan. There was still some of the ominous red light spilling in through the doorway, but our immediate light source had run out. Fortunately, a bounty hunter is always prepared. My penlight was easily small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, but bright enough to light the entire room.

"Found the light panel," Mike called out. I snorted. So much for the penlight. Maybe I'd been a tad overprepared this time.

The overhead lights came on, blinding the others. Mike must not have had the same ocular implants I did because he blinked and shielded his eyes. Edi did the same. Because of this, both of them missed the massive man standing next to a pillar near the center of the room wearing a blood-soaked tuxedo, sans shoes.

He was grotesquely obese, with every button on his tuxedo coat straining against his girth. His eyes were wild, with almost zero white in them. He was on a hallucinogenic of some sort. The files I had on him suggested he was a heavy user of them, probably Glipp. Which made sense. It was designed to take the user into an altered state of reality in their mind, and also enhance their reaction speed when they fight. The downside was complete and utter psychosis if repeatedly used.

The man's teeth were broken, jagged. It was clear it had been some time, if ever, since he'd visited an dentist. In the mask of gore on his face, though, they gleamed brightly, a sharp contrast to the caked blood. His chin featuring a long goatee hanging down long enough to cover his bowtie. It, too, had been soaked in ichor.

His hands were covered in blood as well. In each he gripped long skinning knives, the sort that sport hunters used out in the wild. It was obvious instantly he knew precisely what he was doing with them, too. They'd been put to use, and often. His entire body looked relaxed, as though our sudden arrival into his little private Den of Horrors wasn’t even a blip on his LIDAR.

Everything I saw was processed through my mind in less than a second. Unfortunately, judging by how quickly he attacked, the same could be said for him as well.

The obese man slammed into Edi, who was blinking still from the sudden light. Caught off guard, it was all he could do to keep his neck from being opened ear to ear by the maniac Composer. Those wickedly sharp knives flashed in the light as they moved. For a brief moment it appeared Edi Loret, retired Gasparan Explorer, was a goner.

But Edi hadn’t survived exploring hundreds of worlds across the universe just to die at the hands of some obese mass murderer on a space station nobody ever remembered existed.

His forearm blocked the first slash, the armored brace he wore there keeping the finely honed edge of the blade from opening him up to the bone, and he left hand managed to redirect the Composer’s follow up cut to the thigh. The blade slid off the reinforced fabric of his leg and I heard Edi hiss, more in surprise than pain. The fabric armor, surprisingly, held up against the skinning knife.

I wasn’t standing around with my thumb up my butt while Edi fought for his life, though. The moment the Composer attacked Edi, my six shooter was out. I hesitated firing, though. Edi was in my line of fire, though indirectly. Still, I couldn’t risk one of my shots punching through the corpulent killer and hitting Edi.

Plus, killing the Composer severely cut into the bounty.

Edi rolled out of the way of another vicious cut as I holstered my six shooter in one smooth motion. Even after all these years I preferred it over the semi-automatic pistol on my left hip. I charged in and my shoulder clipped the Composer’s shoulder, just hard enough to deflect his next slash. The blade whistled harmlessly past Edi’s exposed throat, with the edge kissing his leather collar. A fraction of an inch more and my employee would have died.

We needed to end this, and fast.

The Composer turned and tried to stab me with his other knife, but I was already dancing out of the way of the expected counterattack. He slashed viciously but missed, so I tried kicking him in the knee with my boot. Surprisingly nimble, he managed to dodge the strike and backed away, keeping the empty corridor behind him and the three of us in front. I’d been in dozens of knife fights in my life, and the old adage was true: nobody really “won” a knife fight.

“There’s nowhere to run,” I told him. Mike and Edi spread out to either side, trying to surround him. The wall to Mike’s right prevented him from blocking the dark corridor behind the Composer, though. We didn’t have him fully contained. Not yet, at least. “Give up now and save yourself from a world of pain.”

“There is beauty in pain,” he hissed and slashed one of the wicked-looking knives at my chest. For a man of his size, he was disturbingly quick. I jumped back a foot, doing my best to keep out of knife range. He twirled the other in his fingers. Flesh dropped from the handle and landed on the floor. “There is a certain poetry in the blood. Does it sing to you, bounty hunter? Can you hear it? My beatific musical organ, those magnificent bastards, heard it. They sang me their beauty, bounty hunter. They cried out in gleeful song with each plucked tendon, every nerve I set aflame. Harmony. Perfect, absolute… harmony.”

The knife flashed again and this time the sharp edge bit into my sleeve. Body armor was good for ballistics, but silks of the sort I wore were designed specifically for knives. Agravian silk was supposedly the best of both worlds, offering armor against blasters and blades, but nobody had told the Composer apparently. He growled in frustration as the silks did their job.

His witless banter continued unabated as he tried to unnerve us, throw us off. It was a trick I’d come across many, many times in my long years as a bounty hunter. The prey would say desperate things, weak distractions hunters with lesser willpower than I would fall to. I’d seen it all before, so it was easy to drown out his disjointed rambling. Instead I kept my focus on the knife as he waved it back and forth before me.

The rambling, disjointed speech was nothing but horrific, unfathomable evil. The words were cutting into Mike and Edi both, though my younger mechanic/bounty hunter was clearly unnerved. Both men had their guns pointed at the Composer's head, their fingers on the trigger. They were angry, armed, and ready to dispense some justice.

“Don’t shoot!” I warned them both. Edi shifted his aim slightly, his experience showing, but Mike’s gun hand trembled. I could see it in the young man’s eyes. The vile words were affecting him. He wanted to kill the monstrous human, to expend his own brand of righteousness upon him. We couldn't afford any poetic justice. “Mike, no!”

“That’s right, young man.” The Composer reared back his head and laughed. There was a sinister joy in it, something I did not think he was possible of. It was mocking, without life or feeling. “Don’t kill the monster. Let him roam the corridors of every station from here to Hexun IV. Let the Composer be the boogeyman to all the little boys and girls who misbehave. Their whispers will keep me alive forever. Your bullet means nothing, worm. I will be immortal.”

The Composer wanted immortality, to be whispered in fear for years, decades to come. Dead, he would accomplish just that. We needed him alive, and not just for the money.

The best way to kill a legend is to prevent one from even starting. A quiet death after rotting in a cell somewhere, forgotten, long after he'd been captured and all appeals exhausted.

“Mike,” I said as the shape moved behind the Composer in the darkened corridor. It was a brief flash of white, but it was enough to tell me that help was about to arrive. “Mikhail!” The big man’s head snapped over at me. I never used his real name if I could help it. Too many ears listening and word might get back to the wrong people that someone who was supposed to be locked away somewhere was actually not. “He’s got bigger problems to worry about. Trust me. Don’t shoot him.”

The Composer smiled. I smiled back. He blinked, confused.

The fat bastard never saw Lazarus coming.

A blur vaguely resembling two hundred pounds of crystalline-white quantum wolf slammed into the back of the Composer. He went down with a squeal as Laz’s teeth latched onto his shoulder. Blood splattered onto the deck. Not a killing strike, thankfully. Sharp dewclaws dug into the corpulent monster’s thighs, drawing blood as Laz’s full weight was pressed down onto the monster’s back. The murderer tried to roll, but here his girth worked against him here. Lazarus, with better leverage and the advantage of surprise going for him, managed to keep him face-down, both forepaws pressed against the murderer’s spine. Somehow our quarry managed to twist slight and his knife slashed out and struck Laz in the neck. The razor-sharp blade bounced off of the quantum wolf’s diamond coat, doing no damage and only eliciting a ferocious growl.

Edi came in quick and low, years of exploring dangerous uninhabited world evident in the way he moved. His reinforced boot stomped on the knife-wielding left hand of the Composer. Fingers broke and the blade turned on its wielder, drawing blood as the force of the blow twisted the Composer’s hand unnaturally. He continued his attack and I heard the satisfying crunch of bone being destroyed as Edi twisted our bounty’s knee in a way knees weren’t made to move.

Mike dropped his full body weight on the Composer’s free elbow. There was far more Mike than there was give in the targeted arm. Miraculously, it didn’t break. It sure did bend, though, which caused the mass murderer to shriek his own song of pain and anguish as his brain caught up with the different sources of hurts he was suddenly suffering from. The knife in his right flew from his grasp, encouraged by a swift kick from Mike.

The Composer might talk about beauty being in pain, but it sure didn’t sound like he enjoyed being in this particular beautician’s care. The creature was crying on the station’s deck plating, his sobs sounding wretched and very unlike the monster who’d been taunting me moments before. Breathing heavily, I checked my arm to see how bad the injury was.

The Agravian silk had managed to stop most of the attack, but a small cut was trickling blood on the back of my gloved hand. The blade had sliced clean through my expensive, reinforced, and supposed armored gloves. Scowling, I glanced back at the Composer. He was alive, and in custody.

Just as the bounty required.

Like I said before, alive didn’t necessarily mean unhurt, though. I kicked him again in his ruined knee because he’d tried to hurt my dog. He squealed in pain, his eyes wide and wild. The being before me on the ground was not a danger any longer, nor a threat. His eyes were piggish, small, too close together. He stank of stale blood, putrid sweat, and fear. The Composer also appeared to be suffering from male pattern baldness, as well as a necrosis due to his weight problem. I wanted to scream, to beat him senseless, to ask why he’d done the things he’d done.

It would have been a waste of time, though. One never asked the monster why it did the things it did. It simply was. Creatures of evil, of darkness, knowing nothing else but to cause pain and terror, to cause the innocents to clutch their pillows in the dark of the night. It would be simpler to end it now, to put a steel-jacketed round through his brainpan and call it a day. Lesser men would have.

At the end of the day, though, I’m a bounty hunter, not the judge or jury. I’m the best for a reason. The best were always impartial at the end.

Instead of shooting him down like a rabid dog as he deserved, I slapped him in irons and hauled him to his feet. He cried out as he struggled to stand on his ruined knee. His skin felt cold and clammy in my hand. The tang of rotted blood filled the air. It took every little bit of my willpower to not pull back, to wipe off the sensation of evil from my palm.

The dead deserved justice. On my honor, they were going to get it.

I spoke in as calm of a tone as I could manage.

“Ernesto Vasquez, aka The Composer—you are hereby bound by the Laws of Man. Under the 2320 Bounty Act of Pecos Station, and authorized by the signatories of the non-aligned systems, I hereby remand you into authoritative custody, being myself. You can speak if you’d like, but anything you say will be used against you in court. You have no other rights until you are turned over to the proper legal authorities who authorized the bounty. Blink once if you understand. Or don’t. Either way, you’re ours now. Mike? Gag and bag ‘im. We’re done here.”

My name is Quintus Fox.

I’m the best bounty hunter in the universe.

—» Chapter 2 «—

WHEN THE DEVIL COMES CALLING, DON’T ANSWER

We found four missing children the station security hadn’t told us about—or more likely, hadn't even known about—after Edi began applying enhanced interrogation techniques to the sensitive areas of the Composer’s left hand. The governments who wanted to string him up for the murders would need the right for his signed confession later, once he was in their custody.

Four living, breathing, and relatively unscathed children, bound and squirreled away in a dark, abandoned ventilation shaft which hadn’t been on the station schematics. They survived, and while they might have nightmares later, kids were resilient. Three boys, one girl. Dirty, hungry, scared out of their minds, but alive. Children we would have missed had we killed the Composer and collected on the “dead” bounty. Children who would have ended up as nothing more than a statistic, lost but never found.

Some days it does pay to be a little greedy. In this case, we'd saved more lives than originally planned. Things such as this allow me to sleep well after seeing the horrors created by someone pure evil, like Vasquez.

Once paid and the children reunited with their families, I got the boys back on the Sly Fox and told Tara to start prepping for launch. There was no reason to hang around Waystation Zeta any longer than necessary. Jobs were getting fewer and further apiece than it had been when I’d first gained admission to the guild, and bounties worth the while tunneling through space were harder to come by. Spending excess time on the station meant potentially losing out on a bounty elsewhere.

If there was a bounty out there posted publicly, then Tara would find it. But using a lower-latency comms system, like the one on the waystation, meant the bounty could possibly be out of date by the time we arrived at our next destination. Dawdling meant an empty belly. My pa always said that a wasteful man was a wanting man, so I indulged most of Tara's wants. So far she hadn't let me down.

Even with the high payoff on the Composer's, our profit from this job barely left us above water thanks to rising fuel costs. The rods should have been good for another six months, but Mike had suggested changing them out sooner rather than later might be best. Since he was a far better mechanic than I ever would be, I trusted his word. But that had pushed our profit margin to the limit even before the bounty had been raised due to the murder of the other hunters.

Tara was also pushing for another update on the firmware for the sensory platform of the Sly Fox, but I was hesitant. Firmware updates always felt like a waste of credits to me, nothing more than a bunch of micro updates for a load of money and little actual improvement.

However, Tara swore by them, and insisted that updated platforms would make our jobs easier when we were out here in the Striderlands. She had a point. Out on the very edge of explored space like the Fringes, the Deep Black, or the Striderlands, the best sensors were necessary. I was able to counterargue the lack of work out that far to justify my decision.

So far.

Sooner or later, though, the girl would get her way. She always did.

"Anything new on the bounty list we should look at?" I asked, standing behind the pilot's chair. Normally I would be in the copilot's chair, but I wanted Tara to handle this. It was good practice for her. She skillfully slipped us out of our berthing space and told the Sly Fox to go comms dark. Now nobody would be able to track us via comms codes unless we wanted them to.

It took a few minutes to clear the tether lines before we could fully engage our maneuvering thrusters. Waystation Zeta, like most of the space stations we visited, had strict maneuvering guidelines in the near-space around their structures. Barring any mitigating circumstances—like being shot at by station security trying to stop us from leaving with our bounty—we typically followed the rules when it came to station traffic control.

"Peanuts," she replied as she guided the Sly Fox free of Waystation Zeta-controlled space and into the black. "A few out on the edges of the Striderlands, but nothing that'll cover the wear and tear on this old boat."

"She's not that old," I reminded her. Tara snorted.

"Anything older than me is old, boss."

"You're not even eighteen," I said. She turned and gave me a pointed look.

"Exactly."

"Well… look for something," I told her, trying to avoid losing the argument. A small voice in the back of my head, though, told me I already had. "Try to steer clear of corporate accounts."

"Boss…" She sighed and shook her head, her focus back on the console as her mind tracked probably twenty other things going on within the computers of my ship. "Corporate accounts are the only ones worth picking up these days. Hardly anybody else can offer much, even on big fish like the Composer."

"The Waystation was able to pony up enough to make it worth our while."

"Yeah, but they were partially subsidized by Hedger-Hert," she pointed out. "Otherwise it would have been almost nothing. Face it… we're gonna have to work for a corp, boss. Maybe not today, but soon. I've run the numbers."

Inwardly I winced. I might be able to guesstimate numbers, but Tara could generate the hard numbers while taking a nap and let me know precisely to the cent-cred just how screwed we were. If anybody but her had told me this, I would have just shrugged it off as natural pessimism.

The ship's comm chimed, interrupting us. We turned and stared at the blinking light on the console. The sky blue light continued to blink ominously. It took me a moment to realize why the comms chime sent a chill of fear and uncertainty racing up and down my spine.

The comms shouldn't have been able to chime. We were running dark.

They chimed a second time. There was nothing to be seen on the display. The signal was masked. No ID, nothing. Tara pursed her lips, a contemplative expression on her face. It was clear as day she did not like the situation.

Hell, I didn't like it either.

“Boss…” she exhaled. “They’re masking. They shouldn’t be able to. I don’t like this.”

“Me neither,” I replied calmly, doing my best to hide the unease gnawing at my belly. The number of people who had the capability of defeating a Coderunner were few and far between, and almost all of them worked for one of the many conglomerates which were slowly hegemonizing the explored universe. The same companies who were deliberately putting people like us out of work. My eyes flickered from the display to the spiraling stars beyond.

The comms chimed a third time. It sounded impatient to me, which was silly. Swallowing, I nodded to her. The doubt didn’t leave her eyes but she obeyed, flicking the comms over to the display.

The screen came to light instantly. A gaunt, narrow face appeared, bereft of any hair on his head—eyebrows included. Across his scalp ran crisscross scars, an obvious sign that he had had some serious enhancement work done on his brain. His milky white eyes stared at me—no, through me. I know almost instantly what I was looking at. This was no human. Not anymore, at least. The figure on the display was a Thinkerman, a walking, breathing, computer fused with what had once been a human being—and by law, property of the company which performed the augmentation to the brain.

Those lifeless eyes stared across the stars and the heavens, boring a hole straight into my soul. He smiled politely, which was far worse than his eyes. Black teeth showed through his cracked lips as they parted. His voice seemed to come from the grave itself.

“Good afternoon, Quintus Fox. On behalf of the Landgrave Horst Corporation, I bring you glad tidings.”

“Good afternoon,” I replied through gritted teeth. Thinkermen always set me on edge, with their lifeless eyes staring through someone as though they were nothing more than a mathematical equation. I’d only dealt with a few throughout my time as a bounty hunter. And that was too many.

The last one I’d come across, I’d killed. In self-defense, and not without cause, but it was still my responsibility. The fact that it had been in the employ of the Landgrave Horst Corporation? And this one who’d pushed through Tara’s security measures was claiming to be a representative of said company?

I don’t believe in coincidences. Something wicked was coming our way

"The Landgrave Horst Corporation would like to enquire about retaining the services of one Quintus Fox, his crew, and the vessel known as the Sly Fox, registration code A21-D22737." His voice was flat, ethereal. Tara's became similar when she was lost in other people's systems. The Thinkerman was a living, breathing system, though. It was disturbing to hear him speak.

"I'm not interested," I replied instantly. Nothing good could come of working for a corporation who tried to swindle me and had gotten swindled in return. Sure, I'd won that round, but why risk a rematch? Besides, I knew Mike would be more than a little upset if I agreed. It'd been them, after all, who had kidnapped him off the streets and then "enhanced" him as a child.

"Oh, but your financials suggest you are very, very interested, Mister Fox."

Scowling, I glanced at Tara. Her eyes were half-closed in concentration, her lips moving soundlessly as she worked. Either she was trying to catch the Thinkerman as he rifled through my internal stuff on the ship, or was working overtime to keep him out. Interrupting or distracting her at the moment could be bad. I let the Thinkerman's comment pass for the time being and let my eyes drift back to the display.

"Still not interested."

"Curious. Tell me… have you ever wondered if humanity was truly alone in the universe, Mister Fox?"

I had, but the obvious carrot to garner my interest wasn't worth the inevitable stick the Thinkerman would probably beat me with later. The lure was a little too obvious. This Thinkerman showed little of the subtlety the last one I'd come across had. This one was blunt, direct. He thought I would be twitchy at the mere suggestion of alien life in the universe. Considering I had a quantum wolf on my ship who was probably smarter than half my crew…

"Nope."

"Liar."

"Prove it." I shrugged. "Ain't got no time to be chasing rumors of aliens, Thinkerman. Rumors don't keep people fed, or ships up in the sky."

"Interesting vernacular choice, Mister Fox." The Thinkerman cocked its head. "Rumors, instead of legends and ghosts?"

I cursed my own stupidity. "Rumors, ghosts… same difference. Still not interested."

"I think you are, at the very least, intrigued. An item has recently been stolen from one of our secure facilities on the edge of the Striderlands," the Thinkerman began. He steepled his fingers, as though to challenge me to interrupt him a second time.

Challenge accepted.

"What part of 'not interested' did your neural processor not understand? Maybe you have a faulty chip up there? I know a guy—"

"Let's revisit your refusal after I've given you the facts, Mister Fox," he said, cutting me off. A flicker of something, disgust maybe, appeared and disappeared on his otherwise emotionless face before I could blink. I crossed my arms and stuck my chin out stubbornly, but said nothing. Seeing this as compliance, the Thinkerman continued. "As I said before, one week ago a secure facility owned by the Landgrave Horst Corporation was broken into. I am sending you the encrypted files pertaining to the event. I'm sure your little pet Coderunner should be capable enough to decrypt them in a timely manner."

Tara bristled at this but wisely kept her mouth shut.

"In this facility there was an item of importance that was stolen. While we were unable to identify the thief, we were able to track their ship. We believe this location is where the thief intends to meet with their buyer and offload the item."

"You're still assuming I'm in—"

"Five million credits, Mister Fox," the Thinkerman said to cut off my further protests. "One-third up front, the rest when you bring us both the thief and the item."

I blinked, stunned.

Five.

Million?

That amount could keep the Sly Fox upgraded and in the sky for years, even with the rising costs of fuel and parts. It would also pay for food, supplies, and wages, and still leave us with a comfortable amount after. It was definitely something I was interested in, despite my previous assertations insisting otherwise.

"Let's say for a moment that I might very well be mildly interested," I muttered, trying to keep the growing excitement out of my tone. I'd made a lot of money over the years, but never had so much been thrown at me up front. Tara's eyes were wide and she kept mouthing something at me. "I'm not saying that I am, mind you, but…"

"Five million… what?" Edi asked from the doorway of the cockpit. Half-turning, I spotted Mike standing slightly behind him, his dark eyes fixated on the display screen. The retired Explorer slipped past me and into the co-pilot's chair. Mike, meanwhile, had his jaw open like a confused puppy.

"Ah… I see you still have Mikhail Eugene Havovich in your custody. This will please the Landgrave Horst Corporation immensely."

"Well, haven't gotten around to turning him over to Royal Game Wardens yet," I lied before offering the Thinkerman a slight shrug. "You know how busy a bounty hunter's life can be sometimes."

"Especially a famous one," the Thinkerman added.

Huh. I didn't know Thinkermen could have a sense of humor. I thought it was removed, along with the individuality of the person who was being turned into a walking machine.

"Well look at you, all humorous and stuff."

"We believe the thief is working with a buyer on the planet of Nuevo Aires," he said, pushing through my constant my interruptions. "You should begin your search there, Mr. Fox."

"Hey, wait… I never said I was accepting the job."

"You accepted the contract when you remained on the comms for two minutes after receiving the encrypted files, Mr. Fox," came the terse reply. "Embedded in the handshake protocol of your system was a layered contract. Paragraph four, subsection three, line two. Your continued existence on this comm confirms it, and the file has already been forwarded to Pecos Station for official records."

"Shit. Sorry, boss, I didn't see that," Tara snarled and began hooking mentally back up to the Sly Fox. Her voice turned ethereal as she dove into the comms. "Slip in a subversive agreement in a contract to trick the unwitting… not on my comms."

For the first time, the Thinkerman showed continued signs of life. It wasn't just a flicker this time, either. He smiled. The expression was something straight out of a horror novel, with all the humor of a corpse and appeal of rotted death. There was no life there, nothing. Not even humanity. Yet the smile was cruel without… emotion? It's hard to explain, and I hope to never see that again.

"Adorable. The little Coderunner thinks she can undo what already is done."

"Tara, stop," I warned her as nasty thoughts of contract violations and clauses started running through my head. My Pa had always told me that just because you were paranoid didn't mean there was nobody out to get you. She stopped, though it was obvious to everyone she did so reluctantly.

“Nuevo Aires, Mister Fox,” the Thinkerman said in a flat, emotionless voice, that horrific smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Thank the gods for that at least. “That is where you should begin your search for the thief. The first third of your fees have already been deposited into your number private account. Good day.”

The comms cut abruptly. The sudden silence in the cockpit was deafening. As soon as the connection was terminated, all eyes were on me to fix things. I was, after all, the boss of this little outfit of misfits and hooligans. There was no pressure.

None at all.

Fortunately, I'd already thought of what steps were next—and who needed to do what job. I'd been planning it since the Thinkerman had mentioned the size of the bounty, though there was no way I was ever going to admit it to them. Credits were credits, after all. And we needed to survive. The people on the ship who called me “boss” were my responsibility, and my job was to take care of them.

“Tara? Find out everything you can about Nuevo Aires,” I told her. “Population, politics, who really runs things there. Anything that we can use. Disseminate it into three folders—green, yellow, and red. Green for potential allies, et cetera. Treat it like a normal portfolio build for any regular client.”

“Boss…” she let her voice trail off.

Experience had taught me that Tara, while she did like to argue for the sake of arguing, oftentimes made valid points in areas I tend to have blind spots about. With Landgrave Horst, though, there was no need. Past experience told what her main concerns were, and why.

“I know what I’m doing,” I told her, nodding her way. “I remember the last time. I'm well aware that they are going to try and screw us six way to Sunday.”

“So do I, sir,” Mike interjected, speaking up for the first time since he'd come into the cockpit to join us. “And I don’t like it. No sir.”

“Me neither,” I replied. “Whatever this thief stole, it’s worth something to Landgrave Horst. I mean, actually worth something. More than you, more than me… hell, more than this ship. Do you know why?”

Mike shook his head. Tara shrugged. Laz wagged his tail but remained silent, keeping his own opinions to himself as usual. Only Edi was staring thoughtfully at the console. I could see his brain churning through it all, implications and otherwise. The retired Explorer was not a stupid man. I wouldn't have hired him on otherwise. After a minute, he spoke.

“They tipped their hand too early in the negotiations,” he declared. I smiled and nodded. Say what you will about Explorers and their insane approach to planetary exploration, but they always looked at the unspoken message in between the lines of dialogue. Suicidal did not always mean socially inept.

“What?” Tara asked. “What do you mean?” Edi looked at me, uncertain. I motioned for him to explain.

“They showed that a Thinkerman is capable of hacking a ship secured by a Coderunner,” Edi began, tapping his chin as he leaned back in his seat. “They also showed that they’ve discovered how to push through a vid-comm through tunneling long distances, which is supposed to be impossible. Yet they did it, and they revealed it to us. That means they either don’t care and what was stolen is worth far more than anything else in the history of man, or it’s valuable and they don’t care if we know because we’re going to be a loose end tied up when this is all over.”

“Dirty,” I said, smiling. He was absolutely correct, of course. “Very dirty. What else?”

“They didn’t even hesitate contacting us,” Mike joined in. He might not be as experienced as the others, but his heart was in the right place, and he had an engineer’s mind. Plus, he knew Thinkermen better than any of us ever could. The being who’d fixed him from a crippled, destitute child into the hulking beast of a man he was now had been one. “They know you swindled them when collecting the bounty for me, and they don’t care, sir. That thing looked right at me and didn’t seem bothered. Not one to toot your horn for you, sir, but you’re considered the best bounty hunter in the business. Which means they’ll forgive past transgressions to get this job done.”

“There’s only one thing in this universe that would push a corp like Landgrave Horst to reveal their full capabilities,” Edi said as he elbowed Mike in the ribs. The big man didn’t even flinch at the cheap shot, nor did he retaliate. Their friendship was… complicated on the best of days. I was just happy they worked well together out in the field. “Whatever was stolen has the capability of changing everything we know about the universe.”

“Alien tech,” Tara whispered in a hushed voice. Her eyes flickered to the console, as though she were suddenly afraid Landgrave Horst could listen in to our private conversations even with comms turned off. Given what they revealed already, it was a reasonable fear, but one I wasn’t too concerned about. Yet.

“Alien tech,” I agreed. “He dropped that line right about aliens before the massive amount of credits tossed our way, remember? Plus, rumors suggested they got their hands on some a few years back. Before I hired you on, Edi.”

The retired Explorer nodded. “Suspected as much.”

“Barrani tech?” Mike suggested.

The Barrani, as most people called them, were suspected of being an ancient alien race who lived 70 million years ago. They were called that because of Israel Barrani, the scientist who’d first discovered their ruined orbital platform at a dying brown star at the very edges of the Striderlands, beyond anything ever explored by humans before, or since.

As humanity ventured out into the stars and expanded further from our own home, ships and small mining outposts would disappear, vanish without a trace. While pirates were the most likely cause, a small but vocal group of naysayers insisted the Barrani were still alive and haunting the galaxy, using some sort of magical cloaking technology to remain undetected as they moved through the black of space.

The jury was still out on whether or not I believed that the Barrani existed still. Part of me had always been intrigued by a sentient, space-faring species of alien out there, waiting for humanity to reach the point where we could be greeted as near-equals. The cynical side of me was terrified that there might be an all-powerful alien race out there with the ability to change the shape of reality on whim, not even noticing that their latest building might destroy the anthill called humanity.

In the end, though, it mattered not. The Landgrave Horst Corporation believed something was important enough to reveal technologies and capabilities far beyond anything we knew about, and were offering a king’s ransom for us to retrieve it. The value of the object stolen bordered on the edge of absurdity.

The only motivator more powerful than greed, my Pa had always said, was love… but it was a close thing.

“Maybe,” I allowed, thinking back to his words. “Maybe not. Not enough information yet to come to any conclusion. But viable Barrani tech does make a certain amount of sense.”

“How many other bounty hunters do you think they hired for this?” Edi asked.

“I hate having competition,” Tara muttered under her breath. I tried not to grin. One of the reasons she worked for me was because she’d ticked off the wrong bounty hunter and needed the help. Ever since, she’d had a healthy distrust of others who carried a badge from Tycho. Granted, it'd been her own damn fault, but still…

“If it were me?” I thought about it for a second before answering truthfully. “If someone stole viable Barrani tech from me and ran? I’d hire all of them.”

That was obviously a sobering thought for my crew. There were hundreds of licensed bounty hunters out there, and ten times more who claimed the title but held none of the oaths. Those free-riders were dangerous because they typically didn’t care what needed to be done in order to claim a bounty. As long as they couldn’t be blamed for any damage or deaths which happened along the way, free-riders were more than happy to collect any bounty offered.

“What if he—or she—didn’t run to Nuevo Aires like the Thinkerman said?” Tara suggested after a pregnant pause.

“That’s a reasonable concern,” I acknowledged. “My pa always was fond of not putting all his eggs in one basket. Is there any way you can backtrace where the comm originated from, then work out from there other possible locations the thief might have taken refuge at?”

“Maybe?” Tara looked troubled. “There are hundreds of systems within tunneling range of the Striderlands. But boss… last time I tried hacking a comms system Landgrave Horst controlled, they spotted me in seconds and squashed me. They’re better than me. I’m not a real Coderunner, remember?”

“Real enough for our purposes. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re good, Tara.”

“If you say so…” she sounded unsure. The Thinkerman breaking through all her encryptions had seriously done a number on her self-esteem. Fortunately, I still believed in her.

“I do say so. You can do this. Just a quick peek, okay?”

“Okay, boss.”

“I can get you information on Nuevo Aires,” Edi offered as Tara turned away. “Give me an hour or two.”

“You can?” Mike asked, surprised.

“It’s my home world,” Edi said. He shrugged, a bored look on his face. “It’s been a few decades since I’ve been back, but I don’t think it’s changed all that much. I get messages from my sisters occasionally, and my mother once in a while. Sounds like the more things change there, the more they stay the same. Neuvistas are still running things, the Dome is still running the games—though not for the Explorers anymore—and unemployment is skyrocketing. So, yeah, things are the same as when I left. If Tara’s busy, I can give you some background on local culture and everything.”

“That’ll be immensely helpful for our needs,” I stated. “Mike? How’re we on fuel?”

“We’re topped off and shouldn’t need a refuel for at least two months, maybe longer.”

“Even if we make an atmospheric entry?” I asked.

He blinked at that. “Uhh… might knock off a month, sir. It’s not the entry that concerns me. A lot of thrust is required to lift back off. That burns far more fuel, sir. I'll need thrust numbers for the gravity on Nuevo Aires.”

"Galactic standard minus point one-four," Edi supplied immediately. Mike nodded.

"I can do that. Should cost less fuel than normal So… two weeks, sir. We’d be good for six afterwards, give or take."

“Good," I said with a nod. "Give me hard numbers, though, just in case. I want estimates, consumption, and fuel costs by the time we hit the system. Okay people, we’ve all got work to do. Let’s get to it.”

My pa always said that idle hands were the Devil’s work. Out here in the black, an idle mind was a lost one, which despair and hopelessness can poison with treacherous whispers to the unprepared. Better to keep everyone busy so they wouldn’t dwell on the darker things of life.

Things like robbery, murder, and dying.

—» Chapter 3 «—

THE LAND OF THE SPICY GREEN CHICKEN

Every single colonized world man had set foot on had a strange or unusual quirk about it. Whether it was a slight difference in the atmospheric makeup to geological features found exclusively on whatever new world we inhabited, they were all individual in their own way. Different and unique. After all, no planet could be exactly the same as the one which birthed our species.

Coincidentally, none of them managed to create the sort of thriving societal structure which could hold a candle to Earth. A few came close, but those were rare enough. Earth was still the pinnacle of every terraformer’s dream and no matter how hard they tried, it couldn’t be replicated perfectly.

Nuevo Aires was one of the few which came close. I had to give them credit there. It was almost identical to the continent of South America back on Earth. Nuevo Aires had three large continents, each one covered in a dense jungle. Interestingly, all three had natural springs which welled up from the depths to create streams and rivers. The three continents were also all precisely aligned with the equatorial line, which meant the weather stayed the same almost year-round. It would have been perfect save for the lack of one crucial feature—there are no mountains.

Why is this important? Well, it meant that there was little to no tectonic activity on Nuevo Aires. Which should be impossible for the planet to host life, according to every single theory postulated out there. Yet four million people called it home, and a variety of native species thrived there.

The universe is a strange place, and we have only begun to scratch the surface in understanding the barest sliver of it.

“Sly Fox, this is Central Aires Traffic Control. You are cleared for landing in Grid 6, Pad 14. Please follow the designated flightpath to your assigned landing zone, and obey speed limits once clear of the troposphere,” a voice crackled over the comms.

Yawning, I rubbed my eyes and sat up from my quasi-nap. Sleeping in the co-pilot’s chair took some getting used to, so I typically just dozed until something came up. Tara was at the helm once more, having taken over from Edi six hours before. The trip from the Satren system wasn’t normally so long, but I’d wanted to stock up on supplies at Porto Cieras Orbital Station before hitting Nuevo Aires. Hence, the slight delay.

Glancing at the instrument panel, I saw where they wanted me to land and grimaced. It was on Chenovista, the smallest of the three continents the planet had to offer. Coincidentally, it also featured the lowest population density of the three. The odds of our thief being there were slim, almost none. After all, any thief worth their salt would want to disappear into a larger populace, where a new face wouldn’t even be noticed. The landing procedure would set our search back at least twelve hours, maybe more.

“Tara…” I left the rest of the command unsaid. One of the benefits of working with someone for a long time was they knew what your next move would be.

Conversely, one of a bounty hunter’s worst nightmare was hunting someone who knew them a little too well.

“Got it,” she murmured, her gaze distant as she hacked into the planetary system. Coderunners were scary powerful. Not for the first time was I grateful that this young woman was on our side. Her voice changed as she dove deeper into the system’s network. It became less human, less… real. While not as terrifying as a Thinkerman's, it was still unsettling, to say the least. “Fixed. Transmitting the update…”

The response from the planet was almost immediate. Tara did good work.

“Sly Fox, there’s been an updated landing queue. You are directed to proceed to Grid 1, Pad 6. As before, please follow the designated flightpath to your assigned landing zone, and obey speed limits once clear of the troposphere.”

“Sly Fox confirms, ATC. Thank you,” I said and killed the comms before they could dig too deep into just why the queue had been updated. Or more importantly, ask questions about our intentions. Being a bounty hunter didn’t quite give me carte blanche to move between systems, though the Treaty of Pecos Station was widely recognized. The less people knew we were on the hunt, the better our odds of finding our prey. “Good work, kid.”

Tara beamed, link broken. “Thanks, boss.”

“Go ahead and take us in,” I told her. The Sly Fox banked left and began a rapid descent towards the jungle-covered continent on the edge of the horizon. It was daylight on this part of the world, and the ships’ chronometer adjusted accordingly as our systems automatically connected to the planetary one. Another perk of having a Coderunner as part of the crew. Her upgrades to the Fox’s systems were done for what the parts cost. Otherwise I would have paid more than my ship was worth for someone to come and do the programming.

And the Sly Fox was worth quite a bit.

The engines flared and our speed dropped dramatically. Unlike other ships of her design, the Sly Fox was decent when flying through most atmospheres. The majority of converted freighters were nothing but fat pigs with wings in atmo, but Mike had picked up stabilizers which enhanced our capabilities. The man was a near-genius with the ship and when she whispered her wants and needs, he listened.

The full continent came into view. I whistled softly. It’d been a few months since I set foot on an actual planet and the deep blue sky was something to behold. Even with the filtered image through the screen, the view was absolutely stunning. It was richer in blues and violets, and some shades I’d never seen before. The sky was clear of pollution and the light of the system’s star gave everything a deeper hue.

It was also very, very green.

I’d known the three landmasses were covered in jungle, courtesy of the information Edi gave us, but I hadn’t truly understood until that moment just what that entailed. Most planets where humanity had settled on tended to look more like high desert or mountainous. They mostly featured ice, winds, and dust. Lots and lots of dust.

On Nuevo Aires, however, the outermost edges of the cities seemed to meld seamlessly into the jungles surrounding them. As we raced over the smallest continent, the cities below were nothing like anything I’d seen before. The cities were small, metal epicenters in the midst of the green. The contrast between man and nature was so stark that it almost hurt my eyes. While the edges of the cities used the jungle to form a natural border, the interior of the larger cities had been cleared of almost all foliage.

Just as quickly as we were above the smallest continent, we were back out above the open oceans. The seas were lighter in color than I expected, and it took me a minute to realize that the water was so clear that I could see the grey sands beneath the waves. The water seemed to stretch forever, and for a minute I allowed my mind to drift as I pictured ancient sailors braving the seas on board sailing ships with nothing more than their faith, a sextant, one another, and a favorable wind.

“Coming up on Cidade Azula,” Tara said as a large city appeared on the horizon. The green of this continent followed soon after, but this one felt different than the first. Unlike Chenovista, the capitol city of the planet was a blight in the middle of the jungle. Cidade Azula was a sprawling mess of a city, a brown and metal gash in the midst of the green jungles. It was ugly, even with the amazing blue dome on the south side of the city.

“Edi says that the locals just call it the Dome,” Tara said before I could even ask. She looked up at me and smiled. “That’s where he passed his exams to become an Explorer.”

“What sort of exam requires a dome like that?” I asked. Tara shrugged.

“He didn’t say, and I wasn’t asking, boss.”

“Fair enough. Where’s our landing spot?”

“Here,” she said, pulling up an overlay map of the city. Looking it over, I inwardly grimaced.

Cidade Azula was one of those cities which had been built around a central industrial space, with commercial and residential locales spreading out from there. A design from humanity’s pre-star faring days when cities were designed using similar methods and reasoning, it featured a wheel-like shape with major throughfares acting as spokes throughout. However, Cidade Azula’s wheel design was broken up by two dominating features—a park which ran along the west side of the city, roughly ten kilometers long and half as many wide. However, instead of a dark, deep green reminiscent of the jungles which dominated the land masses on Nuevo Aires, the grass was yellow.

The other feature was the aforementioned Dome. It was an azure in shade, contrasting with the darkened skies. The area around it had clearly been built up and filled with commercial buildings, but it had seen better days. Many of the buildings looked abandoned, with only one or two of the larger ones being new construction. And by new, I meant within the past hundred years.

“Why is the grass yellow, boss?” Tara asked.

“Probably they imported some modified turf to try and make the city pretty,” I suggested. I honestly had no idea why anyone would do such  a thing. The planet was jungle-filled. Surely there was some sort of undergrowth which would have done amazing. Much better than their turf had. “Some chemical in the atmosphere caused the color to change, probably.”

“Pretty much,” Edi said from the cockpit door. He was staring at the overlay, a carefully neutral air about him. I knew him well enough to know this was an act, but I didn’t know why. While he hadn’t been exactly nervous about returning to the world of his birth, he definitely had been quieter than normal. “The nuevistas wanted a park because that means wealth to them. Idiots. But they run things, so that was what happened. They paid about half the planetary budget just to import turf from one of the specialty biome space stations. Pinche cabrones. Nobody checked to see how the turf would grow under our star. The turf was designed for filtered sunlight, not what we get here.”

“How bad is it?” I asked. There hadn’t been anything in Edi’s notes about the star of this system being particularly dangerous. “Bad radiation?”

“You should be fine,” he said, looking at my dark skin. “Tara might need some more protection when she’s out in the open air, though.”

“Hey!”

“What? You’re pasty.” Edi shrugged. “You don’t grow up in natural sunlight, you’re more prone to reacting bad to it when exposed for long periods of time.”

“He’s not wrong, Tara,” I said, holding up a hand to forestall the eruption I knew was coming. “I grew up in the sun. So did he. You and Mike? Station-born. Raw, unfiltered daylight can cause all sorts of skin issues. The last thing I want to deal with is you getting sunburned real bad.”

“Sunburned?” Tara’s tone was incredulous. “That’s really a thing?”

“Oh, that’s just the start of it, garota. You ever heard of melanoma?”

“Quit trying to scare her,” I told him. Edi grinned but shut his mouth. “Melanoma is an easy fix these days.”

A warning chime dinged on the console, interrupting us. Tara looked out the screen as the Sly Fox began a slow descent on the south side of the city, near the massive Dome. Air traffic was light, and there were no other ships I could see on our flight path. Didn’t mean that some idiot kid with a hover scooter or something wasn't out joyriding in designated landing zones. Kids did stupid things just for the sake of giving their parents gray hair, after all.

However, continuous scans of the Sly Fox’s LIDAR showed nothing on our way down. It was as close to perfectly clear as we were ever going to get on a colonized, heavily settled world. I gave Tara a comforting pat on her shoulder.

“It’s just like docking at a station, but with gravity,” I told her.

“Not really… she misses here, we end up as paste on the ground,” Edi threw out there. I shot him a look.

“Really? Not helping.”

“Sorry boss, but she’s got to learn to land this thing under pressure. Coddling her isn’t going to help us in the long run.”

“He’s right, boss,” Tara said before I could tear Edi a new one. “Stress and pressure is what creche-born Coderunners are made for. I can do this. I have to do this.”

Tara was right, of course. They both were. As much as I wanted to keep the young girl safe, I also wanted her to learn how to to gain experience. And the only way for her to do that was by actually doing things. Which meant stepping back out of my protector mentality and letting her succeed or fail on her own.

“All right, then. Show me how to land this bird.”

The Sly Fox banked and the aft thrusters flared, swinging us around in a half-circle as her eyes flickered across the consoles. None of the engines blinked yellow, a credit to Mike and his upgrades to them over the past few months. Our air speed continued to slow as we descended. My eyes drifted to the altimeter as the numbers steadily ticked downwards.

The flight path to our landing pad was narrow, with only a few meters of clearance from other flight paths to spare. If another vessel were taking off, it would make for a hairy experience for all, especially since there were skyscrapers surrounding the landing site. Any bump or crash here could potentially wipe out four city blocks, and I silently cursed whoever had decided to place a landing pad right smack dab in the middle of a heavily populated commercial sector. The slightest of deviations could have dire consequences.

Tara handled the landing like a seasoned pro. The altimeter slowed as she applied the landing thrusters, and she rotated ten degrees starboard when we were fifty meters up. The thrusters flared once as she corrected our pitch, and then the rear landing gear gently bumped onto the landing tarmac. I barely felt it. The nose settled down and she immediately killed the thrusters. The shocks absorbed the weight of the Sly Fox with nary a whine, and we were on the surface of Nuevo Aires at last.

I waited a moment to see how the planet’s gravity would affect us. Edi had said it was pretty close to standard, but I always wanted to doublecheck myself. I did feel slightly lighter, but chalked it up to my imagination. The difference was negligible. There was no way I would be able to tell between what I kept the Sly Fox at while out in the black and what they lived with here on Nuevo Aires.

“Engines secured,” Mike reported from the engine room. “Saved some fuel on that landing, sir. Nicely done.”

I glanced over at Tara, who was beaming. I flicked the channel open. “Thank Tara. She’s the one who brought us in.”

“Good job, kid.”

“You’re only two years older than I am!” Tara protested. I cut the channel before the old argument could rev back up once more. She glared at me but didn’t say anything. I smiled. Tara was growing up quickly, despite Mike’s insistence otherwise.

“You know what you need to do?” I asked her. She nodded once, sullen.

“Stay on the ship until you come back,” she muttered. It was clear to anyone she was upset. “Monitor all frequencies, and keep an eye out for any weird stuff on the planetary ‘net. Also create backdoors in any systems, and alert you if any system-wide alerts are passed through, whether they involve us or not.”

I felt a little bad for the kid. Tara hadn’t set foot on a real world since I’d hired Edi on board, and she had been really looking forward to eating something called pollo verde con ensiladilla rusa. Edi hadn’t shut up about the dish the past two days, and Tara had been dying to try it. I wasn’t about to tell her what the spicy green chicken of Neuvo Aires really was, though.

Not until after she’d eaten it.

“Keep it locked up tight,” I reiterated. “The ship is valuable, but you’re irreplaceable, and there are traffickers around who wouldn’t hesitate to sell you off to some less-than-scrupulous individual who can use a Coderunner.”

“Failed Coderunner.”

“Good enough for the common thug’s needs, kiddo,” I reminded her gently. I lifted her chin and looked her in the eye. “You’re good, Tara. You’ve saved my life at least three times that I know of. You’re good enough to run circles around just about everyone. Plus, you’re part of my crew. You know how hard it would be to train up a new person to fly the Sly Fox? I don’t have that sort of time. Naw… I can’t afford to lose the second best pilot on this old tub.”

She giggled and looked away. It’d been brief, but I’d seen it in her eyes. Her confidence had been on the down since the Thinkerman, and she needed a boost. Reminding her than she was invaluable to me not only as a member of my crew, but as part of my little extended family, was something I needed to do more.

Sometimes I forgot just how young she truly was.

“What’s this ‘second best pilot’ crap, old man?” She snorted. “You need to be kinder to yourself. You’re third best, at least.”

“Third?” I asked, mock horrified. “Who else is there? Mike can’t fly this thing. You’re telling me Edi is a better pilot?”

“Pretty sure Lazarus is a better pilot than you are…”

“No,” I said, laughing as the image of the quantum wolf flying the ship came to mind. “You need opposable thumbs to land the ship.”

“If he had them?”

“Then…” I paused dramatically. “Then yeah, probably.”

Her smile was contagious. “Okay, boss. Secure the ship, nobody on or off unless you authorize them and you code ‘em. Anything I need to worry about in particular?”

“Overzealous customs agents,” I said, thinking. Edi had mentioned in his report that sometimes the officials here were a little overbearing and pushy, used to tossing their weight around. “I don’t care if they say they have some holy writ from on high giving them permission to board. Nobody gets on without my authorization. Right now, only code Laz, Edi, Mike, and myself. Got it?”

“Got it, boss,” she said as her eyes grew distant before snapping back into focus. “Ship’s coded.”

“You’re the best. Don’t you forget it.”

“Don’t you forget that pollo verde I was promised!”

“Oh, I won’t,” I said, chuckling. There was no way I was going to miss that.

* * *

Cidade Azula was a chaotic mess of a city.

I wasn’t sure what to expect in our first foray out into the area around the landing pad. Many colony worlds had little boomtowns grow up around the docking port, with shops designed specifically to either cater to the needs of weary travelers, or exploit them for all their worth. On these worlds the streets were narrower, to cause congestion and force people to walk slowly past shops. Goods weren’t easily moved from ships to warehouses, which created an even bigger logjam.

On other worlds, where trade and commerce flowed regularly, the districts around the landing pads were designed to load and unload goods quickly and rapidly, and wide streets were perfectly suited for their needs. There were designated footpaths—locals here called them wander-ways for some strange reason—which allowed pedestrians to stay out of the road.

Of course, on those other worlds, I almost never saw motorized vehicles hopping onto the sidewalks where pedestrians were to try and avoid traffic—without regard to any poor person who happened to be walking there.

People who braved walking the streets of the city were constantly diving out of the way as lunatics driving their vehicles blasted over the raised curbs to drive on the wander-ways, honking their horns as they wildly weaved in, around, and sometimes through people. More than a few pedestrians were left lying on the ground, their swears and curses falling on deaf ears as the drivers sped away. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like there were any lasting injuries.

It also helped that the majority of the vehicles in Cidade Azula were small and lightweight, a far cry to what I’m used to seeing elsewhere. How they moved goods from the landing pads to the adjoining warehouses was a mystery.

AS I dodged my fourth vehicle on the wander-way, I turned to look at the rest of my crew. Lazarus didn’t seem to be enjoying himself at all, barking at the occasional vehicle which came close to him. His hackles were up on his neck, something I hadn’t seen out of him since he was a tiny pup. While his diamond-coat would protect him from being pierced by knives and bullets, the impact of a vehicle could still probably hurt him.

Mike didn’t appear bothered by any of it. Most of the vehicles which came close to him ended up swerving out of his way. To be fair, Mike was easily seven feet tall and weighed close to a quarter ton of solid muscle. Combined with his bio enhancements, and he’d do far more damage to the vehicle than he would take. In a way I wanted to see one hit him, just to find out how much damage he would deliver.

Edi remained silent, slipping around and through people with ease. He might not have been home in decades, but it was clear to anybody who might be watching us that he was a native, someone born into this place and familiar with all its eccentricities and quirks. And people were definitely watching us.

The cultural makeup of the original settlers had been a mixture of Brasilia and Argentean, living on the planet on grants and loans given by some long-vanished government. More settlers arrived in the decades which followed, blending Españadians into their mix. Thanks to these three cultures mixing to become one, Neuvo Aires was one of the most unique settlements established yet.

One thing these three cultures had all shared was a distrust to outsiders. Like all communities, surviving the wilds meant building up a sense of trust with one another. It was the only way humanity was able to survive in the harsh environments in the universe. Trust cultures go a long way, and for the residents of Nuevo Aires, it had built a thriving world.

It made me wonder, though. While Edi’s report painted a rosy picture, I could see with my own eyes the decay which seemed to be part of the city. It was dirty, with potholes in the pavement large enough for me to lie down in. There weren’t any signs of construction crews, either, something bustling and growing cities always seemed to have in abundance. While there was no way to know if this was the case across the entire world or just here in Cidade Azula, I couldn’t help but feel that this was a colony in decline.

One thing we did lack was information on the criminal underworld. After all, nobody legit would buy stolen corporation property, no matter how valuable. Corporate espionage was a thing, true. The thief, though, would have been met in orbit by the rival corporation’s extraction team and then either “disappeared” or made extremely wealthy. It was a toss-up, really, but was also why corporate espionage was so lucrative.

However, our thief ran here, according to Landgrave Horst. Nuevo Aires was a populated world, true, but it was not one of the biggest trading worlds around. It was barely in the top five in volume of trade in the sector. No, the thief came here specifically for a reason. The problem was, we weren’t exactly sure why just yet.

“We really stick out here,” Mike muttered as we turned onto a wider boulevard. The vehicle traffic was heavier here, but there were metal barriers protecting the pedestrians on the wander-way. This made it marginally safer, but a small part of my brain was constantly screaming as the vehicles whizzed by with absolute zero regard for self-preservation.

Looking around, I saw he was right. Granted, Mike loomed over everyone just about everywhere we went, but here it was obvious neither of us were from the world. I was slightly taller than the average citizen of the colony, with enhanced musculature thanks to some well-paid doctors, but my skin was darker, courtesy of my long-dead father. Here it seemed that everyone was Edi sized, short and sturdy, built like they were ready for some high-grav world. Which was peculiar. Nuevo Aires was fairly standard when it came to gravity. People should have been average human height here, barring any unusual enhancements.

“Original colonists must have been short,” I decided, looking around.

“Boss?” Tara said in my ear. “I’m monitoring the channels for the local law enforcement and spotted something weird.”

“Define ‘weird,’ Tara,” I subvocalized and signaled to Mike. He paused and immediately began scanning for any sign of a threat. Edi stopped a little distance away and leaned against a building wall, his hand halfway to his concealed pistol. His facial expression read “bored” but his eyes were wary.

“So I was digging into their records and noticed that they never signed on with the Bounty Act.”

That was unfortunate. It meant that if I made any sort of arrest here, then technically the local law enforcement could intervene and decide what to do without respecting the jurisdiction or extradition request of any other system or station. In other words, Nuevo Aires was a thief’s paradise.

The mystery as to why the thief chose this world in particular was solved.

It also limited what we could bring to the table should things turn violent.

“This wasn’t in Edi’s notes,” I said, shooting an accusatory look at the retired Explorer. He shrugged, as if to say “whoops.”

“Well, they made a big fuss about joining back when the Bounty Act was first brought up and everyone was joining it,” Tara explained. “But they never actually signed anything, and nobody noticed.”

“That’s interesting. I wonder if anyone other than our thief even remembers,” I murmured, considering the ramifications of it.

A knowledgeable crook might be able to state that no other system or station has jurisdiction over them if a bounty hunter caught them, but would the police here even know? Better yet, would the Justice of the Peace? It was a delicate subject that I hoped wouldn’t be put to the test.

“One problem at a time, Tara,” I said. The decision to focus on finding the thief was an easy one to make. “We find our thief first, then we worry about how to get them to Landgrave Horst.”

“One other thing… due to some worker unrest, the government hired some out-of-system security force to keep the factories safe,” Tara added.

“Oh, I’m going to love this, aren’t I?”

“Plankertons, boss. These stupid idiots hired Plankertons.”

Fantastic.

—» Chapter 4 «—

SECURITY AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE

“Of course it’s going to be Plankertons,” I growled.

Tara’s words drew both Mike and Edi’s attention. Neither one of them had good experiences with the private security company, though Mike could at least claim he’d given more than he’d received. Judging by the trail of broken bodies we’d left after that bar fight, it would have been a valid claim. While I didn’t have all the details of why Edi hated Plankertons so much, he was clearly still sore at them about it.

There were hundreds of security agencies throughout the explored universe. None were more reviled than the Plankerton Security Agency. Notorious for doing any job, no matter how vile, they were found mostly out in the Striderlands these days, nothing more than vicious thugs-for-hire. Mostly because legitimate government agencies wanted nothing to do with them. But corporations who were less than scrupulous when it came to breaking a strike, or enforcing their labor requirements, or simply needing task managers to “encourage” workers to meet their quotas? They were more than willing to pay for Plankerton men to come in and crack some skulls.

My pa had had more than a few run-ins with their like, and shared with me some of his worst stories and encounters. I tended to steer clear of them as much as possible, more as a matter of principle than anything else, though even I couldn’t avoid them always. It was just the nature of my business, I suppose.

“All right,” I told all of them. “Let’s relax for a moment and think things over. I don’t think anyone is in danger of running us over at the moment. Tara, you finished running the contact list Edi gave you through the public records yet?”

“I did. There are ten black market dealers who might have the funds for a major purchase like this, according to the local law enforcement database,” she replied, blithely ignoring the fact that she had blitzed through some top-lever cyber security in less than five seconds, compiled a list, and found discrepancies that would have taken me a week to notice, maybe longer. The girl was an absolute terror. “Seven match up with the list that Edi gave me. Three aren’t on Edi’s list, but they’re also relatively new, according to one Detective Sylviana Blanco, only setting up here in Cidade Azula in the past five years. None of the three are originally from the planet, interestingly enough. One shows a residency on Outpost Jericho, one from Ballera Station, and the third is unknown.”

“Odds are our thief is from here, or familiar with it enough to know the Bounty Act isn’t enforced here,” I voiced my inner thoughts as a pair of smaller vehicles darted past us, practically flying down the road. Edi looked at them for a moment, scowling.

“Kids…” he muttered. “Out joyriding.”

“Tara, send Mike the three not on Edi’s list,” I told her. Mike checked his wrist comms and after a moment, nodded confirmation. He wandered over to me, his eyes distant. “Okay. Dig into the three. I want full workups on them as soon as you can.”

“The first two shouldn’t be a problem. The third… Detective Blanco doesn’t have anything on this one, only a last name she thinks is fake.”

“Yeah, but she’s not you, Tara.”

“Damn right she’s not, boss. I’ll have it to you in ten.”’

“That’s my girl. Get back with us when you do. Keep monitoring all channels. If the Plankertons are here to break up some strikers, then there are gonna be protests somewhere. I don’t want to accidentally end up in the middle of one and get my head bashed in by some over-eager Plankerton goon.”

“Got it, old man. Stay safe out there.”

“I always do,” I whispered as she cut the connection. As much as I wanted to keep the comms open, the relay would eventually get picked up if someone recognized it. Tara was the ultimate ace in the sleeve as long as nobody knew she was involved. Criminals and law enforcement alike tended to take a sour view on things whenever they find out a Coderunner is matched against them. More often than not, they shoot first and ask questions later.

“We got a tail,” Mike muttered as he leaned back against the wall next to me. “My four o’clock, guy with the bad hairpiece and brown suit. He’s working with the grey jogging suit guy at our eight, switching off tailing us. He’s walked past twice now, and is a little too interested in that empty office building. Using the glass as a reflection to watch us. Amateur hour, sir. Still looking for their lead. They’ve been with us since we left the landing zone.”

“Shit, already?” I growled. I’d hoped to fly under the radar until we started searching for our thief in earnest. To be identified and tailed this early would make our lives a little more difficult.

“How do you want to handle this?” Edi asked. His hand dropped to where he kept multiple knives in his belt. He fingered one of them, a hopeful look in his eye. “I can do it quietly.”

“They don’t look like locals,” I pointed out as I caught sight of Gray Joggers stretching his calf muscles out. Scratching my nose, I tried not to look too obviously towards his partner, Bad Toupee. It was difficult because he was absolutely atrocious at staying inconspicuous. The hairpiece looked absolutely ridiculous, and only a fool would think it was natural. Or a blind man… maybe. “Edi?”

“Not locals,” he decided instantly. “Locals would know better than to use this street to keep up observation on us. Plus, these guys are too skinny. Their abuelita obviously didn’t feed them enough protein as a kid. I can slip around the block and gut them both before they even realize I’m gone.”

“All right. I like the sneaky part, but no stabbing, okay?”

“You never let me have any fun…”

“Murder is not supposed to be fun, Edi,” Tara chimed in from the ship.

“Maybe not for you.”

“Okay, so this is what we’re going to do…”

* * *

In the end, we were able to determine our two tails were working alone and without a spotter. It was definitely amateur hour in Cidade Azula. There was nothing I could do about the swelling sense of disappointment in my heart. I’d expected better for some reason.

We waited until we passed through a group of construction workers walking along before making our move. Edi, who was dressed very similarly to them, slipped into the group while Mike, Lazarus, and I sped our pace up as we moved in the opposite direction. Bad Toupee, who seemed to be the one coordinating everything, had a moment of clear panic as he realized they’d lost track of Edi. Gray Joggers, meanwhile, lived up to his name and jogged along on the opposite side of the street, easily keeping pace with us. However, he kept relaying information into a wrist comm of some sort, giving himself away to anyone not a blind idiot. More than a few locals stopped and stared at him as he followed us from across the street, his cover pretty much blown.

So I decided to make his day even more miserable, just because I could. I was also irritated. Plus, I considered it a valuable teaching opportunity. His jogging suit was a poor choice in the high humidity of Nuevo Aires, and the pace we were setting was uneven, meaning his own running speed was erratic at best. The man was going to learn more than one lesson today, whether he wanted to or not.

Instead of continuing along the street, we turned right down a smaller, narrower street. We knew precisely where we were headed thanks to the little girl back on the Sly Fox.

Once again, my young Coderunner was the ace up my sleeve. Coordinating in our ear, she found a small alleyway near a cluster of small mom-and-pop stores which would give us easy exit points should things go south, and plenty of witnesses to back up our claims that we didn’t shoot first. Guiding us to a good ambush point where Edi could isolate one while we dropped the other?

I don’t even think she noticed this in the midst of all her coordinating.

Like I’ve said many times before, the girl was downright scary.

The alley wasn’t too narrow, perfect for our needs. We waited until both Bad Toupee and Gray Joggers had joined up at the entrance before we struck.

Lazarus, having the advantage of being bulletproof, ran out into the open and slammed into the legs of Gray Joggers, knocking him off balance. Yapping and barking playfully as if he wasn’t a terrifying two hundred pound killing machine, he moved around Bad Toupee, pretending to be a playful puppy. Which he was, to those of us who fed him and lived with him on the ship. To Bad Toupee, the monstrous wolf appeared to be trying to eat him.

This was a bad assumption. We had questions, and our tails possibly had the answers.

With Bad Toupee facing the wrong way, Edi ghosted in from the opposite end of the alley. With smoothness borne of vast experience, he clubbed the larger man over the back of the head with a blackjack. Bad Toupee crumpled to the trash-strewn pavement of the alley. The man was unconscious before he even hit the ground, though his hairpiece miraculously managed to stay on his head. Gray Joggers, meanwhile, was “assisted” to his feet by Mike.

“We can do this the hard way, or the harder way,” I said as Mike easily lifted and pushed Gray Joggers into the building wall just inside the alley. There was no give there, and with the amount of pressure Mike was applying to his jacket, it was only a matter of time before bones started to break under the intense strain. Mike was unyielding. So was the building. It made for a very convincing argument for the big man, and he barely needed to say a word.

Gray Joggers must have had an emergency comm signal hidden away on him somewhere. The moment Mike had him pressed rather firmly against the wall, the roar of an overpowered engine echoed down the street, followed by a chirping warning of a security siren. Unsurprising, but unfortunate. I’d really been hoping these two idiots weren’t part of a larger group and we’d have proper time to ask our questions before law enforcement showed up.

Half-turning, I watched as an armored personnel vehicle approached the alley entrance at an almost reckless speed. Edi fingered his belt, not-quite touching the release strap for his blade. If it came down to a gunfight, I hoped he’d brought more than his knives. One never brought a knife to a gunfight.

For a brief instance I wondered if it was going to run us down before the driver hit the brakes. The vehicle slid to a stop and the instant it came to a halt, two men piled out of the side doors, their weapons drawn but pointed down. A third man popped out of the turret and swiveled a rather large gun our way. While not pointing directly at us, his intent and message was as clear as day. They wore matching, familiar uniforms which were almost-but-not-quite military in appearance. Mike slowly let Gray Jogger Suit down, who scampered over to the vehicle as quickly as he could once his feet touched the pavement. Bad Toupee was still down from Edi’s blow to the head, but he was their problem now.

Our tails had been working for the Plankertons.

Of course they were. My life was nothing more than a joke to both karma, and the universe as a whole.

The man I presumed to be the leader of the Plankertons was clearly a hard man, one who’d served out on the Striderlands for many years trying to earn his keep in one capacity or another. Though his body type screamed “dangerous,” he really didn’t seem like it, with his genial smile and ruddy cheeks—until you looked at the eyes. That was where the pleasant look on his face came to an abrupt halt. They were pools of icy blue flint whispering of past dirty deeds gone unpunished, edged with just a tinge of regret and anger.

Or maybe it was just alcoholism and illicit drugs. I couldn’t tell the difference sometimes.

He was an impressive specimen, standing well over six feet tall and weighing close to three hundred pounds. The tell-tale scars of cheap musculature enhancements ran up and down his exposed arms, with his left hand ending in a cybernetic replacement. He’d undergone similar surgeries both Mike and I had gone through, only the Plankerton’s had clearly been done on a budget.

While he was definitely an immediate threat, the real danger lurked behind him.

The light reconnaissance vehicle with the massive belt-fed .50 caliber machine gun on top was the MRV-14 "Warpig," one of those bastardized combat vehicles which always seemed to pop up after standard equipment failed in certain warzones. With large, oversized vulcanized tired that could be used on any inhabited planetary surface—and a few otherwise—and rugged design capable of high speeds across said surfaces, the Warpig was the perfect all-terrain scout vehicle which began popping up out here in the Striderlands since the Bazad War ended. Both private security forces and local constables loved them, as did most special operations groups. Powered by rage, hate, and a twin turbocharged V12 engine designed by Molls-Max, it was capable of speeds fast enough to make an adrenaline junkie shit himself and accelerate like a spaceship launching into orbit without inertial compensators.

The dark drab green had the old fashioned digital camo on parts of it still, with the silver and red Plankerton company logo emblazoned on the side. A snorkel came from beneath the hood and ended up just below the turret’s firing line. There were small gunports in each passenger window, which suggested they were reinforced, probably bulletproof.

I have no shame in admitted that I lusted after the thing. Hell, if I could figure out a way to get one onto the Sly Fox, I’d probably buy one myself. They really were that handy for planetary expeditions and could be converted to haul around a prisoner rather easily.

Nor am I ashamed to admit I’d already started rearranging the hold of my ship at that precise moment while wondering how many meals I would have to skip to afford such a treat. Then I remembered the potential payout of this job, and added it to my mental shopping list with a private smile.

Apparently my smile wasn't so private after all. The youngest Plankerton scowled and crossed his arms, trying to make them look more muscular in doing so. All he really accomplished was making his physique look even more cartoonish. He really was a bit of a runt when compared to the leader of this small group.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing," I said, waving dismissively as I silently nicknamed the kid Runty. "Just realized I should buy one of those MRV's. You get that thing wholesale, or did you force the original owner to give you a discount?"

You can gain the measure of a man by how he reacts to certain things. Professionals like myself don't let petty insults bother us. What's the point? Getting angry at some bounty insulting you is like getting mad at a puppy chewing on a rawhide. It's what they do, in their nature. Getting angry about petty words just makes you lose control of the situation.

Runty hadn’t been in the game long enough to have learned this yet.

“I’d be in my legal right to bash your head in right now,” he snarled. The finger on his trigger guard twitched and suddenly Runty had my full, undivided attention.

“Think long and hard about your next move,” I said as I casually relaxed my right arm. Lazarus growled softly while Mike moved to the right to cover the angle, while Edi had done precisely what he was supposed to and had vanished back down the alley. Laz remained beside me, his blood-red eyes focused on the leader of the Plankertons. While I knew that we would lose if it came down to it—the turret gunner would make damn certain of that—I was really hoping we wouldn’t need to find out. Or if we did, perhaps Mike would be able to take them out while their trigger pullers were focused on me.

Fortunately for all of us, we didn’t have to deal with a poor, unfortunate ending.

“Smith, settle your ass down right now before I end it for you,” the leader of the group snarled and shoved the barrel of the youngster's weapon downwards. The gunner up top visibly relaxed, and the immediate danger had passed as quickly as it had reared its head. “That’s Quintus Fox, you damn idiot. He’s a law-abiding, famous bounty hunter.”

While the familiarity was helpful, the tone in the man’s voice made me a little wary. The word usage was deliberate, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Let’s start over. I’m Supervisor Jung, Plankerton Security Agency. That’s Agent Smith, and Agent Czen up on the turret. I got another man in the car on the driver’s side. So no surprises, understand? I’m not looking for trouble. You’re Quintus Fox,” Supervisor Jung said. It was a statement, not a question. His body language screamed “relaxed” but again, his eyes were telling a different story. “I heard about you. Everyone says so. Mind if we asked you a few questions?”

“Only if you don’t mind me not answering any which might incriminate me or my crew,” I replied easily enough. A flicker of something shone in his eyes, but it was so fleeting I almost discarded it as my imagination. Almost. There was just something unsettling about Supervisor Jung. Perhaps it was the cheap enhancements, or the fact that his eyes were absolutely devoid of life, but he was a man I would not feel very comfortable around for any extended period of time.

“Why are you here, bounty hunter?” He asked.

“Hired on for a job,” I replied. I spread my hands to show my earnestness. “Honest. Was hired to retrieve a stolen item. Apparently the sale is going down here, and I’m going to recover it.”

This was absolute truth, yet said in a way where I was not violating the non-disclosure agreement with Landgrave Horst that they’d snuck into the agreement. Nor was I at risk of revealing who’d hired me, or what I was precisely looking for. Yet.

I had a feeling, though, that Jung was not going to be happy with my answers later. He seemed the type to want to push.

“Hired to retrieve stolen goods?” The man’s eyebrow arched slightly. “That sounds like something local law enforcement should be looking into.”

“You would think,” I said, trying to keep my tone frivolous.

Jung wasn’t easily persuaded. “What were you hired to find that is too valuable to allow the locals to find for you?”

“Can’t say.”

“Really?” That damnable eyebrow arched higher. Any further and it was threatening to join his hairline.

“Sorry. They had one hell of a non-disclosure agreement.”

“Who hired you?”

That one I could answer. “The Landgrave Horst Corporation.”

“No shit.” He clearly didn’t believe me. “A corporation hired a bounty hunter to retrieve stolen goods?

“Not shitting anybody. I was as surprised as anyone.”

“Incoming,” the Plankerton up on the turret warned as a man who looked homeless and destitute came shambling over to where we were gathered. On his head was an old, ratty poncho of local make, and he walked with a drunkard’s sway. He was muttering under his breath to himself as he stopped at the rear of the MRV. Resting his head against the armored back door, he began scratching himself through his pants.

“Ain’t nobody got creds,” he said as he unzipped his fly. A surprisingly healthy stream of urine lanced out and splashed against the rear wheel, and a puddle quickly began to form on the pavement below it. “No creds to spare ol’ Jose. No work. No drugs. No women. Nothing. Nope. Nothing at all. Fuckin’ world hates poor ol’ Jose.”

“Get the fuck away from the vehicle!” The turret gunner barked. The turret swiveled to point at the vagrant. “Last warning, pendejo. Mantenha-se longe do veículo, you dumb motherfucker!”

“HELP!” The homeless vagrant screamed, showing off a set of lungs an opera singer would be enviable of. Dozens of heads whipped around in unison to see what the fuss was about. More than half immediately began whispering to one another. Our homeless vagrant wasn’t finished stirring up the crowd, though. “These horrible men are threatening to kill and violate the body of poor old Jose!”

I had a pretty good idea why he’d screamed, and it sure worked. Every single man who’d looked our way—as well as the majority of the women—were slowly moving towards us. More than a few had what appeared to be wrenches tucked into their belts, and a few even carried undoubtedly-illegal firearms. Since I was born and raised in a school of hard knocks, where snitches get stitches, I wasn’t about to spoil the surprise for the Plankertons.

Apparently Jung was much smarter than either of his men. He whistled once and whirled two fingers in the air. Runty, clearly displeased at the recall signal, glared at me as he slid into the rear passenger-side door. Jung popped open the front door and looked back at me. His grin still never touched his eyes. It was unsettling.

“Unfortunate timing. Oh well. See you around, bounty hunter.”

The door slammed shut and the engine revved loudly as it started back up. That beautiful V12 roared, spewing a noxious black cloud of exhaust behind it as it accelerated away. I watched it with more than a little bit of envy in my heart. Never had I ever wanted anything more.

Looking around, I wasn’t too surprised to see that both Gray Joggers and Bad Toupee had vacated the area while we’d been dealing with the Plankertons. I had a hunch we’d be seeing them again. Once the MRV was out of sight, I turned and looked at the homeless vagrant who had most assuredly and purposefully saved the day.

“Cutting it close there, Edi,” I said. “Did you have to piss on their truck, though?”

“Needed to sell the homeless act. Plus, I slammed two liters of water while I worked my way around the block, boss,” Edi’s voice said from beneath the ratty old poncho. He casually tossed it aside. The crowd, seeing the Plankertons had well and fully departed the area, went back to their everyday activities. “I had to piss anyway, and the bumper was just sitting there… plus, I had to buy this piece of shit poncho off some homeless guy two blocks over. Motherfucker could haggle like a pro. He must have been in sales before alcohol got hold of him. So yeah, I was in a bad mood and needed to vent. Damn, this fucking thing smells bad.”

“Well, good job,” I said, looking back at the crowd of people. They’d been quick to respond to Edi’s cry for help. I began to wonder if there was something more to this job than Landgrave Horst had told us. The atmosphere and vibe of the people here felt more a little volatile. “I really didn’t feel like killing anybody today.”

“I didn’t really feel like dying,” Mike added. Lazarus chuffed in apparent agreement.

“Can I ask a question, boss?” Edi asked.

“Sure.”

“What the fuck is going on around here?” Edi looked up at the sky. Considering he was from this city, that was not a good sign.

Worse still, no answer was forthcoming, it seemed. Pity. I could have used some answers myself.

—» Chapter 5 «—

BUYER BEWARE

Performing surveillance while being surveilled is a bit of a challenge.

Thanks to Tara, we knew the three most-likely suspects were the ones not on Edi’s list but from the list she had borrowed from the detective. The first part, watching the targets, was a challenge all in itself.

The three potential buyers did absolutely nothing of note during our our surreptitious stakeouts of their shops. I took the most likely suspect, the man from Outpost Jericho, which was a notorious hub of organized criminal activity. I’d collected quite a few bounties from there over the years. Not the best pay, but steady work if one wanted that sort of lifestyle. I hadn’t been back since I picked up Lazarus, though. For good measure—Boss Herzog was still a little pissed and blamed me for his men dying. Not my fault, really.

Jonny Qi—which was clearly a fake name—was supposed to be some high-end rug merchant who dealt primarily with Corinthian imports. Since I’d been to the Corinthia colony before, I knew the only thing they had of value to export was Crysanth, the synthetic and highly addictive drug used for pre-neural enhancement surgery.

The problem was, Jonny seemed to lead a very sedentary lifestyle. He wasn’t flashy, he didn’t have multiple young, beautiful women around him all the time, and he had no obvious bodyguards. There wasn’t even an alarm on his front door or windows. All in all, it was as though this guy was doing everything humanly possible to be viewed as a legitimate, boring old businessman.

It made my bounty hunter senses tingle.

While I was surveilling Jonny Qi, I’d picked up some surveillance myself. Bad Toupee was back, this time sporting a cap to hide his horrific hairpiece. He wasn’t trying to remain out of sight or inconspicuous. Every time I set up at the end of the street where Jonny Qi’s import shop was located, Bad Toupee would be across the street, leaning against a light post and eating some sort of local cuisine from a cup.

Jonny might not have known I was watching him, but he definitely knew the Plankertons were in his neighborhood. This could have also contributed to his squeaky-clean lifestyle and existence.

Tara and Mike teamed up to watch our second suspect, Hamish Cornelius. An older man, he ran a spice import business which catered to the ruling nuevistas. He imported spices from all across the sector, and it appeared to be a fairly lucrative business. He was our least likely suspect, given his age, and since Mike stood out like a sore thumb, Tara was helping him observe remotely. However, Mike had warranted the attention of Gray Joggers, which he found highly irritating. Since they both stood out amongst the locals, it apparently was a hilarious game of who would be outed first by the neighborhood kids playing nearby. The loser was blasted with water balloons and children begging for candy. Well, it was hilarious to me. Mike was pissed.

It's not easy trying to be incognito when you’re over seven feet tall. Plus, Mike just hated losing.

Edi was on our final suspect, a financier named Amir Bentley who’d recently settled in Cidade Azula for reasons unknown. He’d told the immigration officials that he was really looking forward to the change in climate, and wasn’t really looking at taking on new clients at that time. His office was barely large enough to fit a desk in, and he was rarely in it. Edi, though, was able to slip in and go through his stuff to see what he was up to. Since financiers typically ran their businesses electronically, he hadn’t gotten his hopes up.

The Plankertons didn’t even bother trying to follow Edi after the first two days. Every time they would stick some random schlub on him, Edi would ghost into a crowd, sneak up on his tail, and scare the hell out of him. If not for the seriousness of the situation, or the potential stakes, it would have been a good time for all.

We still didn’t know what we were looking for, nor an identity of the thief, so we were extra vigilant watching local traffic. Cidade Azula was a massive, sprawling city, though, so we were forced to rely on Tara to monitor any unusual shipping manifests or arrivals from off-world. It was frustrating and dull work, but Tara plowed through it with little complaint.

Five days after we began our surveillance, we finally got a hit. But it wasn’t what we were expecting.

Tara had been watching the other suspects on top of her myriad of duties, and had noticed patterns starting to emerge. Manifests showed the legitimate businesses receiving goods five of the days, then Sundays and Mondays were quiet. There was almost zero deviation for the businesses in this pattern, either. It allowed for her to build a data baseline to compare with other shipments. To even the most skilled observer, all seemed on the up-and-up.

But Tara was better.

Both Jonny Qi and our financier, Amir Bentley, seemed to have some sort of partnership, only made visible because of the same, monotonous shipping routines of the other companies. It’d taken Tara some digging—hiding anything electronically from a Coderunner is all but impossible, but one can make it very difficult—but she’d discovered a link between a conglomerate shell company buying and shipping goods for Jonny. From there, she’d been able to link Amir as the private financier for this shell company through two other proxy shell companies and a non-profit company called New Hope Dawn. Tara had gotten excited about it, and it’d taken me an hour to calm her down so she could tell me just why they were so important to her.

“Because they’re the front for a Coderunner creche!” she excitedly exclaimed when we were all back onboard the Sly Fox after another fruitless day of watching. She’d had local food delivered from a shop and we were gathered around the table preparing to eat. She was practically bursting at the seams to tell us her news. “I recognize the logo!”

“Is this the same ones who raised you?” I asked before taking a bite out of something called mancha de satanás, a spicy pork and pineapple concoction served over a bed of brown rice. I probably never would have tried it if we’d been anywhere else. Neuvo Aires might have some major issues with their politicians and who called the shots here, and the whole “Dome” thing was still confusing, but their food was second to none.

“No, but they were affiliates,” she said as she bit into a taco. Her eyes watered and she stared accusingly at Edi. She was clearly struggling with the food. “Argh! You said the pollo verde wasn’t too spicy!”

“Not spicy for me,” he reiterated, shrugging. “Not my problem you can’t handle a little heat.”

“Oh, I am going to hate life later,” she muttered but took another bite, her previous lesson clearly unlearned or, most likely, ignored.

“Elbows,” Mike chastised me as I’d leaned forward on the tabletop.

“Hey, back up a minute,” I said, shooting him an irritated look but moving back. I started thinking about her news regarding Amir Bentley being a financier for a Coderunner creche. “What does Amir’s New Hope Dawn have to do with Jonny Qi’s import business?”

“Nothing, on the surface,” she said and finished the first taco. She elbowed Mike. “Hey, pass the water.”

“Please?” Mike rumbled.

“Please pass the water,” Tara said, trying not to roll her eyes. I stifled a laugh. I’d been trying to instill some table manners for all of us, with a mixed degree of success. It seemed Mike was being a stickler for the rules still. I couldn’t complain. He was having far more success than I ever would when it came to Tara. She poured herself a glass and downed it before continuing. “So did you know most creche kids were actually kidnapped and not sold to the orgs running, them? I was sold by my parents, but just about every kid I met while in the creche had been stolen, or were taken from orphanages? Wild, right?”

I had not known this. My blood boiled at the idea of innocent kids being stolen or worse, sold by their own parents, to be experimented on the way Tara had been. She said it so casually, so unconcerned about the traumatic damage—physical and psychological—that had been done to her, that it made me feel horrified and appalled at it. Once again I was reminded that everyone had different ways of coping with trauma, and that kids—even teens—were far more resilient than we ever gave them credit for.

“No?” I said, looking down at my plate. Suddenly the meal wasn’t as appetizing as it’d been.

“So Jonny’s import business is actually an export business,” Tara continued, blithely unaware of the turmoil she was causing in me. Judging by the expressions of the others, they were a little bothered by her revelations of creche kids and their so-called “childhoods” as well. People deal with trauma in their own way. Tara? Well… “He imports empty shipping containers, then exports filled ones. The problem is, his manifests show that they’re empty both incoming and outgoing. But New Hope Dawn on Mirage IV is buying empty containers, and paying well for them. Overpaying, actually, for supposedly empty containers. I can give you three guesses what they’re probably shipping out in those strangely empty but extremely valuable containers.”

My stomach churned. Focus, I reminded myself. “That… isn’t helping us find the stolen goods from Landgrave Horst.”

“Oh, yeah. That. These guys aren’t involved in that. But we can stop a massive kidnapping ring! Think about it, boss! We can rescue kids!”

“Tara…” I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “The stolen goods from Landgrave Horst. Who’s the buyer?”

“That was easy to figure out. Just some local neuvista named Wally Chavez. Apparently he’s a mover and shaker, but his portfolio is thin. Not a lot on this guy. Has holdings in a lot of shell companies, but they move credits around between them that the local law enforcement don’t even bother trying to track. They can’t afford a Coderunner, and Chavez seems to have something equivalent in his employ. A lazy one, but still better than anything the government here can afford.”

“Mãe de deus…” Edi swore bitterly. I glanced over his way.

“Recognize the name?”

“He’s the porra bastard who turned the Dome into a Colosseum. I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”

“Okay.” I pushed the mostly-clean plate away and leaned back in my chair. Everyone looked at me, their expressions varying. Edi bore the look of a child caught withholding information from parents, while both Mike and Tara both appeared startled by my tone. It wasn’t one I took often, either. They all knew it. I blew out a frustrated breath. “There is information I don’t have here at the table. I don’t know why you’re hiding it from everyone, but out with it. No more secrets.” They all nodded in unison. I scowled. “I mean it.”

“Sorry,” Edi muttered, picking at the last of his dinner with a fork. He glanced up at me and sighed. “Once they kicked the Explorers out of Nuevo Aires, a lot of money disappeared. You know, the kind the government needs to run? Well, the Dome was just sitting there, and the vid network was begging for some violent show to replace the Explorer exams, so Chavez and his people bought the Dome and created the Colosseum Games.”

“No,” I said, holding up a hand. “That had to be well after you left home. This is personal, but I don’t know why. No, don’t shake your head at me. I can tell I’m right. Or at least as close to the truth as I can be. You didn’t tell us any about this during mission prep. This could have bitten us in the ass, Edi. So why is this something you wanted to hide from us? Something like this?”

There was some sort of struggle going on inside the retired Explorer’s mind. It wasn’t hard to see. An internal battle, one none of us were privy to. Normally, a man’s business was his own and I would not get involved, but this affected us all and therefor was no longer just Edi’s concern. He knew it, yet he was still hesitant.

It was Tara who dropped the bomb on us. Not surprising, really. The girl was absolutely terrifying.

“Is this related to why you haven’t contacted your family yet and let them know you’re in the neighborhood?”

Edi recoiled as if the words had physically struck him across the face. I started at the news as well, though for different reasons.

“Your family is alive?” I asked and made a vague waving motion towards the surrounding city. “And here? Close?”

“Yes.” His voice was sullen. “About four blocks over.”

“And… what?” I pressed. “Damn it, Edi! They could have been a valuable source of information about what’s going on around here! Hell, they might have been able to help us track the buyers. Or… I don’t know, but they’re assets sitting right there, Edi. Damn it!” I slapped my palm on the table. All of them jumped at the impact. It stung a little, but I ignored it. “What the hell is wrong with you? I hired you because my gut told me you were reliable, steady. Was I wrong?”

“They’re not assets. They’re my family. They’ve been through enough!” Edi snarled, his normally calm expression twisted, pained. “Okay? They’ve suffered enough. I don’t want to bother them. Leave them alone.”

“What happened?” Tara asked, her voice meek and quiet.

Edi exhaled once, twice. It was clear it something horrible had happened, but I wasn’t letting him back out to continue surveillance until he did some serious clarifying. He must have known what I was thinking because he started to explain. His tone was slow, halting at first, but gained speed quickly enough.

“They were so proud of me… I was an Explorer. Barely twenty years old, and I’d passed the exam. I’d been the only person who graduated that cycle, too. First one in a long, long time to pass. Here in the Dome… well, let’s just say that people weren’t supposed to pass. I found that out later. Much later.

“Lots of people lost a lot of money because I passed, though. I wasn’t supposed to. I was longshot odds to pass. 200 to 1? Something like that. I was smaller than everyone else, not as tough, not even trained. See, the exams were televised, and gambling had really been doing good business for the government. Lots of businesses had popped up to train the concursantes, the contestants. When people failed the exams, if they survived, they were indebted to the training centers. The became indentured servants, free labor, to pay off their debts for the training. Not quite slavery, but pretty close. But the training centers made money, and everyone was happy.

“But when I passed? I broke it. I didn’t mean to… but how was I supposed to know the government had bet the annual GDP on the exams?”

“Oh, damn,” Mike muttered. I could see as well where this was going, and I did not like it one bit.

“They were in so much debt that they needed to pay off their loans, but the economy here has always been shit,” Edi continued, his eyes focused on his plate. “The factories were pretty much the only big businesses hiring, but there was some stupid law that got passed years ago that said every person not employed gets put on the dole. Noble idea, but a shit one, you know? Lots of people just sitting around with free credits, and they just spent it on stupid stuff. Then the money wasn’t worth as much, so you needed more. The dole got increased, but a box of pollo verde con arroz cost a week’s dole. They put price caps on things, but then those things disappeared because it was all people could afford, right? Then the government passed a new law allowing people to borrow money from the government to pay off debtors.”

I hissed through clenched teeth. Never in the history of mankind has that scheme worked out for anyone.

“Well, then the debtors started borrowing money from the government,” Edi continued, “later turning around and loaning out more money than the government was giving people, so of course people went back to the debtors, who were getting practically free money now thanks to their interest rates they were charging citizens. People started panicking because they couldn’t afford to pay back the debtors. The government was happy because they were still getting paid back for the loans, but… it was a mess.

“Then the factories passed new hiring rules. They would not hire anybody until someone else was fired, or they retired. They wanted the workers to feel safe and secure, though, so it was already damn near impossible to fire anybody. For a while, this worked out well. This was happening when I took the test. My father worked in a factory, and he was pretty young still and more than likely would have worked another twenty or thirty years. My older brother wasn’t working because he’d been on the dole for three years already, and once you’re on the dole, you can’t get hired for any sort of work. Then I passed my exam and got a job with the Explorers, and accidentally blew up the entire financial system because of the government betting against me and my entire exam class. Apparently nobody had been expected to pass that year. Something about a bad crop and… the surprise they’d put in our test.

“It got bad here after I left, but I didn’t care. I was gone, exploring worlds to settle, making good money—real money, not the fake shit they pass off here—and barely kept in touch with my family. Then Presidenta Clinensa was elected… and she was possibly the worst thing that could happen. She was very popular with the nuevistas, who were mad at government for bankrupting them because of the exams, and she found someone to blame—the Gasparan Explorers.

“Laws were passed—illegal laws, but by then she had our courts in her back pocket—and the Explorer program was shut down, and Gasparan was sued by the government. Unfortunately for Presidenta Clinensa, Gasparan just laughed at the fines and walked, leaving the government with a massive bill. Then Wally Chavez and his pals strolled in and bought the Dome.”

“Surprised nobody passed a law to get rid of the debtors,” Tara said. Edi snorted.

“‘Free economy,’ remember?” He said, though he’d put air quotes on the words. “Allegedly.”

“Okay, so your government sucks at finances,” I said, shrugging. His long, convoluted tale of his government’s woes, while interesting, told me nothing important. “And Clinensa… didn’t you guys, like, execute her about five years ago because she tried to declare herself empress or something? Y’all fucked up. Big deal. That’s like every government in the history of mankind there. Hell, even the Free Traders go through this once in a while. None of that explains why you haven’t spoken to your family yet! Or told them that you’re here!”

“The Dome… they changed it,” Edi snarled. The source of his anger lain bare, he didn’t hold anything back. “It became a battle arena, a Colosseum, where concursantes could enter to fight one another to the death in broadcasted blood matches. The gambling did well, of course, but finding people wanting to fight inside the Dome grew harder. The ratings on the vids were so high that Presidenta Clinensa demanded action. Money was flowing in, and she was up for reelection. The good times were rolling, yeah? So the debtors began selling the debts of people who were behind on payments to Chavez and the people running the Colosseum. Survive long enough and you were clear of your debts. But scared people fighting one another didn’t make for good ratings, right? So they hired killers and brought in monsters…”

“And people started getting massacred,” I finished for him. He nodded.

“My older brother, Alejandro? He owed a debtor a lot of money. They came to collect. They then sold it to Chavez and his ilk at the Colosseum.”

“Shit.”

“They butchered him and a dozen others in the Dome. Used imported alien mammalians smuggled from some feral world out in the Striderlands. Vid ratings were through the roof for that one. He was tough, and lasted two days. He needed to survive three, though. They caught him, right before he hit the mark.” Edi took a deep, shuddering breath. “The things they did…”

“You blame yourself,” I said as it slowly dawned on me why Edi had needed to share the entire story. He nodded, struggling to maintain his composure.

“I broke the system. He wouldn’t have had to do that if I’d just gone on the dole like he had.”

“And you haven’t spoken to your family since?” Tara reached out and squeezed his arm comfortingly. “Not even once?”

“Not since I left.”

“Okay,” I leaned forward and put my elbows on the table. Mike frowned but kept quiet, other than a small grunt. “First off, you couldn’t have known that the government would damn near bankrupt itself betting on you to die. Yes, I know how strenuous the Explorer exams are. It’s why I’ve always considered you guys lunatics. But taking responsibility for that? Okay, fine, blame yourself for other people’s actions. That’ll do you absolutely no good whatsoever, but that’s your business.” I paused and looked around the table. There was a chance Edi would respond poorly to my following words, but they had to be said—for all of them. “But your brother made his choices. People make poor choices all the time. That ain’t your fault. He made his bed, Edi, and was forced to lie in it. You are not to blame for his decisions. You said he was on the dole before you even took the exam, yes? His decisions are not your responsibility. Remember that.”

“Forget it?” He looked at me, his expression odd. It was a mixture of incredulity, anger, and maybe even a little relief. “Just like that?”

“Fuck no,” Mike grunted and cross his massive arms. “Remember it, and use it.”

“Comm your family, Edi,” Tara said pleadingly. “Do it for me, please?”

Edi looked around at all of us for a moment before nodding. “Fine. But if they blame me and get mad, I’m taking it out on your ass, Fox.”

Anger? Yeah, I could deal with anger. I nodded. “You can try.”

“Not going to be a try, old man.”

“There’s the Explorer I hired,” I stated. “I need that man for what’s coming next.”

“What’s next?” Mike asked, sounding confused. He’d been completely enraptured by Edi’s story and hadn’t finished his dinner just yet. He scooped up the last bits of it and shoveled it into his mouth.

“Wally Chavez,” I said, then motioned at his plate. “Smaller bites. You’re going to choke on your food.”

“Don’t try to turn etiquette lessons around on me, sir,” Mike said as soon as he swallowed his food. “Your elbows are back on the table.”

“Why is Chavez trying to buy stolen Landgrave Horst goods?” I asked rhetorically, lifting my elbows an inch off the table. Mike raised an eyebrow and smirked victoriously as I continued. “We have options. Is it a prestige thing? Something else? Does he know what he’s buying? Did he orchestrate the theft? Is he working with anybody? We don’t necessarily need to know the answers, but they might help get us into his head. We have no idea when the buy is going down, or even if we’ll be able to monitor him.”

“Oh, his firewalls are good, boss,” Tara answered. “Took me two minutes to get inside. Felt like an eternity. But that’s not the issue.”

“What’s the issue?”

“He’s a pad guy.”

“A what now?” I asked, confused.

“He uses one-time pad codes and discards them,” she explained. “All his stuff is encrypted with them. Sure, I can get into his system, but once there? I’d just be staring at gibberish, boss.”

“How much time would you need to decrypt something like that?” I asked her.

“Hundred years? If I get lucky?” She frowned. “Whoever has his ‘net set up might be lazy, but they knew what they were doing. One-time pads were set up to defeat Coderunners, but were prohibitively expensive to maintain. He could have a few dozen of them, and each one changed on a daily basis. I could mirror him, maybe, but then his ‘net will freak out since it’ll show simultaneous processes and boot one of us. Even then, if I open anything, it’ll still be encrypted, and he’ll know someone is in his system.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, thinking it over for a moment. Using Tara for this part would be next to impossible. “We’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“We follow him until he makes the buy.”

“How do you know he hasn’t made the buy already?” Edi asked quietly.

“We don’t. My gut’s telling me it hasn’t gone down yet. I’m willing to bet our thief is smart enough to know that Landgrave Horst is out searching for them, and getting to my buyer as fast as possible—while appealing—is what is expected.” I stopped and tapped my chin thoughtfully as I played different scenarios out in my head. “No. If I stole some alien tech—”

“—or whatever it was they stole, sir,” Mike corrected. I bowed my head slightly in acceptance before continuing.

“—then I would lay low, maybe in orbit, more likely on the planet where the buy is going down,” I finished. “Assuming the Thinkerman who hired us was correct, of course. We could be on a total snipe hunt here.”

“His computational factors outstrip mine by four, maybe four and a half,” Tara said. “If he says she’s coming here, unless he’s lying to us deliberately, then this is where she’s going to end up, old man. Mathematics can predict a lot.”

“Fair enough. So we just put eyes on Chavez and wait for the sale to go down,” I said, looking over at Edi. His face was carefully neutral once more, the emotional anguish I’d seen there completely vanished as thought it had never existed. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.

“Since we’re waiting around for something to happen…” Tara’s voice trailed off and she looked at me hopefully. I stared blankly back, confused. She let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. “Come on, boss. We can shut down a human trafficking ring! These kids don’t deserve this! You know what happens to kids who fail out before they hit puberty? It’s not pretty. I barely squeaked past the Trials, and I was decent. Innocent kids. Think about it.”

“I don’t know if we have the time…”

“Please, boss,” she begged, her eyes wide and hopeful. “I’ll quit bugging you about system upgrades to the Sly Fox for, like, a month!”

“That’s not why—”

“A year, boss! I promise to not try to spend any credits on unnecessary upgrades for an entire year!”

Well, that was a horse of a different color altogether.

“Okay, Tara. We’ll stop the human trafficking ring. After we find out when the buy goes down,” I said, giving her my sternest look. She was so happy I’d agreed that the look went right over her head.

There was no way I was going to tell her I’d already been thinking of ways to shut the trafficking ring down, and hard. The problem was, I couldn’t do it without taking time out of our eventual surveillance of Chavez. We’d need to watch him around the clock, and unfortunately, we were severely shorthanded at the moment, even with Tara’s immense capabilities. Otherwise I’d solve both problems simultaneously, then get off-world before any local officials Chavez might be overly friendly with came calling.

Tara clapped her hands happily, which woke Laz up from his nap at her feet. His tail thumped twice before he put his head back down. He heaved a dramatic sigh. Nobody was offering him treats or table scraps, so he wasn’t interested in the table conversation and was clearly suffering at our cruel, unjust hands.

“I’m all for good deeds, sir, but we should check to see if there’s a reward for this,” Mike pointed out. “Pretty sure every official on this planet gets some kind of kickback to make sure they turn a blind eye to what’s headed off-world. No rewards to be had here, sir.”

Mike was right, of course. But he was forgetting that I knew certain people who were not willing to turn a blind eye to child trafficking. And their reach stretched far beyond those of a bounty hunter. In fact, their jurisdiction went everywhere… if I played it right.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea on how we’re getting paid…”

It was an idea so completely out of left field that nobody would ever see it coming, not even my crew. Well, Tara maybe, if she stopped to think about it. There would be a few local laws bent, if not outright broken, but the odds were in our favor that nobody would say anything at the end of it. Surprisingly, I was actually looking forward to the moment when I could slap both Jonny and Amir in irons and haul them away to a planet where they would never see the light of day again after the justice system there got through with them.

In the meantime, we had a contract to fulfill.

—» Chapter 6 «—

SOMETIMES THE BEST GET BESTED

Surveilling Chavez turned out to be surprisingly easy, yet amazingly frustrating.

He never left his building.

It took us less than a day to establish that Wally Chavez had not left the Exeter Building, the largest skyscraper in Cidade Azula, in almost a year. He lived, worked, slept, ate, and did who knew what else from the secure confines of the building. Which, given the position of power he held over many of the denizens of Cidade Azula—and Nuevo Aires as a whole—made a certain amount of sense. Chavez was, in all intents and purposes, the true leader of this city.

He called the 51st floor in the Exeter Building his home. According to Edi, it’d been a different name when he was a kid. Tara had dug into the records of the building and found the name had changed soon after Chavez had moved in. Surprisingly, the man was married with three kids, all teenagers, and there were almost zero signs of marital strife or previous relationships.

I pitied him for a bare moment. I had one teenager living with me, and she drove me nuts half the time. The 50th floor was also owned by his conglomerate, Chavez Industrials, under a somewhat nebulous shell company we’d identified as the Exeter Group, and perhaps four dozen people worked on that floor. Security on the lower levels of the building was lax, but anything about the 30th required card access and had armed security at the turbo lifts. Going in, guns blazing, would simply end up getting the entire building locked down in minutes. Security was also linked to local law enforcement, and they were less than five minutes away should something happen. If we wanted on either of Chavez’s floors, we’d have to find a way to finesse it.

Tara was able to get into the lower level security feeds, but again, anything higher than the 30th was set on some interior-only access. Nobody could remote in. If we wanted to see their security cams, we’d need to put someone inside and splice it so Tara could peek in. She wasn’t too hopeful about this option, though. She pointed out that if they were half as good as she thought, then every floor was on an independent circuit, meaning we’d have to physically get to the 50th and 51st before anything could be seen.

It was beginning to look like a lost cause. If the deal went down inside, we would be absolutely screwed out of any reward, and Landgrave Horst would be out a lot of credits… which, according to the contract we had accepted because they’d stalled us during the initial comms, meant that we would be out a few million credits. Still, we took turns watching the two exits in shifts, hoping to get lucky. Good fortune favors the persistent, my Pa used to say.

Fortune ended up favoring us more than we expected.

Shockingly, after four days of observation, Chavez suddenly left the building alone and on foot just after sunrise on a Sunday. None of us had predicted that.

I was on the front entrance, this time lounging in a rented vehicle we’d picked up for the time being. Mike was on the rear entrance, bundled up and trying to look like one of the dozens of homeless who lived in the alleys surrounding the skyscraper. He didn’t really fit in, but we figured it was better than nothing. Edi had needed a break from watching, since he’d contacted his family finally and let them know he’s returned.

Unsurprisingly, they’d been overjoyed to hear from him, and hadn’t blamed him one bit for his brother’s death. Hearing them say that had made him break down a little, so I’d given him some time off. It meant Mike and I were picking up the slack, but neither of us complained. Seeing the retired Explorer happy was rare, so we let him have it. Plus, they’d invited us over for dinner later at their house. It meant Tara would have to monitor both sides of the building remotely, but we figured the odds would be in our favor that he wasn’t going to go out at night in this city to make the deal.

So when Chavez strolled out of the Exeter building roughly an hour after sunrise, I was almost caught unprepared. Lazarus was with me this time, since he’d been stuck on the ship the entire time and had been getting a little too destructive. He liked walks and outdoors, so taking him with me on surveillance was a risk I was willing to take to keep him from destroying another mattress. Or worse.

Tara had run calculations on known behavioral patterns of self-made men and their habits, and had suggested that any deal would go down either soon after sunrise, or just before dusk set in, due to their own work habits. I’d scoffed at the idea that men, powerful men like Chavez, could be so predictable. She’d bet me one hundred credits that she would be right. I’d accepted, but only conditionally. It had to be one hour prior to sunset, or one hour post sunrise.

I checked my comms. It was precisely 47 minutes to sunset.

That girl was utterly terrifying… and I was out one hundred credits.

“Come on, boy,” I muttered disgustedly as Lazarus finished relieving himself on an old street sign. It was practically ancient, with metal plating and writing on it atop a refurbished metal pole. On most worlds, traffic and parking signs for vehicles were digital relays, signaled to the vehicle what traffic laws and whatnot were. It saved on street clutter and improved the aesthetics of a city for pedestrians. Judging by our previous encounters with the traffic here in Cidade Azula, they hated pedestrians with an unbridled passion, and did everything in their power to warn them off from walking around the city.

Chavez didn’t seem to have any bodyguards shadowing him from afar either, which I found more than a little surprising. For someone in his position, I would have expected at least two on him at all times. Maybe even four, if Edi’s hatred of the man was any indication. If our retired Explorer detested him, then I could barely imagine how the people who had spent the previous ten years on Nuevo Aires seeing their loved ones shipped off to fight and die in the Colosseum Games felt.

“I’ve got eyes on you both, boss.” Tara was in my ear the moment we were moving. I grunted an affirmation and checked the numbered addresses as we walked down the block. They were ticking downwards, which meant we were heading east towards the Sly Fox and the landing pads. “Also, you owe me one hundred credits.”

I grumbled. “I’ll take it out of the thousands you owe me for saving your butt on Vasa Station. You remember Leo’s Bar, right, and the pissed off bounty hunter who was going to kill you over some stolen credits?”

“Oh come on!” She squealed. “That was, like, forever ago!”

“Fourteen months isn’t forever, Tara,” I said, then relented. I’d lost, fair and square. “I’ll transfer the credits to you tonight after dinner.”

“Boss, just got a strange notice from ATC regarding takeoffs,” Tara said, back to business. “No outbound launches from our landing pad or the adjoining ones for the next hour. Due to maintenance issues, incoming traffic only.”

“Not suspicious at all,” I muttered. “Can you check the landing queue and see what’s inbound right now?”

“Already on it. Just a lone passenger shuttle from Cidade Gancho, across the continent. Nothing else is scheduled for at least two hours.”

“There’s our thief,” I said. Chavez, wielding the power that he did, probably helped grease the wheels for our thief to facilitate their transport. Also, since our thief was undoubtedly worried about a double-cross, Chavez had ensured that there would be no air traffic around during the meet.

“I don’t see any sort of carrying case on him,” Tara pointed out as Chavez turned down 12th Avenue and slowed his pace. He was checking his comms regularly, probably checking the time.

“So he isn’t expecting to buy the item now, or our thief has it in a case of their own. Or he’s stupid and is using a traceable credit chit card to attempt to make the purchase. Stay on him,” I told her. “I’m going to 11th, then I’ll cut through back to 12th on the side street halfway down the block so he doesn’t think I’m following him.”

“You mean Bilox Street? It’s heavily trafficked with no wander-ways, boss.”

“Mike?”

“Heading towards the surveillance van now, sir. We gonna snatch the thief during the meet?”

“No,” I decided, thinking quickly. “ID tag them and hold back. If this is the exchange, we’ll swoop in and grab them both, consequences be damned. My gut is telling me that this isn’t when the deal is going down, though.”

“If it were me, I’d do it now and then get the hell of this planet,” Mike rumbled over the comm. “The longer they remain here, the more likely to get caught.”

“Our thief is probably expecting to be ripped off or something. The item is somewhere else. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the thief had been already here and had simply hired some random schlub from Cidade Gancho to fly in to keep Chavez honest.” I thought about it for a moment and grinned as an idea came to mind. “Hey, Tara? Check the security footage around the landing pad that shuttle is scheduled to arrive at. Anyone suspicious hanging about?”

“There’s six people in really expensive suits and carrying concealed weapons beneath their jackets in standard two-man teams at all three exits of the landing pad,” Tara replied a minute later. “They’re all watching the shuttle that just landed. There’s an unmarked transport vehicle nearby that has another driver idling by. Yeah, I think this was supposed to be a double-cross. Looks like a Marx Express is about to go down. You think our thief pulled a Wandering Jerry on them?”

I chuckled dryly. Cutting down 11th Avenue, I picked up my pace. Lazarus easily loped along beside me, not bothering to check the area for interesting scents for a change. He was far more intelligent than he let on to others, and knew when there was time for play and when it was time to work. Bilox, if I remembered correctly, was halfway down the block.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” I responded.

“Why is Chavez leaving the building if he’s planning on kidnapping the thief anyway?” Mike asked in my ear. I was a bit curious about this myself. While this didn’t feel like a Marx Express, all the signs were there.

“Tara, check and see if Chavez or any of his shell companies own an empty building nearby,” I said as a sudden inspiration hit me.

“Got it in one, boss. There’s an old warehouse down 12th near an abandoned landing pad that Chavez Industrials owns. Sending you the address now.”

“That’s where he was planning on taking our thief to get the information,” I muttered. It made sense. Why risk the evidence in an office building where you both lived and worked? The only thing that I still didn’t understand was why Chavez seemed unconcerned about walking out in public without guards, or even be seen? Or even unarmed and wearing only a pair of slacks and a regular collared shirt? I doubted any reasonable answer would be forthcoming.

Turning onto Bilox Street, I was unsurprised to see traffic practically non-existent. One of the curious things about certain frontier worlds which were heavily populated was the advent of a late working day. On hard scrabble planets, where it was far tougher to survive, men, women, and children alike were up at dawn to handle their chores. Here, in civilization, a more leisurely approach to the average work day seemed to be prevalent.

Which I was mighty thankful for. Trying to catch up to Chavez while dodging insane drivers behind the wheel of smaller vehicles would have been a nightmare. It also happened to be fortuitous, because not being delayed allowed me to see Chavez get yanked off the road and down an alley I hadn’t even known was there by a mysterious hooded figure.

For a brief moment I panicked as years on indentured servitude under Landgrave Horst flashed through my mind. Janitor uniform, mop bucket in hand, and me being forced to clean 120,000 square foot warehouses over and over again for decades, until my debt was cleared. It was horrifying. As quickly as that image came, it left, leaving me only with a vague sense of unease. Something about this whole deal stunk, and it started and ended with Chavez. I needed answers, and this mysterious assailer had just given me an excuse to approach and start asking some very pointed questions.

The opening to the alley was clear. No sign of either Chavez or our mystery guest. There was a slight jog to the alley halfway down, which prevented the back half from being easily observed. It was a clever location to perform a snatch and grab, or to drag some rich asshole down into an alley for some torture and old fashioned muggery.

Faintly, I could hear voices. One of them sounded terrified, the other, high pitched and pissed. It was tough to keep from smiling as it dawned on me just who had kidnapped the kidnapper.

Our mystery thief was an enterprising little devil. It was almost a shame I’d have to turn him in to Landgrave Horst.

“…think I wouldn’t expect you to pull some shit like this, Walter?” the high-pitched voice asked. There was some electronic modulation in it, hiding the true voice of the speaker. Peeking around the corner, I saw a slight figure with a dark cloak pulled over their head and a long, wicked-looking knife pressed against Chavez’s more, ah, delicate region. I couldn’t make out the face of the thief just yet.

“I-I had to b-be certain you h-had the g-goods,” Chavez stammered, his eyes wide. The angle of the knife shifted and he squeaked. He’d clearly never had the tables turned on him so abruptly before. “Please!”

“The goods are safe and nearby,” the modulated voice purred. For a brief moment, I could have sworn it sounded feminine. “But now the price is double what we agreed upon.”

“I can’t afford that!” Chavez protested.

“You better find a way or your children will call you Daddy Eunuch.”

"Just hold up right there," I said as I stepped around the corner and aimed my revolver at the thief. Laz followed me and growled at Chavez. "No sudden moves now, and I need you to lower the knife. Both of you need to turn and face me very, very slowly.”

They complied. Chavez had a terrified expression on his face. It would have been comical under any other circumstances. He raised his hands slightly, and his eyes kept darting back and forth between my gun and the thief’s knife.

There were two things I noticed immediately about my mysterious thief. First off, the thief was wearing a partial dusker to hide their features. Duskers were a tool used by criminals to remain unidentified when it came to eyewitness accounts. They were worthless against most types of digital recorders, but for in-person meetings they were fantastic.

Secondly, I’d been wrong before. My thief was definitely not a he, not with that body.

While the dusker did blot out her face, I could see faint wisps of long, red hair sticking out from beneath the hooded cloak. It wasn’t impossible to see through a dusker, but it did make one nauseous when attempted. This was part of the reason why duskers were so effective. They made the eyes instinctively want to look away.

Beneath the cloak I could see a vest, similar to mine in make and style. Hers was smaller, but otherwise I would have suspected we shopped for ballistic vests at the same place. The cloak protected her back and shoulders, and shielded them from the casual observer, but I could make out the additional body armor beneath it. Her hands were gloved and reinforced. I was impressed. She might be a thief, but she definitely was dressed like someone who collected bounties for a living.

“Shut off that dusker, miss. My friends would like to see what you really look like,” I told her. She cocked her head but obeyed. She killed the dusker and for the first time, I got a good look at her features. It was hard not to be taken aback by what I saw. The thief was absolutely stunning, not at all what I expected.

Of course, I hadn’t known what to expect at all, so everything was a surprise. Her eyes were bright green, and without closer inspection I couldn’t tell if they were augmented or not. Smart money said they were. Her features suggested she was from Qin, though she had a smattering of freckles spread across her nose and beneath her eyes to match the flaming red hair. Her lips looked as though they were usually turned upwards into a smile, and she had smile lines at the corners of both eyes. There was a small scar on her chin.

“I’d hoped to pick up the stolen item at the buy, but Chavez here tried to throw a wrench into my plans,” I said, thinking quickly. Tara had been silent for a few minutes, longer than she usually was. I’d been expecting a quip from her about the thief being beautiful, or crack a joke about how Chavez had wet himself. There was nothing.

“Oh, I shielded this alley,” she explained, as if she could read my mind. “No comms in or out. I didn’t want Walter here sending a comm to cry for help. Just wanted a few minutes alone with him, to set the record straight. Oh, and go easy on the kid in the transport, Walter. He’s some local kid who agreed to take my spot on the shuttle for some quick creds.”

“Clever,” I said and shifted the barrel of my revolver slightly. I left the semi in my other holster for the time being. There was no need for both. “Wally, are you thinking of running? Don’t do that. Look behind you. No way out there. You’d have to run past me and Lazarus here and, well, I don’t like your odds of making it unscathed.”

“What now?” the thief asked.

“I need the item you stole.”

“Do you even know what I stole?” Her tone was curious, questioning. I shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter but, judging by how many credits were thrown my way to recover the tech and bring the thief in, my crew and I were postulating alien tech. Barrani, to be specific.”

Her eyes narrowed and they flickered over my face. She was clearly reassessing me. The thief had believed she was dealing with just another bounty hunter. I was anything but.

"Barrani tech… you’re smart. And correct,” she added. The thief took a deep, shuddering breath. “An item like this, in the hands of Landgrave Horst, or one of the other six?" The thief scoffed at me, her lips curling in disdain. "Kiss any freedom you thought you had goodbye forever, bounty hunter. We live as we want to. Give them this, and there will be no system they will not control, no ship they will not own, no black to fly into to escape their grasp. It will be the end of everything we know and love. Do you even know what it can do?”

“Nope, and I don’t care.”

“It can create life, hunter. It can take any old single-cell amoeba and bring it through millions of evolutions to become a sentient, sapient being with thoughts, hopes, dreams, and fears. This tech is powerful, dangerous. You really want a corporation to have this in their hands?”

I wanted to argue, to protest, but deep down I was admittedly terrified that she was telling the truth about the alien technology. There weren't many corporations who went "full evil" the way LHC seemed to be going, thankfully, but there were five off the top of my head I could name who would gladly burn half the galaxy just to ensure their competitors lost out on something of value. Landgrave Horst might be the worst of them, but they weren’t alone.

But I had a contracted job to accomplish. The mop bucket came forcefully back to the forefront of my mind. Besides, she could be lying about the tech. We’d suspected it was Barrani, but other than that, the likelihood that she had figured it out was low, probably closer to nil.

“I don’t care about Chavez. Not yet, anyway. His time will come. But you? I am bound by contract to place you in my custody to be remanded over to Landgrave Horst.”

She laughed. It was throaty, full. For some reason she found this entirely amusing. Odd. For a moment I wondered if she’d suffered some sort of psychotic break. It happened sometimes when suspects knew they were out of options. I hated when it went down like that. Usually when someone broke like that, it typically ended in a gunfight. Not my idea of a good time.

“I noticed you didn’t say under the Bounty Act,” she pointed out to me in a calm, clear voice. “You have no authority or jurisdiction here, bounty hunter.” The last two words were filled with such venom that it was almost a physical slap to the face.

“Don’t need it,” I said. She was oddly calm despite the situation she was in. “Nuevo Aires operates outside normal jurisdiction. I’m sure a generous donation from my employer would cause even the most obstinate politician to turn the other cheek and look away.”

Her eyes narrowed at that. “You work for Landgrave Horst. I thought you were just another bounty hunter.”

“I work for them at the moment,” I corrected. “Unwillingly, but here we are. And I am most assuredly not any old bounty hunter.”

“Oh, a famous one?” she mocked. “I’m getting all of the love today. Double-crossed by my buyer, picked up by a supposedly famous bounty hunter hired by a corporation determined to rule the stars under the guise of equity and inclusivity. So tell me, Mister Famous Bounty Hunter… what name will I be engraving on your tombstone?”

“Fox. Quintus Fox.”

She was silent for a full minute before she finally said anything. “Bullshit.”

“You know many other bounty hunters wandering around with a fully trained Jaxian quantum wolf working with them? If you do, let me know. I’d like to meet them.”

She straightened her back and smiled. It was bitter, filled with regret. The emotion was oddly confusing. I was used to resignation, defiance, and even sadness. But regret? That was a new one.

“You’ve done good work for some innocent folk, I hear,” she said as she tossed the knife to the ground. Her fingers brushed her wrist, where she wore a comms device similar to mine, only sleeker. “I’m almost ashamed to do this. I’m a nice person normally. If you survive, just know there’s no hard feelings towards you at all, Mr. Fox. I’m just a girl trying to do what’s best for others, and make some credits to keep my own ship in the black.”

“Wha—”

I never got the rest of the words out as a static grounder hit me and Laz simultaneously.

Static grounders were an ambush and defensive weapon, popular on space stations back when pirates boarding and looting them was a major concern. It was a device which could be attached to any wall, and as long as there was an adjoining wall next to it where a continuous electrical static arc ranging between 10,000 and 100,000 volts could be maintained for a moment, it was damn near infallible. Many pirates had had their motor skills completely reset by these things, and the larger ones have been known to actually stop a man’s heart. They fell out of popularity when pirates simply stopped attacking space stations and started focusing on ships, leaving stations before they jumped to their destination.

I was enhanced and protected. The arc shouldn’t have affected me. Or so I thought.

They never tell you how much electricity can hurt when you’ve got some bio-mechanical upgrades. When the doctors are performing the surgeries, it’s one of those things that never seems to come up in the planning stages. It must slip their mind because the warning to avoid high-voltage charges comes later, during the healing process, when it’s too late to reconsider your life choices.

Low energy jolts? Oh, I was protected. But when the static grounder hit me with 50,000 volts of electricity, all I knew for five minutes nothing but blinding white pain.

Fortunately, I blacked out for most of it. When I woke up on the ground, everything hurt. The faint scent of burnt hair and rubber filled my nostrils. The big toe on my left foot tingled, an incredibly odd sensation when compared to the amount of pain the rest of my body was in. I was more than a little surprised to find that I was still alive.

“Damnation…” I groaned as feeling in my hands and feet began to return. The jolt had been well into the lethal range. It would have killed me if not for my enhancements. She might be nice in normal situations as she’d claimed, but our thief had a vicious streak about her when crossed. Made sense, when I stopped to think about it. She worked alone, no crew, no backup at all. A woman in this business couldn’t afford to be kind or gracious. One working alone?

It was dangerous, and foolish.

Rolling onto my side, I looked at Lazarus. He’d been hit as well. The quantum wolf had recovered from the jolt far faster than I had. It took me only a moment to figure out why. I’d been directly in the center of the zone, and he’s only been partially in. Still, a large electrical discharge could disrupt his quantum nature, if he could phase. Fortunately, he wasn’t quite mature enough to do that just yet.

He limped over to me, whined, and licked my face. The zap had hurt him, but not critically. My anger towards the thief flared as I realized how close it’d been, though.

Hurt me? Fine. Hurt my dog?

I’ve buried people for less.

“I’m okay, boy. Are you good?”

He chuffed once and wagged his tail, confirming my suspicions that she’d barely hit him. Lucky for her, too. If he’d been truly hurt, there would have been nowhere in the universe she could have hidden from me.

Looking around as my muscles tried to remember how to work properly, I was able to inspect the alley some more. We were alone. Chavez was long gone, and our thief was as well. I had no idea what was going to happen next. The artifact was still out there, and both buyer and thief would be extra careful the next time. Assuming there would be a next time.

Sensation slowly returned to my body. Every second was painful, every breath an excruciating nightmare. I pushed through it not because I wanted to, but because there was nothing else I could do. My motor skills weren’t fully back, so I wasn’t even capable of standing just yet. Sitting, though, was fairly easy.

My eyes tracked upwards and I spotted the static grounder trap easily enough, now that I knew what to look for. Four metal boxes, each ten feet off the ground precisely three feet apart, were perfectly positioned across from one another to appear as nothing more than a natural part of the building. The thief had picked this alley with thought and care, and had been ready… though I suspected the trap had been more for any security personnel who’d been with Chavez. Still, it’d done its job.

“C’mon Laz,” I said as I picked myself up off the filthy alley pavement. I sniffed and frowned. The faint aroma of burnt hair was gone, but it’d been replaced by something far worse. I’d need to shower before we headed over to Edi’s family home for supper. They were really looking forward to meeting all of us, according to Edi, and it would be uncouth of me to be late… or to show up smelling like I’d fallen into a pile of refuse after getting tased in an alley chasing a woman, then had my hair lit on fire. There was decorum to be had. “Let’s get back to the Sly Fox.”

It was a long, humbling walk back to where Mike was waiting in the rented vehicle, but it did give me some time to think, and plan accordingly for my next encounter with the thief.

And there would be a next time.

—» Chapter 7 «—

FAMILY TIME MEANS DRINKING, LAUGHING, CHAOS, AND LOVE

By the time we were back at the Sly Fox, the last of the phantom sensations of electrical currents in my extremities had pretty much vanished. There was a strange cold spot on my left heel which lingered, but it didn’t hurt or anything. It was just odd.

The galley of the Sly Fox was set up where the dining table, which was magnetically bolted to the deck, and was often used as a gathering place for all of the crew of the ship. Since my ship was capable of holding a crew of ten comfortably, we really had an abundance of space for the five of us anywhere we wanted, save for the cockpit itself. Still, the galley was the best place for meetings, since all of our berthing spaces were almost directly connected to it. Only Mike, whose berth was near the engine room, had to walk more than twenty feet.

Once we gave a quick debriefing to Tara, she immediately swore for five minutes straight and promised to do horrible things to the thief when we caught her the next time. I wanted to interrupt her but I was too busy trying not to laugh as her punishments grew more and more creative with every passing second. Mike stopped her when she started to become a little more graphic.

“Yes, that’s fine and all, but how did she block our comms, Tara?” Mike asked when Tara paused her ranting to take a breath. I cocked my head, curious. When I’d lost comms with Mike and Tara, I just assumed that it was because our thief had managed to shield the entire alley somehow in the same way she’d laid out her static grounder. Mike losing comms was news to me, though it did explain why he didn’t come running the moment I was in the alley with Chavez and our mystery thief.

“I… I don’t know,” Tara growled, her face flushed.

Aha. Now I knew the real reason why she was angry. She’d been bested by our thief, and her ego had been pricked. Not always the worst thing in the world. For a teenager, though? It most definitely was.

“How would you block comms without triggering alerts?” I asked. The best way to get her mind on a challenge wasn’t by asking how she’d failed, but how she would have beaten herself.

“There’s plenty of ways,” she said, exasperated. “The obvious one would be a static shield, but she managed to hit Mike, and he was, like, a block away. Most rich people around here have anti-tampering on their comms, so if someone pops a static shield, it triggers an alert to their security forces. The only way she could have done it is if… oh. Oh, that bitch!”

“Uh… Tara?”

“She hacked my hack!”

“Come again?” I looked at Mike, but he was clearly as confused as I was. “What do you mean?”

“She piggybacked on my own signal! She was looking for any encrypted signals bouncing around in a three block radius, waited until she made her grab, then popped the shield and reverbed the comms signal back through us,” Tara growled dangerously. I’d seen her angry before, but never quite this murderous. For a moment I almost pitied our mystery thief when Tara finally caught up to her. “When the shield went up, it diverted Chavez’s comms signal to our signal so no alert went out to his security, which also isolated and killed the comms I’d set up for us. Oooh… I don’t know this bitch, but I hate her!”

“Is that even possible?” I asked. Tara was nodding before I finished the sentence.

“Oh, easily. We used to do it as a game when we were young in the creche. Most Coderunners know how to do it by the time they turn ten.”

“So she’s trained?” Mike asked her. Tara shrugged. Her anger was still there, but it’d been diffused somewhat. For now.

“No. But she’s got help from somewhere.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because I didn’t detect it.”

I sighed. It was about as I’d figured. We were in over our heads once more and only had some of the information needed. Our thief wasn’t any random run-of-the-mill crook out to make a quick credit. She had training, possible allies, and one hell of a motivation to unload the goods. Not to mention she was highly intelligent and adaptable. A formidable opponent, not necessarily an enemy.

Not yet, at least. But that could change in a hurry.

“I need to get cleaned up for dinner at the Loret’s,” I announced, stemming off another tirade from my frustrated and enraged Coderunner. “Tara, can you make sure Laz is fed and goes out before we leave? Also, double-check the ship, see that it’s locked tight. And I mean it. I don’t want anyone, Plankton or otherwise, even getting the registry number off of us without permission.”

“You mean…?”

“Yep.” I nodded and grinned at her. “You get to use the ‘dillo.”

“Yay!” her earlier anger was forgotten as she punched Mike in the arm. “We get to go full armadillo!”

He laughed and shook his head. If the blow registered, he wasn’t showing it. “Only you would get excited about locking down a ship like this.”

The Armadillo was a mad concoction that Tara and Mike had devised when I’d first hired him. The idea of someone being able to override the security system due to some sort of all-encompassing warrant worried Tara to no end, and once she’d found out that Mike was a little more than handy with a wrench, she’d implemented her scheme with startling speed.

When active, the ‘dillo would lock every single access hatch and entry into the ship. It would also throw up electronic shielding—which I thought was a bit redundant, because our systems were already shielded—so no computer, not even a fully vetted Coderunner, could tap into the system. The best part? Nobody except Tara or myself would be able to deactivate it. Not even Mike, and he’d helped her install it.

I left the three of them in the galley and went to my space. Tara would take care of Laz, and then he’d get to roam the interior of the ship while we were gone. There wasn’t anything he could damage, and he was pretty much past the puppy stage of destruction anyway, so I wasn’t too concerned.

After a quick shower and shave, I was feeling close to human once again. The cold spot on my heel was finally gone, so everything felt back to normal. While getting dressed, I replayed the events of the encounter in my mind.

She’d anticipated the double cross by Chavez, which meant he’d done it to someone else in the past. Undoubtedly word got out. The universe might be a big place, but word can travel fast in this sector. Especially if a group of people were working together and sharing information.

I paused at that thought. There were Free Trader guilds who were practically organized criminals in all but name, but a few worked together to create intelligence networks. It was probably how our thief first found out about the item she’d pilfered from the Landgrave Horst facility. But who had put her in touch with Chavez, and who’d provided her with the tip about his subsequent betrayal? Either Chavez had a mole in his organization—which was possible—or he’d screwed over someone else, who was now working with our mystery thief in order to exact a little revenge.

“No, that doesn’t work,” I muttered out load as I pulled on my boots. None of the fringe tassels had been damaged by the static grounder, which I was immensely grateful for. The look I usually got from cobblers who repaired them varied greatly, but almost every single one of them were shocked when I told them to reaffix new leather tassels to them. I leaned back on my bed and stared at the ceiling of my quarters, frustrated, as my mind churned over the facts. There was information missing and it was starting to become the norm, which was never good.

The only way she could be working to pull one over on Chavez would be if she never intended to sell it to him at all. Or, she had plans to steal it back once she had the credits secured. Unless it was a trade for an item of equal value. But if it was Barrani tech, then what would Chavez have that could possibly be of equal value?

Grumbling, I rolled off my bed and grabbed my vest. After a moment of consideration, I put on my holster as well. The area around the landing pad wasn’t great and the way my luck had been lately, I’d get mugged the moment I wasn’t carrying either piece. I checked my reflection in the mirror quickly and, satisfied, I headed out to the galley where Tara and Mike waited.

“Let’s go meet the family,” I said.

* * *

I wasn't sure what I expected, but a warm welcome with food piled high on the dining room table and a massive family gathered around it sure wasn't in my top ten list of possibilities.

The Loret family was a chaotic mass of humanity living under the guidance of Edi's mother, Nita, who everyone deferred to when it came to most decisions involving the family. Be it marriage, school, or harboring a group of off-worlders from roving bands of private military forces, Nita was the one who decided it all. Once she spoke, all others fell in line rapidly and without argument. I'd seen criminal bosses in control of entire systems who didn't broker as much respect as the diminutive woman could, and she used way less violence to enforce her will

And Edi, as the youngest of her six children, was clearly the favorite.

Surprisingly, none of his elder siblings seemed to resent him for this. Nor did they bring up anything about the death of his older brother, Alejandro. They all doted on him, in fact, as though he were a returning champion and not the child who'd left home at a young age and broke the system. Granted, I didn't really understand the reasoning why he left, other than his desire to not be on the government dole. His family was very supportive of him. It would take a lot for me to leave such an environment.

Thinking back, it had taken the biggest war in my nation's history to get me out the door. Happenstance never allowed for me to return. Sometimes I wonder how they got on in life after I was gone.

After dinner, the adults gathered in the living room and drank a local concoction called javchata. It was a combination of espresso and sugary rice milk mixed with a crème alcohol. I’ve had drinks across dozens of solar systems and hundreds of space stations over the years, and it was, without a doubt, the tastiest thing I’d ever had in my life.

“I’m glad you like it,” Edi said in a quiet voice as the children entertained themselves in the other room. All of Edi’s surviving siblings were in the room, as was the matriarch, Nita. Tara was torn between playing with the kids or staying with us adults. She had a drink in hand as well, since the local laws said anyone over 16 was an adult, though she’d barely touched it. Mike was eyeballing it greedily.

“Go ahead,” she said and handed it over. Mike’s grin was wide as he accepted the glass.

“Thanks!”

“Thank you again for inviting us all over for dinner,” I said, nodding Nita’s direction.

“It is not a problem.” Nita’s accent was stronger than Edi’s, but her voice was steady despite her advanced age. She reached out and squeezed Edi’s hand. He smiled at her but said nothing. “Any friend of my pequeno is a friend of the family.”

“I’ve never had pollo verde like that before,” Tara added, smiling as she leaned against the wall. Four of five of Edi’s nephews had tried talking to the teen, but Tara was oblivious to their advances. Or, more than likely, recognized them for what they were and was politely pretending to not realize what they were attempting. I knew it was easier to soothe a confused teenaged boy’s heart than a devastated one.

Hell, that went for grown men as well. We are, after all, simple creatures with simple wants and needs.

“I’m glad you liked it!” Nita said, beaming. Her smile was infectious. Edi’s childhood might have been a confusing time for him, thanks to the difficulties in finding honest work in a city where work was frowned upon, but he never wonted for love. “I caught it last week and spent the past four days fattening it up with aji panca and cabras três leite.”

“Caught?” Tara looked at me, confused. I coughed and looked away. “What do you mean, caught?”

“Why, the iguanas are everywhere!” Nita cackled. “Pests, but tasty. I found a fat one and fed it spicy peppers and three goats milk. Gives it that rich flavor in the meat. You like, yes?”

Tara turned about the same shade as the local iguanas were. I’d known was polle verde was since Edi had given his report. Tara, only focusing on certain parts of what he’d told us, had apparently skipped that section. Edi had talked it up so much during the trip from Waystation Zeta that she’d been dying to try it.

To her credit, the teen didn’t throw up. “It was… good. Different. Thank you for the meal.”

“Edison Jacinto Loret! You didn’t tell her what pollo verde was before you fed it to her!” Nita was a wise women who missed nothing. Her sandal appeared in her hand in the blink of an eye and it sailed across the room, striking Edi in the chest with terrifying accuracy a moment later. “Como você pôde fazer isso com uma menina tão doce e jovem?”

“Não é tão doce quanto você pensa, mamãe,” Edi muttered softly, though there was a small smile on his face. “She is like a sister to me. Any teasing I can get away with, I will do.”

Nita sniffed, clearly displeased. “She is a good girl.”

“In his defense, ma’am, I’ve seen her do things with her brain that still give me nightmares,” I added in Edi’s defense. I really should have kept my mouth shut and let Edi take the fall for this one.

“That little thing? She is such an adorable querida,” Nita protested. Glancing over at Tara, I could see she was laughing behind the small cup of javchata. She was letting us dangle and get ourselves in trouble, the dastardly traitor. Nita grumbled something softly under her breath as Edi handed her back her sandal. She thanked him before continuing. “She would make an excellent Loret is what I hear.”

“Sim, mamãe. She would,” Edi said, chuckling. “She has a temper almost as fiery as Luciana’s.”

“Good girl,” Nita said, smiling. She took a small sip of her javchata. Her tone turned almost motherly as she continued. “A man should always respect a woman, no matter the age. We are quietly fierce, and will slit your throat in your sleep after a passionate night of lovemaking.”

I almost spit my drink out at that. Edi blushed bright red, while Mike outright guffawed loudly and fell out of his seat. Tara started giggling and couldn’t stop. Edi’s sisters, on the other hand, nodded sagely and sipped their drinks, murmuring quietly in agreement. Apparently this was a topic of regular conversation amongst the women.

I pitied the poor idiot who did any of these ladies wrong.

* * *

After the children went to bed, we decided to take our leave. Edi promised to stop by after our job on the planet had wrapped up. His sisters and mother tearfully say their goodbyes, which turned into another long conversation about when we would be back.

It reminded me of an old joke my Pa used to say: southerners started their goodbyes just after dinner, and everyone would eventually leave after the children were in bed and the ‘shine had been put away.

“That was enjoyable,” I said as we walked out of the hacienda and into the courtyard. Their house might have appeared small from the outside, but having the entire bottom floor underground allowed them more space than anyone would have suspected. I looked down at the tiled brick beneath my feet, remembering the layout of the underground. If memory served correct, this was the dining room area.

“It was,” Edi agreed. He’d been subdued all evening, simply soaking in the love he’d been receiving from his family.

“Why’d you think they’d blame you for everything, Edi?” Tara asked rather bluntly. Edi glanced down and shrugged his shoulders.

“I… just thought they would.”

“Well, that’s pretty stupid,” Tara said and raised her head. She sniffed the air. “Hey… is something burning?”

“There’s a trash compactor about four blocks over,” Edi explained. “It used to smell real bad late at night when they ran the incinerator. It’s why my parents could afford this place. Nobody wanted it…” his voice trailed off as sirens began to scream somewhere to the north. He raised his face skyward and inhaled. “No, I was wrong. That’s not trash.”

The smell finally hit me and I recognized it instantly. “You’re right. That’s something else.”

It was melting plasteel, the building material most colony worlds used to build temporary structures. It had a smell which always reminded me of burnt vanilla, which is how early colonists always knew when there was a problem with the habitat. If they smelled burnt vanilla, there was a fire somewhere. Of course, the other, unspoken issue with that was the simple fact that plasteel did not burn naturally, but needed an accelerant and constant flame to trigger it. An electrical spark couldn’t do the trick, but an idiot with a can of fuel and a lighter could.

Edi went back inside quickly and warned his family as Mike and I hurried outside the courtyard of the hacienda and onto the wander-way. There weren’t any of the small, nimble vehicles to be seen anywhere. Which was surprising, given the early hour. While the sun had set an hour before, the past week in the city had taught us that Cidade Azula didn’t quiet down until almost midnight local time.

Indeed, other than the sirens, the city was dreadfully quiet. I felt a small knot of nerves form in my belly. This was not a natural silence. The energy in the air was akin to what one felt just before a storm broke overhead. While the nighttime sky was clear, the feeling remained. Somehow a massive storm was about to be unleashed.

Edi joined us out in the street, with Tara by his side. Her eyes flickered between half-closed and open as she accessed any and all open networks around us. Her breathing slowed as everything seemed to still around us.

“Reports of rioting on 10th, 12th, 15th, and 20th Avenues,” she finally said in her ethereal Coderunner voice. Even after all this time it was still a bit unsettling. “All law enforcement officials have been ordered to report to the Distrito Laranja Station for armament and crowd displacement equipment. City officials have not declared an emergency yet but the mayor is currently meeting with the continental governor. The presidente has been informed. Similar reports of rioting have broken out in other cities as well, but Cidade Azula seems to be the focal point. Law enforcement responding. Correction. Law enforcement is attempting to respond. There is resistance.”

I shivered. That sounded ominous. “This is planned.”

“By who?” Mike asked.

That was the billion-credit question. Who, indeed? Who would benefit from a city rioting, protestors in the streets, and buildings going up in flames as the looting began in earnest?

I had no idea.

“Get back to the ship,” I decided. “It’s safer in it, and should things go south we can haul up to orbit and wait this out.”

“What about Edi’s family?” Tara asked. Edi scoffed.

“Reinforced barriers on every window, and the basement is a bomb bunker from back during the war,” he said. “It might be safer to stay with them, but he’s right. We should get off planet for now.”

Nobody else argued with the decision. We hurried down the street and turned towards the landing pad. The sirens grew louder, but now we could also hear something else. There were screams, cries, and chants. The chants grew stronger as we drew closer to where the Sly Fox was berthed. As we ran, we could see glimpses of large throngs of people marching along the nearby avenues, blocking traffic, armed with both makeshift and professional weapons. There were signs being carried. And they’d clearly been printed and not hand-written. There was nothing organic about this riot. This was well-planned and organized.

We were forced to detour as another stream of protestors cut us off. These seemed less organized than the ones we’d spotted before, but they were clearly more motivated by something other than justice. Most of them were carrying stolen goods from a local electronics store, as well as bags of unidentified objects tossed into bins. Crimes of opportunity were one of the most often committed activity during a riot, and I’d learned through experience to just avoid them and not stir up any trouble.

Unfortunately, they viewed the four of us as potential targets. Roughly a dozen of them split off from the main group, armed with bats, crowbars, and a few wicked-looking knives. They turned our way.

My six shooter was out before reached us. Mike had pulled his backup piece as well, and Edi simply relaxed his shoulders and appeared bored. I knew he had at least four knives on him, probably more. Tara pressed up behind me. It wasn’t because she was afraid, but because we both knew she was far more valuable in a support role, and we did not want her getting injured in any way. Which meant that I would take a bullet for her, should the need arise.

Normally I wouldn’t engage, but there was just something about them which told me they were out for blood, that they didn’t care who we were or why we were in their path. They saw helpless victims, and their cries and shots were nothing but wild animals baying for blood. I’d seen it before, and the memory sent chills down my spine. There would be no stopping this until the gutters on the streets were flowing with the blood of the innocents.

My six shooter barked rapidly, each of the six shots striking true. However, unlike the rioters charging us, I was not looking to kill, to burn. Maiming, on the other hand, was totally within my legal rights, Bounty Act be damned. Nuevo Aires had a rather robust “Stand Your Ground” defense, which I’d found more than a little surprising given the planet’s usual attitude towards criminal activity.

Six of our potential attackers fell as their knees exploded in a gory mess of blood and bone, every shot fired striking true. Mike was shooting as well, though he wasn’t as sure with his shots as I was. Instead, he fired into the ground in front of them. Some of his rounds fragmented and sprayed those who were continuing to rush us. They screamed in pain and slowed their advance.

Two more groups split off from the main horde of people, each moving around our sides to flank us. I rapidly reloaded the six shooter and drew my semi-automatic pistol as well. While it had more rounds in its magazine, the old revolver had always felt more comfortable in my hand. Still, if I had to, I could two-gun with above average skill thanks to my bio-enhancements.

Turned out I didn’t need to do anything else. The moment they recognized us as a well-armed group of individuals and not as targets, they moved away. The crowd flowed around us, the chanting loud but no longer as dangerous as it had been moments before. The tension I hadn’t noticed in my shoulders eased a tiny bit.

Somewhere nearby, an explosion ripped through the air. A massive ball of fire rose up into the sky no more than a block away.

"Oh no…" Edi whispered in horror. It’d come from the city center, where all of the government buildings were located—as well as the police department headquarters. Tara wrapped her arms around my waist and whimpered in fear as she buried her face in my jacket.

Cidade Azul was on fire and someone was desperately fanning the flames to ensure the entire city burned.

—» Chapter 8 «—

TURMOIL AND TRIBULATIONS

We managed to make it one more block before realizing that our direct route to the Sly Fox was cut off by fires and throngs of protestors.

Unlike the previous group we’d encountered and left bloodied, these ones seemed a little more peaceful and allowed us to pass without too much difficulty. A few eyeballed Mike suspiciously as we weaved our way through. It was hard to blame them, after all. Nuevo Aires had a strong distrust towards outsiders, and at seven feet tall, Mike was the epitome of “stranger danger” for them. However, upon seeing Edi with us, they dismissed our group as an immediate threat. Thankfully, I might add. I’ve killed and injured people in the past, but rarely did I ever enjoy it.

However, we ran into a new but not unexpected problem once we were in the landing zone—security would not let us through.

“Look, I’ve shown you my credentials three times,” I said, exasperated, after proceeding to do just that. The guard had a nervous look on his face, but he was determined to follow orders. And his orders were to not let anyone through, no matter what. Still, I made an effort. “That’s my ship in there, and it’s registered to my name. Not a rental, not a corporate loaner, but mine.”

“As you’ve stated, sir,” the guard acknowledged, his eyes shifting between Mike and Edi. “But orders are orders.”

“It’s a stupid order,” I growled.

“I really am sorry, sir.” The guard actually sounded apologetic, which was a bit of a surprise. If nervous energy could be used to power an engine plant of a spaceship, then this man could have powered a fleet. “But unless someone gets off that ship and comes to fetch you personally, there’s no way I’m letting anyone through this checkpoint until the protests have settled down.”

I grumbled but didn’t push. It was a reasonable way to ensure nobody has hacked into their systems to create false records and was using the riots to mask their criminal activities. Hell, I’d been on the verge of asking Tara to do just that regarding his orders.

“I don’t think Lazarus is going to come and fetch us, sir,” Mike rumbled humorously. I glared at the big man but silently agreed. The quantum wolf was a lot of things, but the capability of unlocking the ship and telling the guards to let us in were not in his bailiwick.

“We could go back to the hacienda, hole up there,” Edi suggested before I could really wind myself up. Pausing, I considered it. It actually wasn’t a half-bad idea. We could help protect the Loret family and ensure none of the rioting spilled over onto them, and it would be a safe harbor for us temporarily.

The only downside was that we’d have to wade back through the rioting area again.

“Back to the hacienda,” I decided. If we were going to be stuck off the ship, it might as well be back where I could drink some more of that javchata stuff. Plus, the ship wasn’t going anywhere. Even if rioters managed to make it past the armed guards, and then somehow managed to defeat Tara’s lockdown features, they’d still have to deal with a very irritated Lazarus. Grabbing Mike’s arm, I leaned in and whispered additional instructions to him. “If we get separated, find any way possible to get Tara back on the Sly Fox."

“Why?”

“Because I feel like I’m sitting on top of a bomb whose timer is rapidly approaching zero, and the safest place is on that ship. You have to protect her.”

The crowd was thicker on the way back. More people were pouring out onto the streets, the wander-ways absolutely jam-packed with protestors, and no sign of local law enforcement anywhere. Here or there I thought I caught sight of Plankertons escorting individuals to safety, but the glimpses were so fleeting in the sea of humanity that I couldn’t be certain.

It became almost impossible to make any forward progress. The crowd seemed to be pushing the complete opposite direction we were going. I lost Edi at some point, the smaller man disappearing as the crowd started to jostle one another as they marched. Tara and Mike were just ahead of me. She was clinging to his waist as he parted the sea of people like a modern day Moses. The people of Cidade Azula might be protesting injustices, but even then they moved when someone bigger was coming through.

A man accidentally bumped into me and I stumbled. The moment that happened, I lost sight of Mike and Tara. I knew they would be fine, since Tara had the route memorized. As long as she stayed with him, she would be perfectly safe. Straightening back up, I barely heard the man apologize before I set back off, trying to catch up. They were just ahead, but the crowd of people was simply too much to push through. I slowed my advance and tried to find a path through.

In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. After all, using a riot to mask your illegal or dubious activities has stood the test of time. Hell, starting one or something similar to mask a kidnapping or other crime had happened more times throughout history than remembered.

A tranq dart hit my quad, and another jabbed me in the bicep. On a normal person, one would have been enough to put them out for at least twelve hours. Two? Well, precise dosages by weight are required in order to not kill someone. What was just pumped into my blood was a large enough dose to risk of hypotension and possible internal organ failure, particularly the kidneys. But as with every ambush, sometimes the predators don't worry about harming the prey short-term.

Fortunately for me, I'd had my kidneys revitalized years ago, along with the liver. No point in enjoying finer things in life if said finer things had the capability of harming you. They’d be able to filter whatever was in the tranquilizer dart. Pretty sure my liver could filter mercury, if pressed.

The black bag went over my head as the handcuffs were slapped on my wrists. They were cheap and flimsy, and I probably could have broken them if I'd wanted, but it was time to get some answers. Meekly, I let them tossed me into the back of their oversized vehicle without resistance. The door slammed shut and we accelerated away from the riot.

Experience told me my captors would be chattier if they thought they were in control. I'd let them think this way until I knew what was going on, who was behind this, and, if they really were responsible, why they decided the city of Cidade Azul needed to burn.

After that?

Well, after that… all bets were off.

* * *

In my vast experience as a bounty hunter, I’ve come to learn that there are three types of kidnappers in the world. The first is the professional, the sort who is strictly in it for the money. They are the ones who almost always return the hostage alive, because they know that no force in the universe will stop an angry or vengeful parent from tracking them down and ending their lives. Too often throughout recorded history did vengeance take down a stupid kidnapper.

The second sort is the amateur, the risk taker, the one who stumbles onto it. Usually they’re the ones who don’t leave the victim alive because it’s more of a target of opportunity. After the kill, be it accidental or otherwise, they begin to suffer from whatever mental degradation they’d already been afflicted with, be it guilt, remorse, or fear of capture. All of this combines to slap the kidnapper in the face after they’ve committed the act. Recovery rate from kidnappers such as this is low, and they’re the criminals both law enforcement and bounty hunters hate coming across.

And then there were the third types… assholes like these guys, who had a plan but also took a sadistic glee in their work.

A heavy hand slapped me across the face. The bag protected me a bit, but the blow did catch me off guard. Another slap, and then the bag was ripped off my head. I winced from the blow, more out of surprise than pain.

“Who sent you?” A high pitched voice demanded. It was young and sounded nervous. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty at best.

I took a quick note of my surroundings as my eyes rapidly adjusted. It was an old warehouse of some sort, one that hadn't been used in some time. There was a faint aroma of oil in the air mixed with smoke from the fires from the riots. Two old, dusty platforms were on either side of me. Judging by how long I'd been in their vehicle, and remembering the turns made during the drive, we were about seven blocks southeast of where they'd picked me up at.

Which meant I was probably being held in an old service bay for automated vehicles near the landing port, a location where screams of pain would be drowned out or unnoticed by the random person who might pass by. Not a warehouse at all.

It pays to be keep calm in all situations. A focused mind is a dangerous one.

Another slap to my face, this one barely registering. It was more attention-grabbing than actual physical violence. I blinked as a bright light was suddenly flashed in my face. Unfortunately for my abductors, I’d had my eyes enhanced and upgraded over a decade before. A few seconds passed before I could filter through the neon bulb and spot my kidnappers. It took even less time for me to recognize them all from our confrontation the week before in the alley.

Plankertons.

“Who sent you?” the one I’d nicknamed Runty the day before asked as he slapped me a third time. He’d been speaking the entire time. This time I scoffed at him.

“Your mother. She’s very disappointed in your life choices. Not that we talked much, mind you. Her mouth was a little busy…”

Rule Number One in the kidnapping business? Always keep your cool.

Nobody’d told Runty this, apparently.

He screamed and grabbed me by the collar. He drew his fist back and punched me once, twice, three times in the face. Fortunately for me, I’d been hit harder by Mike during our sparring sessions on the Sly Fox and was used to getting punched in the face. Plus, the side benefit of an angry amateur meant information gathering.

Runty? Nobody had ever taught the kid how to throw a punch. He was liable to hurt himself before he did any lasting damage to me. You gotta swing through what you’re trying to punch. He was trying to just hit me, and was probably going to break his hand if he continued.

Panting, he reached back to hit me again before pausing. A twinkle of intelligence pushed through the rage clouding his judgement. Struggling to control his breathing, he let me go. Stepping back, he muttered something under his breath about the boss, fetching lunch, and then just walked away, leaving me alone to dwell on my current predicament.

The other man in the room was Supervisor Jung. He stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his permanent scowl affixed on his face as he watched the proceedings. I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t he one questioning me. He would probably knock me around with ease, even with my enhancements. Runty must have jumped the gun and started before their real boss arrived.

I tried not to laugh. Good kidnappers were so hard to find these days.

I looked around but there was no sign of the turret gunner, Czen. That I found odd. I’d assumed that he would be here somewhere.

First I tested my bonds. They were good and tight, with some sort of brace behind my back to keep the rope immobile. There were no frayed edges to the rope, either, which suggested it was either brand new or some sort of synthetic. Either presented potential opportunities in the future. The chair I was tied to was solid, so the odds of me breaking it to assist in my eventual escape weren’t great.

The garage didn’t offer much. It’d been abandoned for some time, and whoever had left had done a good job clearing it out of any debris I could have potentially used to aid my escape. There were a lot of shadows in it, which reminded me of the false room we’d tracked the Composer down in the week before. I blinked at that. Had it only been eight days since Waystation Zeta?

My guns were gone, as was the knife in my boot and my trusty penlight. They’d even taken my hat. My clothing remained, though. I was thankful for that. While nakedness didn’t really bother me, being naked during someone’s enhanced interrogation meant that they had far more options at hand when it came to making my life miserable. Clothed limited things a bit.

Not much, to be honest, but I try and find the good in things.

Runty left, and Jung disappeared from view a few minutes later. The silence of the room was almost overbearing. In that time I’d learned absolutely nothing except that I was developing a mild allergy to synthetic rope, and the chair was really uncomfortable. Every fifteen minutes or so Runty would poke his head in to look at me, but before I could say anything he’d pull back and shut the door.

They’d taken both firearms from me but curiously, they’d left them on a table near the exit where Runty was hanging out. Which was pretty stupid, if anyone had bothered to ask me. If I ever managed to break these bonds, they were in for a very bad time. Still, I wasn’t going to point out their stupidity. A general once declared that it was very unwise to interrupt the enemy when they are making a mistake, and I was an avid student of history.

Oddly enough, I couldn’t hear any of the rioting going on outside. The building was either better insulated than I would have given credit for, or we’d been moved further away than I’d estimated. I chalked it up to the quality construction as I looked up at the ceiling. It featured skylights to allow natural lighting into the building during the day, and ostensibly a view of the stars above during night. However, with the lights on, they did nothing more than reflect what was below them—meaning me.

They did allow me to see behind me for the first time. I spotted Sergeant Jung lurking in the shadows, watching me. He’d been waiting for me to make a move, some sort of escape attempt so he could beat and demoralize me. It was a solid plan on how to handle a potentially dangerous prisoner, and caused me to rethink my escape plan.

I decided it was time to be myself. Instead of calling for help, I decided to start muttering about Plankertons and the genetic material donated by their motherless, goat-fucking fathers. This seemed to have the desired effect I was looking for. The door where Runty had been poking in every so often swung open. A new figure strode into the room, with Runty following subserviently behind him.

Finally, the man in charge. I eyed him carefully as he slowly walked in a circle around my chair. Every step was measured, and unlike Runty, he had complete control of himself. Not a man to be trifled with, this one. I kept my mouth shut and watched him as he stopped in front of me.

He knelt and grabbed my chin. Lifting it, he inspected my face before he glanced over at Runty. To his credit, the younger man flinched.

“Do you need water?” the newcomer asked me. I thought about the various ways the question could be used to hurt me before mentally shrugging. To be fair, I was parched. The last thing I’d had to drink was javchata a few hours before.

“I could use a drink.”

Instead of the expected waterboarding, he turned and snapped his fingers at Runty.

“Smith. Go fetch two bottles of water. One for me, one for Mr. Fox here.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry, did I stutter?”

Runty quickly scampered out the side door, leaving me alone with the man in charge. He eyed me for a moment before nodding.

“You met my men last week near the wet market,” he stated. “You also blew the cover off two of my undercover assets here on the planet. They have been reprimanded.”

There was no malice in his tone, only boredom. Beneath it, I could feel the timbre of his voice washing over me. It was… melodic. A chill washed over me as I recognized him for what he was.

My mysterious captor was a Plankerton Operative. I’d never met one before, but I’d heard of them. It was rare for them to be out in the field and open like this, though. They were the behind-the-scenes sort, those who didn’t like getting their hands dirty, using common Plankerton thugs to do their bidding while manipulating local governments. Guys like him were more accustomed to schmoozing politicians and COOs of corporations than kidnapping bounty hunters and torturing them in some abandoned garage.

I’d have to tread very carefully here. Despite an Operative's reputation as a planner and organizer, I could sense the underlying brutality of the man standing before me. One did not rise so high in the Plankertons organization without cracking a few skulls, after all. And Operatives were very good at disguising their full capabilities.

“I did.” There was no point denying it. “They were pretty rude.”

“They’re here on this planet to do a job, Mr. Fox. Why you’re here is what I’m trying to fathom.”

“I’m on a job.”

“So you’ve previously claimed.” There was more than hint of doubt in his tone. For a moment it made me wish I had that sort of tonal and cadence control when I spoke. It was a melodious tone, suggesting that I could trust him, open up to him, confide in my newfound ally.

I wasn’t the only one with biological enhancements in the room. My guard went up another notch.

“Yep. I was hired by the Landgrave Horst Corporation to recover a thief who stole a high value object,” I said, being very careful when answering. Whatever modulations the Operative had done to his voice, it was almost as good as the so-called truth serum less trustworthy individuals used during interrogations. Part of me wanted to answer all of this man’s questions.

“Interesting. They didn’t mention this at all. I think you’re lying to me, Mr. Fox.”

“I’m not.”

“So full of conviction.”

“That’s me. Good old Mr. Conviction.”

“So who hired you?”

“I done told you. Landgrave Horst.”

“You’re lying again. They hired us. Why are you here?”

“Why would I lie?” I asked, growing irritated. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide who hired me. Thanks to the Treaty of Pecos, who hired me for a job was public knowledge and could be accessed by anyone who had the proper access—which was anyone who could get on the ‘net. Details about the job, though? Oh, I wasn’t about to reveal what I’d been hired to do to anyone, most assuredly not to a Plankerton.

“You’re a bounty hunter. Your kind lie all the time.”

He had me there. Bounty hunters were notorious for hiding their true intentions from anyone asking questions. We had a reputation for being swindlers, too. Which, to be fair, was precisely what I was trying to do right now. Well, sort of. It was complicated.

“I can guarantee you that I am indeed in the employ of the Landgrave Horst Corporation.”

“Hmm… I still think you’re lying. I have a nose for these things, see. I can always tell when someone is lying, especially since I know my employer would not hide such a potentially valuable asset from us.”

“Your upgrades must be defective, then,” I replied, snorting. “You should look at getting a refund.”

The Operative raised an eyebrow. “Jung? Help Mr. Fox here with his water. He looks thirsty.”

The towel was thrown over my face from behind and I was pulled back in the chair until I was flat. Struggling, I almost panicked as the first bit of water was poured out of the bottle through the towel covering my face. Choking on the water, I sputtered as I tried to get a full breath. The wet cloth and water prohibited me from doing so.

I should have known better than to accept that initial offer of water.

Fucking Plankertons.

Despite knowing Jung had been lurking behind me in the shadows, his arrival still managed to catch me off-guard. My hands clenched and unclenched rapidly as I struggled to remain calm. That was the entire key during a waterboard. The interrogators wanted the person to panic, to flail about, since they were trying to convince the brain and body of the prisoner that they were drowning. The entire process is horrible, not something I’d recommend experiencing.

Instead of outright panicking like I wanted, I let my mind drift as they continued to pour water down my nose and throat. It allowed me to disassociate from the experience, even though my entire body was jerking against the restraints and doing everything it could to try and keep me alive. The contents of the bottle was only a liter, so at an intellectual level I knew they would run out eventually. Instinctually, though, I knew I was going to die from drowning. My lungs burned as they tried to draw in more oxygen, only for the wet towel to make it more difficult.

The water stopped. I’m man enough to admit I whimpered in relief. Being waterboarded is no joke. The towel did not come off, though. I knew what was coming next, and it filled me with dread.

“I’ll ask you again, Mr. Fox. Who sent you?”

As I expected, this time they didn’t give me a chance to answer. The break had been only enough for me to remember how sweet the air was. More water was poured over my face. I’d barely had enough time to get my breath after the first round. This was excruciating. A small part of me wanted to scream in frustration, terror, to tell them everything I knew. The problem was, I’d already told them the truth. The Operative didn’t seem interested in it.

That… was a problem.

Enhanced interrogation techniques only work when the person has information they want and are reluctant to divulge it. Me? The bastion of honesty. My story wouldn't waver under duress because it was the truth. But when the interrogator wasn't interested in the truth?

Well, that's when things usually go sideways.

The water stopped and they sat me back up. The light went off as they removed the wet towel from my face. Blinking through tears and water, my eyes adjusted to the darkness instantly. The Operative stood before me, an almost bored expression on his face. Jung stood next to him, holding the towel. Smith stood near the doorway. There was no sign of the water bottle. Either he'd tossed it away after he was done with it, or there was a fourth person in the room who I couldn't see. Both options were possible.

"You are a tough nut to crack, Mr. Fox."

"I get that a lot," I managed to sputter as more sweet, sweet oxygen filled my lungs. Enhancements can take a fellow far in this universe, but there were still limitations. An oxygen-deprived brain still led to death. Outside of selling your soul to become a Thinkerman, there were no enhancements that could change this.

And even that was no guarantee.

Sometime during my sputtering and struggling to remember how to breathe, Jung disappeared, leaving Runty and the Operative alone in the garage with me. It was clear Runty was uncomfortable with his newfound task of holding me down while the Operative poured the water. It didn’t stop him from doing his best effort, though.

The questions were repeated.

Who sent you?

Why are you here?

Who hired you?

Unceasing, endless questions, the same ones over and over again. I repeated my answers, never wavering, a stanza for which I could cling to as my brain panicked more and more under the constant barrage.

“You’re one tough cookie, Mr. Fox,” the Operative murmured in my ear after the fourth—or was it fifth?—waterboarding.

“Chocolate chip. No raisins shit. That’s a crime against humanity.”

“Your sense of humor in all this is amazing. What sort of enhancements do you have, Mr. Fox,” the Operative asked as he leaned in close enough for me to smell the cheese sandwich he’d had for lunch on his breath. Beneath that, there was a very subtle hint of decay.

It took quite a bit of self-control not to recoil. Whatever vocal and tonal enhancements the man had, they were slowly killing him from within. He’d gone cheap, and was paying the price.

“Had hair implants done,” I muttered as I let my head loll back, making it seem I was more incapacitated than I really was. Breathing was tough, but I was managing. Runty wasn’t nearly as clean with his hold as Jung had been, and I’d actually managed to not want to die during the most recent happy fun time. “Nose adjustment. Hated the old one. Made me look too distinguished. There's a look we go for in the bounty hunting business, and regal isn't it. Broken and crooked is the way to go. Some dental work, too. Needed molars. Kept getting them knocked out in barfights.”

“You seem more the type to do the teeth knocking than the opposite, Mr. Fox.” He tsked at me and crossed his arms. Scowling, he continued. “Why do you continue to try and frustrate me? You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“So do I.”

“Then you understand what I’m trying to do. I’m just trying to help.”

“A regular saint. Since we’re all friends now, what do I call you? 'Operative' just doesn't roll off the tongue easily, you know."

"Interesting. I find it rather pleasing to the ear myself. It’s somewhat soothing, a balm in the midst of a chaotic life."

Oh, great. I'd gotten an Operative with a sense of humor. As if my evening wasn't going bad enough, I had a Plankerton employee who honestly believed he was witty while he was trying to torture me. First the weird Thinkerman, and now this. What next? Was Laz going to become sapient and start to speak?

"Suit yourself, Jane." I tested the bonds holding me in place. The rope they'd added around my wrists were tight, but it was made with some sort of synthetic material. Longer lasting than regular, but with more elasticity. I could eventually wear them out, but it would be brutal on my skin.

He cocked his head and frowned. "Jane?"

"I already told you. Operative doesn't roll off the tongue easily. So… Jane. You look like a Jane. Or maybe… naw. Not a Karen. Definitely not. You don’t have the hair for it—sorry, is that growing bald spot a sore subject?"

The backhand was swift and brutal, harder than anything I'd been hit with during my brief incarceration with the Plankerton goons. Spitting out blood, I eyed the Operative in a new light. A nerve had been struck, a weakness revealed. Unfortunately, I didn't know precisely why the nickname had affected him so. And from the look he was giving me, I never would.

"Sir…?" Runty was back and looked more than a bit confused. "You said blood could be traced…"

One question which had been rattling around in the back of my mind was finally answered. They wanted me to talk, but they also were concerned about it being traced back to them. Hence, concern for my bleeding all over their grease-stained floor. That was a particularly juicy little nugget of information to be filed away for later. They would need me later, and they definitely didn’t want Mike or Edi tracking me down.

To be fair, they probably should be more worried about Tara.

“I did,” the Operative said.

“Sir, we really—”

“Wand him,” the Operative ordered Runty, cutting him off.

“Sir?” Runty looked at his boss, clearly concerned. “That’s violating the Pecos Accords.”

“We’ve kidnapped a duly authorized bounty hunter, Mr. Smith, and proceeded to inflict trauma on him through enhanced interrogation techniques.” The tone in the Operative's voice was laced with incredulity. “Now you’re concerned about the appearance of the law when it comes to potential violating the Accords?”

Privately, I had to agree with the Operative. It was rather late to be worried about breaking the law now. They’d already screwed up with their bag-and-grab. Next thing you know Runty over there might be worried about hurting me while simulating drowning.

"So when I go and lodge my complaint to Landgrave Horst about an Operative in their employ interfering with their own internal investigation, do I say that Operative Jane was only kind of a dick, or a massive one?"

This backhand was harder than the last and for a moment, I lost vision in my left eye. Not fully, but just enough to make me shut my mouth and stay quiet. Once the world stopped spinning around me, I carefully ran my tongue across my teeth. Nothing was broken, which was surprising. The Operative had been holding back during the entirety of the interrogation. His strength and speed were comparable to my own.

I wasn't used to being slower than someone. Weaker, sure. Everyone with money always seemed to go with the musculature enhancements. But speed and steadiness had always been my forte. It was a bit unsettling.

Even still, there was something off about this sudden outburst…

“That mouth of yours is going to get you killed sooner rather than later, Mr. Fox,” the Operative growled. He was angry, probably more than he’d expected, and would need time to calm down. Time I could use to figure out how to get out of this mess.

“My Pa used to say the same thing,” I replied with a half-shrug. It was hard to pull off with my hands tied up, but I managed a reasonable imitation of one. “He also said it was a good thing I could back up my words with abrupt violence. A meek, mouthy man is oftentimes found wonting.”

The Operative slowly turned and looked at me. His expression was an odd mixture of understanding and delight. “Truer words have never been uttered.”

He slid a pair of brass knuckles onto his hand. He looked at me and smiled. It was not a kindly one.

“Let’s get to work, shall we?”

Jung kicked in the door and strode into the room before the beating could properly commence. He glanced at the brass knuckles, looked at me, then scowled as he interposed himself between the Operative and I. Unsure, I kept the quip I’d had about his inability to punch without assistance quiet as I waited to see how this played out.

“Sir,” it was the first time he’d spoken during this entire kidnapping. “I’m all for abducting the asshole, and even the waterboarding, but our orders were to not—"

“I know damn good and well what our orders were, Supervisor Jung,” the Operative snapped. He was growing angrier by the minute. It wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge.

I couldn’t help myself. It was right there.

Cracking a smile, I chimed in. “Oooh, first the dead breath, then afraid of being called Jane, add in the blatant bald spot… methinks doth protesteth too mucheth, Jane.”

The Operative screamed incoherently and moved faster than anything I’d ever seen in my life—or in this case, didn’t see. His movements were a blur. Something wet and heavy slapped me in the cheek, but I barely registered the impact as Jung fell on top of me, knocking me to the floor. Dizzy, covered in blood and gore, it took me a moment to realize what had happened.

The Operative, in his rage, had punched through the chest of the Plankerton sergeant. Jung fell back onto my lap, and the additional weight collapsed the chair. We both fell to the floor. Warm blood began trickling across my lap as I struggled to breath. Jung was a beast and weighed arguably as much as Mike did.

The bonds around my wrists were loose, and with Jung’s blood making everything slippery, I was able to slide my hands from the rope. I proceeded to do just this, all the while keeping a close eye on the Operative. He seemed preoccupied with the blood coating his entire fist and half his arm, though. There was a distinctly vacant expression on his face.

Runty was screaming something, but the hammering in my ears blocked most of it out. I’d seen violence in my long years of living, and inflicted more than my fair share of it, but this? This was something entirely different. This was unfocused rage, an enhanced individual losing control of himself. There were many reasons anyone with enhancements needed to keep calm at all times. The after effects of using enhancements were… not gentle.

I could feel Jung still twitching on my lap. It was a struggle with my hands behind my back, but I was able to slide out from beneath him. He was struggling to breath, his eyes staring into mine. There was confusion there, not too similar to the same look the Operative had. I felt bad for Jung. While he’d participated in the kidnapping, he hadn’t wanted to kill me. Both he and Rusty had mentioned receiving orders from elsewhere. Who else out there could afford Plankertons to track me down?

Or maybe I was just a happy little coincidence for something much bigger?

The light in Jung’s eyes faded as his brain suffocated from the lack of oxygen. I’d seen it hundreds of times in my life and watching a man die never gets easier. You might find satisfaction in it, but there was definitely something unsettling as a man departs this mortal plane to meet his maker. It’s almost like a deeper understanding hits them right as they take their last breath.

As much as I enjoyed watching monsters like Vasquez get their just desserts at the end of the rope, there was a difference between court-meted justice and murder. What had happened to Jung was definitely the latter.

There was a moral dilemma I’d always wrestled with. Deep down, there was a part of me that recoiled at my violent nature. The boy who’d cried when his father had put a .22 bullet into the brain of his favorite cow because it was going to keep us fed in the winter. That boy would not recognize the man who had no problems with injuring folk when it came to protecting himself or others. Hell, I’d killed multiple men to save Tara before I even really got to know her, and killed a Thinkerman in cold blood because he’d begged me to.

My hands were free of my bonds, but I still had Jung’s corpse lying on me. Moving carefully, I checked to see if they’d cleared my belt of the spare ammo I kept there for my six shooter. I already knew they’d taken the spare magazines for my pistol, but for some reason people always tended to overlook the ancient revolver.

They were still there. I breathed a quick sigh of relief. My eyes tracked to the table where they had left both the semi-automatic pistol and the old six shooter laying out, their attempt at taunting. It wasn’t as much of a taunt now, but something to hope for. That was, if I somehow managed to get Jung off me before either Runty or the Operative noticed I’d slipped my bonds.

Fortunately, neither one of them noticed me in the midst of their screaming match. The Operative seemed to have come out of his strange trance and was shouting back at Runty. Unfortunately for him, whatever voice modulations he’d had done to influence people didn’t seem to work when the other person was in an enraged state. Pity, that. I’ve found that manipulating people was far easier when they were angry or scared.

Wriggling out from beneath Jung’s cooling body, I took quick stock of the developing situation between the Plankertons before I was fully freed. Runty and the Operative were clearly focused on one another and had, for the moment, completely forgotten about me.

I caught a flash of white slipping through the door before the familiar shape disappeared into the shadows. My odds of surviving this encounter just increased exponentially. Now, I needed to make sure at least one of these bastards survived long enough to pass a message along to their employer.

That, and I needed to make it to the table. Leverage was more than a simple word and a quantum wolf showing up to save my ass.

Pushing Jung’s body off me, I scrambled to my feet and broke towards the table. I weaved as a wave of dizziness washed over me, threatening to end my escape attempt before it could even get going. Everything felt off-kilter, but I didn’t stop or slow down. Recovering from a waterboarding was not as easy as I’d thought it would be. I wasn’t about to let it be the reason I failed.

Behind me, Runty cried out in alarm. I didn’t dare risk a peek back as I sprinted, my boots echoing loudly in the garage. A shot rang out, then someone screamed in pain as snarls filled the air. Lazarus. I tried not to grin as I reached the table and grabbed my trusty revolver, and quickly opened and inspected the cylinder.

They’d emptied it, as I’d expected. Only a fool would leave a loaded weapon near someone they’ve kidnapped.

Loading it was a trivial exercise in muscle memory. In less than two seconds I’d managed to load all six chambers and snapped the cylinder shut. Pivoting, I saw that the shooter had indeed been the Operative, and he’d taken a shot at Lazarus. Once more his diamond coat protected him from serious harm.

“You leave my dog alone!” I shouted as I took aim. The Operative’s eyes widened as he saw me, and he turned his gun my way.

While the Operative had clearly undergone many enhancements to build up both his speed and strength, I’d had a few off-market upgrades nobody knew existed. One of them had replaced the ocular nerve to help process what I was seeing better in my brain. An add-on I’d snagged before it was declared illegal had been to enable my nerves to remain steady as endorphins were pushed through my body, meaning my hand stayed steady in a gunfight. An absolute necessity, if anyone had bothered to ask. There was no point in having the physical capabilities of shooting a tick off a varmint's ass if one couldn’t hold the damn gun still.

Time slowed as it became a race. He was fast, there was no doubting it. He had managed to get his firearm pointed almost at my chest as soon as I’d shouted at him. But I was already aimed and, as a bonus, slightly faster with far better aim. I pulled the trigger of my six shooter before he could take proper aim. The revolver barked as the single shot fired.

The small, composite forearm the Operative held in his hand practically exploded as my shot impacted directly where the trigger guard was—and his finger had been. Blood and bits of finger dripped to the ground, following the pieces of the cheap firearm. It clattered wetly on the floor. He dropped to his knees as he clutched his injured hand.

So much for the Plankertons not leaving any traces of blood behind.

Runty, meanwhile, was on his rump, hand inching closer to the holster he wore as Laz slowly stalked him. His eyes were locked onto the quantum wolf, completely ignoring what had just happened to his boss. To his credit, Runty seemed rather calm about everything. But then, Plankertons weren’t known to panic. Or if they did, it would be well after the operation had ended.

I didn’t want the kid’s death on my hands. Let his bosses deal with it.

“I gotta know something, Runty,” I said, the pistol in my hand unwavering as I aimed. Lazarus’ fangs were three inches from his exposed throat. I could see the calculations in the Plankerton’s head as he eyeballed both me and Laz. He was obviously bad at math because the damn fool was trying to talk himself into drawing on me. I’ve seen it a million times before. “Hey, focus on me. Ask yourself this, son: when you’re caught in between a rock a hard place, who would Lazarus eat first?”

Laz growled. Runty finally showed the barest glimmer of intelligence, the first I’d seen since this whole kidnapping began. Instead of drawing, he backed away slowly, then moved to his knees, his hands moving slowly above his head. Once clear of the immediate area, he finally pulled himself to his feet, turned tail, and ran out of the abandoned garage, leaving Lazarus and myself alone with the injured Operative.

The Operative stared at me, unblinking, his left hand clutching his injured right. He hadn’t moved from off the floor. I was sure I’d done severe damage to the finger I’d shot, possibly removed it completely, but I’d been expecting something more, perhaps an outburst or one final chance to go out in a blaze of glory.

Not that I really cared what the lasting damage to the man was. He’d shot Lazarus and, while he couldn’t hurt him, the intent had been there. This man before me had tried to kill my friend.

“Pray, Quintus Fox,” the Operative hissed through his teeth as I drew closer. Having seen him in action, I wasn’t taking any chances and kept my six shooter aimed at his center mass the entire time. Staying out of immediate strike range was just as important, maybe more so. He continued, his voice raspy as he seemed to struggle for words. “Hope that my employers do not come for your hide. If they do, pray that they show you mercy, for it will not be a fast death for the likes of you.”

“Hopes and prayers are no way to prepare for the enemy. I should know. I’m the enemy.” I said and pointed my six shooter at the man I called Jane’s head. I paused for a moment, considering, before I decided that looking over my shoulder at every turn for the rest of my life was not going to lead to a life well lived. “Now, here’s how this is gonna go down. You’re going to posture and do your thing, continue to threaten me and other stupid shit, so I’m going to be forced to shoot the lower half of your right ear off. Then you’re going to agree to do what I tell you, no more mouthing off, and you walk out of here alive and relatively unharmed. Then, you’re going to go back to your boss—”

“Go to hell, Fox!” the Operative snarled. I nodded, adjusted the angle of my revolver, and shot him in the ear.

The nice thing about ears—more specifically, earlobes—is that the skin there is surprisingly elastic. Throughout time immemorial various objects have been used to pierce an earlobe to create a hole for a decorative instrument. Bone, metal, plastic, nanites… hell, Tara told me that she had hers pierced with some sort of stone when she’d first left her creche.

Other than blood and a small, almost invisible scar, he’d heal up rather nice. That’s the great thing about modern medicine—they can fix just about anything. He didn’t scream, only slammed his uninjured hand over the ear to staunch the bleeding. It hadn’t looked too bad to my eye, but it sure looked like a bleeder.

“As I was saying,” I continued. To his credit, the Operative seemed to be listening with more attention this time around. “You’re gonna go back to your boss and have him get with the Thinkerman from the corporation who hired me. Y’all then are going to get your shit straightened out because I can’t do my job when the same company that’s paying me to find something is trying to stop me from finding it. Counterproductive, you understand?”

“And then?” he asked after a moment. If the blood dripping down from the wound bothered him, he wasn't showing it. I shrugged.

“That’s for the muckity mucks to decide. I’m just a bounty hunter.”

"Fine. I’ll pass along your request.”

“Much obliged.”

“So… what now?"

"I need my message passed. However, I also can't have you following me, so—"

There's a spot on the neck where, if pressed for long enough, can cause a person to pass out in ten seconds. The carotid artery is essential for providing the brain with oxygen in the blood. Cut off the supply of oxygen to the brain, and the person blacks out. It's a neat little trick which is pretty painless and causes the individual to wake up with only a mild confusion and some lethargy.

However, this man had ordered me tortured, had done the deed himself, killed Jung when the Plankerton had actually stepped between us, tried to shoot Lazarus, and had pissed me off. He didn't deserve painless sleep. So instead, I hit him as hard as I could across the jaw. He was unconscious almost instantly, dropping to the concrete floor like a sack of flour. If my guess was right, he would be drinking from a straw for the next six to eight weeks, even with his bio-enhancements.

Served the asshole right.

Turning, I waited as Lazarus approached. He had a sheepish expression on his wolf-like face, as if he was trying to apologize that it took him so long to track me down. I tapped my ear but whatever they had for a ceiling in this place, it was blocking my transmissions back to the Sly Fox. Not that I expected much. Tara and Mike—

My train of thought came to a screeching halt. Nobody was back on the Sly Fox yet, not with the landing pad on lockdown. They should have been back at the Loret hacienda waiting for me. Mike, for all his youthful and impetuous faults, was very good at following directions when the feces struck the rotary impeller. And Edi wouldn’t leave Tara behind, even with Mike watching over her.

I looked at Lazarus. His tongue was out and he was panting happily away, his tail swishing back and forth rhythmically.

“If you could talk, would you tell me how the hell you got off the ship?" I asked. He sneezed twice, then doggy-grinned. I chuckled and scratched his rough coat behind his ear. “You’re too damned smart. You know that?”

Another sneeze.

“Well, at least you’re honest,” I muttered and went back to the table. Once my firearms were secure, I divested the Operative of any spare ammo and other items of interest I could find on him. Other than a small, red card with “S.M.E.” stamped on it with a gold chip embedded within, there was nothing of note on his person. I flipped the card over, but the opposite side was completely blank. “Curious.” All in all, it’d been five minutes since Runty had fled. I knew he would be bringing backup with him when he returned. It was well past time to leave.

Like a pair of ghosts, Lazarus and I vacated the garage without any further trouble.

—» Chapter 9 «—

THREE GHOSTS AND A PLATE OF HUEVOS POMBAL

It turns out that my estimations of where the Plankertons had taken me had been a bit off. I’d gotten turned around a bit and we were actually further to the north than I had anticipated. The landing pad was about a one hour walk from the garage.

In fact, I realized as I scanned the neighborhood as the sun began rising in the east, we were fairly close to the Dome.

The massive Dome stretched almost three hundred feet into the sky, and was a solid three miles in diameter. It dominated the city skyline, and even when I’d been surveilling Chavez, it’d loomed off in the not-too-far distance. The outside “shell” was painted a bright blue, almost an electric color to draw attention. The eye was naturally drawn to bright lights and colors, and the Dome had both in spades as running lights decorated the top, creating a halo-like appearance when they were lit. In the darkness it was stunning, but in the early light of the morning it simply looked worn and tired.

I’d asked Edi when we were prepping for the job about what was inside, and he had simply shrugged and explained that it had changed for each exam. When Chavez and his company took over, they’d installed arena seating around it. Over 100,000 people could sit and cheer as debt-ridden men and women fought against all manner of wildlife and even other humans for a chance to pay off their creditors.

Assuming they survived the experience, that was.

Laz pressed against my hip and whined. Absentmindedly, I reached down and scratched his ears as I looked around. The neighborhood was actually a pretty nice one, all things considered. The streets were wider here, but the wander-ways were actually slightly raised above street level, making it almost impossible for a vehicle to drive up onto it to pass another. Everything was calm, serene. The difference between this neighborhood and what I’d walked through the night before was shocking.

Interestingly enough, it appeared that none of the aforementioned rioting extended to here.

I wondered about that as we slowly walked towards the Dome. The buildings were clearly newer and well-constructed, reminding me of gentrified neighborhoods of a time long forgotten. Flowers were growing everywhere here, with baskets of them also hanging from overhead streetlights—a feature I hadn’t seen since childhood. Most streets where vehicles drove these days had inlaid pseudo-fluorescent markings to show drivers what lane to stay in.

The Dome was the only landmark which I was vaguely familiar with—other than the Exeter Building, which towered in the background beyond it. The blue protective shell made for a good way to keep track of our direction.

The neighborhood around us was slowly waking up. It was a mixture of small businesses and homes mixed in, lacking the tightly-packed apartment buildings which were more common on the south side of the Dome. Unlike the large yellow park we’d seen during our initial approach, here people had small bushes growing across graveled front yards. The bushes were flowering, and the entire neighborhood—along with the flowers hanging from the streetlights—was a cacophony of chaotic colors. The smell of the flowers was powerful in the early morning hours. Composed against the stucco plasteel walls of the local homes and businesses, and it was a striking look.

A vehicle slowly cruised passed us, with a man and woman staring at us as they drove by. Looking down, I realized just how out of place Lazarus and I were in this neighborhood. While he looked resplendent, his diamond coat practically sparkling in the early morning light, I was a ragged mess. My shirt was torn and bloodied from where I’d struggled against the Plankertons while they had been waterboarding me, my pants featured some very interesting stains, and—probably most discerning of all to these people—I was armed.

A few shops were already open. One, a restaurant location dubbed Simply Pedro’s, looked fairly empty in spite of the intoxicating smells emanating from it. My stomach grumbled noisily, reminding me of just how many calories one can burn while taking a beating from hired thugs. Lazarus whined again and looked towards the restaurant. He was drooling.

“Fine,” I told both him and my stomach. I had some local currency but credits were universal. “Let’s see if they’ll let you in.”

We altered course and paused outside the door. The smells coming from within were making me start to drool. Say what you will about Nuevo Aires, but the residents here could cook like nobody’s business. Pa had always been a huge fan of people who knew their way around a skillet, and that had been passed down to me.

There was a host standing at one of those old-fashioned wait stands, replete with an actual pencil and honest-to-God paper for a seating chart. I whistled softly. Not only did it smell fantastic, but the vibe was definitely old world chic. I waved a hand to get her attention, then pointed at Lazarus.

She moseyed on over to the door and opened it a bit. “Is he as mean as he looks?”

“Laz? Naw. He’s a big old softy,” I replied. To bolster my statement, Lazarus promptly plopped his rear onto the pavement and offered a paw. I blinked, surprised. Laz was smart, no question about it. But I hadn’t taught him that.

“Uh… your shirt?”

“Yeah, I got lost last night and ended up having some issues with rioters and ne’er-do-wells,” I said. A half-truth, but still… “Is it inappropriate?”

“No, not really, just… um…” The girl pursed her lips, dark eyes flashing. Like most of the younger women I’d seen around Cidade Azula, she kept her black hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail. Her dark complexion almost matched mine. She was torn about something, though I wasn’t sure what. I thought about it for half a moment before taking a shot in the dark.

“Is my companion allowed inside? I’m starving, and I’ve come to love the local cuisine something fierce.”

“Aw, we do allow service dogs…” her voice trailed off as Lazarus carefully picked his other paw up off the ground. Balancing carefully on his hindquarters, he tilted his head and whined a little.

“He’s my, uh, emotional support… dog?” I tried. Her eyes, however, were on the clearly harmless-and-would-never-hurt-a-fly Lazarus.

“Oh, that’s fine then. Yes, we can seat you both. Oh my! He’s so fluffy, isn’t he? Where’d you get him? Was he hard to train? Do you have the comms for the breeder?” she asked as she pushed the door open to let us in.

“Laz here is a rescue, actually,” I said as slipped inside. Which was true, from a certain point of view. “Not hard to train at all, other than his desire to chew things half to death when he was a pup. He’s… a wonderful companion.”

There was no possible way I was about to admit that he was a Jaxian quantum wolf. He looked close enough to a dog that I could just name some random, fictional breed and most people wouldn’t even ask twice. Once he was full grown, however, there’d be no mistaking him for anything else. Four hundred pounds and the capability to phase through solid objects kind of made them stand out. It was a fortunate thing they were, with the lone exception of Lazarus, confined to one world.

“Oh I bet you were the sweetest thing!” she practically squealed as she sat us at a small table near the edge of the main seating area. There were a few other tables scattered around for smaller groups, and larger booths lined both walls. In the back was the cooking area which, while out of sight, was still noisy as the line cooks worked.

A few locals who filled one of the booths looked at us for a moment before digging back into their meals, Laz and I all but forgotten in the face of their plates. My expectations of the food quality went up another notch. When the cooking of a restaurant outweighed man’s natural inclination towards curiosity, you knew the food was going to be good.

“I’ll be right back with a menu for you boys,” she said, her eyes still drawn to Lazarus. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Coffee, black,” I replied. “Water for him, if you have a bowl or something?”

“Coming right up,” she said and hurried away.

“Where the devil did you learn that trick?” I asked Lazarus as soon as she was out of hearing range. It wasn’t as if I were expecting an answer, but most people tended to look down on those who spoke to alien animals expecting some sort of response. Lazarus merely wagged his tail and gave me a big goofy grin. I tried not to roll my eyes. “Don’t give me that look of innocence. I was there when you ripped out that man’s throat on Vasa Station. And the less said about what went down at the Edgewater Ball, and what you did to that smuggler, the better.”

His tail wagging increased. Lazarus had no shame or regrets. I envied him that. He tilted his head and gave me a questioning look. The critter knew me probably better than anyone else. He was more than just a companion animal, though. He was my friend. Reaching out, I scratched his ears again.

“Yes, you’re still a good boy. You going to tell me how you got off the ship?” He sneezed twice. I sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

She returned with our menus and drinks. The coffee in this restaurant was served in small, dainty cup on a saucer, containing no more than two mouthfuls at most. She gentle set it on the table before me along with the menu. I glanced her direction, checking to see if I was the butt of some joke, but the hostess was already setting Laz’s bowl on the floor next to him and pouring water from a pitcher into it.

“Now, try not to make a mess of this,” she told him. He sneezed once and she giggled. “Aww, aren’t you sweet? You understand me.” She stood upright, pitcher in hand. The woman was full of life and energy. Her youthful face was thoughtful and, for the first time in a very long while, I felt very old and tired. “Hmm… this is Rosa’s area, but I’m going to swap with her. What can I get for you?”

“What would you recommend for an out-of-towner who really enjoys pollo verde but is in the mood for some breakfast?” I asked her as I eyed the coffee again. Was there enough, I wondered. Was this the sort of place that charged by the cup? I decided to ask. “Oh, and… not trying to be rude or nothing, miss, but do you have this in a bigger serving size?”

“You… want a bigger cup?” she asked, raising an eyebrow upwards. “Really?”

“If you don’t mind,” I said and offered an apologetic smile. “I do like my coffee, miss.”

“O-o-o-okay,” she said, drawing out the word slowly. “And if you’re a fan of pollo verde, then you should try the huevos pamblos. Three eggs with a hollandaise crème sauce, topped with smoked pollo verde and a spicy cilantro. It’s probably our most popular thing on the menu. I order it all the time.”

“That sounds fantastic,” I said, and jiggled the teacup filled with coffee. “If you don’t have bigger cups, I’ll just take two or three more of these, okay?”

“Two…” her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. “Are… you sure?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” I said, smiling. “I usually have four cups in the morning just to get myself out of bed.”

“Four?”

“Every day.”

“Ah… okay, great. Se esse homem quer morrer, a culpa é sua…” her voice trailed off as she picked up the menu I hadn’t even bothered looking at. She gave me a small smile and glanced down at Lazarus. “We have a pollo verde, raw and unprocessed, that other service animals seem to enjoy. Can he eat it?”

Considering what I’d seen him eat in the past… “He shouldn’t have any trouble.”

She nodded and headed towards the back. Lazarus lapped up some water and I smelled the coffee. It was a strong blend, something local, and the scents promised something invigorating. Settling into the chair, I took stock of the situation.

Most bounty hunters I’d come across throughout the years always found it odd that, in the midst of some chaos, I’d find the time to sit down for a quality meal. It wasn’t that I was always hungry—although I was famished at the moment—but I needed to slow down, think things through. Just a moment to take a breath and process everything allowed my mind to catch up with everything that had gone down the night before.

Instead of focusing on what I didn’t know, I thought about what I did. The first and most obvious one was that the protests and riots, while clearly planned, had been out of nowhere. I still didn’t know what in the world they were protesting, either. The signs they’d been carrying had been nonsensical quotes about justice and equality. Which sounds terrific on the surface but, without context, told those who didn’t know what was going on absolutely nothing.

The second thing I knew was that I’d been kidnapped during the riots. I toyed with the idea of the Plankertons being behind the protests before dismissing it out of hand. They were thugs and bullies, not agent provocateurs. Even Operatives—what little I admittedly knew about them—weren’t skilled enough to start a riot. My earlier thought of them taking advantage of the protests to make the grab had been a pretty solid guess. The more I dwelled on it, the more convinced I became that this was the case.

Item three: the fact that the Plankertons had been on us from almost the moment we landed. I hadn’t really thought about it before, given that it took us almost an hour after landing to clear customs and get the ship hooked up to the local power and water grid. The idea that they had stumbled onto us purely by chance and followed us on the orders of the Plankerton Operative bordered on the absurd. No, they’d been expecting us, which meant…

What, exactly? I pondered this as I brought the teacup of coffee to my lips and drained the contents in one swallow.

“Another, please.”

“Não vou arrastar o cadáver dele para fora...” the waitress muttered as she walked away. I only caught part of it, but the word “cadaver” was pretty universal.

Why did she think someone was about to die?

The lingering scent of the coffee was deep, rich, an earthy sensation that reminded me of mulled cider for some reason. There’d been hints of cherry in the brew as well. It was one of the finest cups of coffee I’d had since, well, for as long as I could remember. I looked at the teacup in hand and desperately wished they’d served them in larger sizes. It truly was that delicious.

It was then that I began to feel a strange tingle in the back of my brain. Gasping, I set the empty cup down quickly as pure adrenaline washed over me. My heart began to race, increasing in tempo with every second which passed. Every trace of my previous exhaustion was gone, washed away in a delicious dose of the greatest thing in the history of forever.

“Whooo…” I blew out a breath. Suddenly the teacup-sized serving didn’t seem so pointless and I began to wonder about my query about a second cup so soon. “Sip, don’t slurp. Damn. That’ll get the old ticker going.”

The door to the restaurant opened and someone walked in. I didn’t pay them any mind as I focused on my hand. My pinky finger was vellicating, which was the oddest sensation ever. I prided myself in the ability to keep a steady hand, and rarely if ever did it tremble. Even in the midst of a riot and gunfight, not so much as a twitch.

I listened as our hostess/waitress greeted the new arrival, but mostly I was focused on the coffee. Or what the locals called coffee, at least. This wasn’t the typical java juice I knew and loved, no. This was as a shot of pure, unfiltered caffeine disguised as a morning beverage and delivered straight to the heart. No wonder the waitress had looked at me funny when I’d ordered the second cup, and mention my corpse when she watched me slam the first one in a single swallow. A presence started moving past me, following the hostess, as I leaned back and let my body to adjust to the caffeine flooding my system like a forest fire.

Caffeine normally didn’t touch me, and it would take multiple cups of coffee to kickstart my day. I realized on Nuevo Aires I would save a fortune in daily expenses if I drank one of these every day. My mind began to hop over the numbers and it took everything in my control to not rabbit off on some wild tangent trying to figure out how to get a barista like this on board my ship. I glanced over as the figure who’d passed my table sat down nearby, and she turned my direction for the first time.

Our eyes met and recognition hit me in the face with the full force of a weighted shovel. The red hair should have been a dead giveaway, but I’d been so enraptured with my coffee that I’d missed it. I quickly recognized her nose and jawline. Even though parts of her face had been obscured in shadows, they were recognizable. She was wearing something different, a local outfit which helped her blend, though her pale skin caused her to stand out amongst the native born. She had a pair of oversized sunglasses perched atop her head, probably to help protect her eyes from Nuevo Aires’ light, signifying she was not from the planet originally.

The thief.

Realization dawned in her eyes as she stared at me. Granted, I was definitely looking worse for wear than the last time we’d met, but she knew me. I could read her body language, and it was clear she was struggling between fight or flight. Given that she’d recognized my name before, the odds were not in her favor. She was calmly pushing back her chair to make her escape when the door opened again.

“Laz, track,” I murmured as a group of men wearing gray security uniforms entered. Laz’s head went up, his ears forward. He knew the command but wasn’t doing anything else. He wouldn’t, until I gave the target.

The thief, though, paused at the sight of these men. Uncertainty flickered in those bright green eyes. She knew who these men were. Without taking my full attention off of the thief, I eyeballed the newcomers quickly. Matching uniforms, a vaguely-familiar logo, and all reasonably fit men. There were truncheons attached to their belts, and they had seen some recent use if the scuffmarks on them were any indicator.

They were all locals as well, which was telling. The thief was clearly frightened by these men, though none of them had the naturally suspicious look I’d come to associate with constables or police officials. In fact, they looked closer to a private security force than anything else. Which, given the current situation on the planet, made sense for some of the local businesses to be employing some.

My mysterious thief shouldn’t have been worried about local security forces, though. Her issues were with Landgrave Horst and their hired Plankertons. Or rather, should have been. So then what was I missing?

The woman was clearly caught between a rock and a hard place. Deal with me, or the unknown security guards. They hadn’t caught sight of her yet. Or more probable, they simply did not recognize her when they should have.

Which begged the question why they should know her.

The answer clicked in my head an instant later. I should have recognized the logo from the beginning, but it was a bastardized one which we’d familiarized ourselves with during the background check and subsequent stakeout of Chavez. Someone had taken the logo of the Exeter Building and combined it with Chavez Industrial’s symbol to create something new, something bold. This was a new and unwelcome surprise, considering what we’d dug up of Chavez.

Laz had locked his blood-red eyes on her at last. He might not have recognized her by sight initially, but he definitely remembered her scent. While he wasn’t growling just yet, his heckles had started to raise, making him appear slightly larger than he already was. The quantum wolf remembered who had been the one to try and electrocute the both of us and, unlike me, Laz was not the forgiving sort.

“Easy,” I murmured, thinking. She didn’t have the stolen item on her, that much was plain to see. If the Exeter security goons grabbed her before I could locate and retrieve it for Landgrave Horst, then the odds were high that I never would get another chance. Either the security forces here would torture the truth out of her, or she’d die without giving it up, and the item might be lost forever.

I pondered on that option for a moment. The idea of LHC getting their grubby little mitts on viable Barrani tech absolutely terrified me. They were already controlling ungodly amounts of space through their closed trading routes, corporate worlds, and limited access space stations. They were one of the largest corporations in the known galaxy.

Being in their care for indentured servitude, however, was a far more frightening prospect. I’ve seen what happens to people, what they do in the name of debt collections.

I raised my hands towards the thief and motioned for her to join me. There was fear in her eyes, the way a rabbit looks as the talons of an owl are descending upon it. But beneath that there was some steel. Good. She would need it, if things went down the way they were appearing to.

Rising slowly from her seat, she moved over to my table and eyed the empty chair across from me. Next to me, Lazarus growled. It was faint, barely a whisper, but the person who mattered most heard it. The thief’s eyes were wider now, and I could see beads of sweat forming on her brow. I was a known commodity, a bounty hunter with rules. Lazarus?

Well… she was just going to have to see.

“Join me?”

Her eyes widened at the offer. I folded my hands and waited as the obvious thought process went through her mind. She hesitated. Not that I could blame her. She knew exactly who I was and, more importantly, what I was capable of. Being a famous bounty hunter wasn’t all that great sometimes. Other times, though? When situations like this arose? Having a reputation preceding me was a massive boon.

She moved haltingly to the opposing seat, her eyes constantly shifting between Lazarus and myself. She lowered herself down to the padded chair and slid it in a little. I smiled.

Let the game begin.

“You have made my life quite… adventurous these past few days,” I began, looking down at my folded hands. I was fortunate that the jitters from that first rush of coffee had faded. Setting a tone involved careful scene setting. Having shaky hands while my teeth were chattering from so much caffeine would have just been downright embarrassing. “I had myself a rather rough night at your behest.”

“You were tortured,” she said, tone carefully flat and neutral. I raised an eyebrow. She motioned at my neck. “Ligature marks on your neck. Looks like a woven fabric… towel? Damp shirt, missing button, and a little blood. Hmm… you were waterboarded.”

“Got it in one,” I acknowledged. It was so nice to be squaring off against someone smart and not psychotic for a change.

Our waitress reappeared at that moment, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a ceramic pitcher in the other. She paused only briefly as she saw that two of her tables had become one, but adjusted quickly and without complaint. She was probably used to it, dealing with regulars who’d be seated, then join another table of someone they knew.

“One coffee, one refill…” she said, setting the teacup in front of the thief. She deftly refilled my coffee, all the while murmuring something softly under her breath. I couldn’t be positive, but it sure did sound like the Lord’s Prayer. The waitress looked at my new companion. “Have you decided what you would like?”

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” came the reply.

“And you can bring them out together, I’ll be happy to wait,” I said, smiling pleasantly. My eyes shifted to the thief. “Besides, we have some catching up to do.”

“Sure thing,” she said as she moved off, heading towards where the gray uniformed men had been seated. Their booth wasn’t close, and there were two filled booths between us and them, so it wasn’t likely they would hear us talking. I really wanted to know precisely why they made the thief nervous.

“I can’t keep calling you ‘the thief,’” I murmured, my eyes back on the Exeter booth. The security guards were clearly interested in us—well, to be fair, they were probably more interested in my newfound companion. She was, after all, strikingly beautiful and clearly not of this world.

Or Lazarus. He’s a good boy and worthy of attention.

“You can call me Isa. Isa Layl.”

I snorted. The woman clearly had a wicked sense of humor. “That’s ‘night thief’ in classic Arabii. Clever. Now pull the other one.”

“You speak the language of the lost people?” she asked in surprise, switching tongues. I shrugged and waggled my hand.

“Maybe. Or maybe I just picked up a few stray words over the years,” I said as our waitress reappeared with a large tray in hand. I blinked. That was fast service. On it were two plates of food and a large food bowl, presumably for Lazarus.

My thief had her secrets, and I had mine. Unfortunately for her, I was in no mood to divulge just what they were. I leaned back as our waitress placed our respective breakfast in front of us. I picked up my fork and tried a bite. It was, as advertised, absolutely divine.

“Care to explain why you looked like a rabbit being hunted when those fine-looking men in gray walked in? Or do I need to cause a scene?”

She took a tentative bite of her breakfast, watching me the entire time. It was fascinating to behold. The woman was clearly on the defensive, yet wanted to maintain the illusion that everything was under control. It was admirable, and stupid. I’ve been in this game for too long to be fooled by that act. Tara had tried it once, long ago. It hadn’t gotten her anything except a job offer from me after she’d removed gravity in a section of a space station with her brain.

Tara could be absolutely terrifying when she wanted to be.

I paused at that. Maybe I was thinking the thief’s strategy all wrong? Maybe she wanted me to think she was simply trying to bolster an image while being scared. That could, in theory, lead to me underestimating her a second time. Tara had done something similar as well. Outthinking the overthinker was almost a hobby of hers. Shaking my head, I grumbled under my breath.

“Pardon?” she asked, a strange lilt to her accent. I’d heard it somewhere before, but for the life of me I couldn’t place it. Odd, that. I was usually very good with accents.

“Occam’s Edge,” I repeated, louder this time. She cocked her head, confused, so I explained. “Occam’s Razor is the theory that the simplest solution is oftentimes the correct one. Occam’s Edge is the convoluted reasoning that both the most likely solution and least likely are clearly incorrect because they’re both too easy, and then you proceed to bash your head against a metaphorical wall as you struggle to figure out which is which. Occam’s Edge.”

She tittered at that and continued to eat. I could tell she was genuinely amused by this and growing more comfortable around me. I suppose she was finally convinced I wasn’t going to put a bullet through her skull anytime soon.

“They—” she dipped her head slightly towards the booth “—are security agents for the Exeter Group. They used to be private security for Chavez Industrials and confined to certain areas only, but the political climate here on Nuevo Aires is what you might term fluid at the moment.”

“Was that what all the rioting was about?” I asked.

“Wait… you’re not part of it?”

“Lady, if I were part of something, I wouldn’t be asking questions about it.”

“Not necessarily,” she said and took another dainty bite. I wasn’t sure if she was simply playing for time, or was just a slow eater. My meal was almost demolished. Hers wasn’t quite halfway done yet. She continued. “If, say, an intelligence agent were trying to parse out how much information an enemy spy had obtained, they could feel the spy out with non-directed questions and such.”

I cocked my head and smiled as I finished off the delicious huevos pamblos. The waitress had been correct. If this wasn’t their most popular meal on their breakfast menu, then the people who frequented this place were sorely mistaken on multiple levels and needed their heads checked.

“I would have used different phrasing,” I pointed out. “Is that how you found out about the Barrani tech and decided to steal it? You were a corporate agent for a rival?”

Her eyes flashed, panicky, for a brief instant before she regained control. “Interesting theory. Can you imagine how bad this universe would be if you were correct?”

“Oh, we’re fishin’, are we?” I leaned back and glanced down at Lazarus. He’d already finished off his bowl of pollo verde and was licking his chops, though his eyes never left the thief seated across from me. “You know, I don’t mind someone trying to kick my ass. One has to get used to it in my line of work. But my dog?”

She looked down at her plate. The thief looked a little embarrassed. “That was an accident. Neither of you were my target.”

“I bet,” I muttered darkly.

“You can believe me or not.” Her tone came out angry, bitter. One of the Exeter Group’s guards glanced our way. His eyes scanned her a second time before he turned back to his breakfast. She failed to notice his look as she continued. “I’m sorry about hurting you both. More the… wolf than you, but I’m still sorry. There were supposed to be security agents with him. There always were in the past.”

“We were talking about fishing,” I said, doing my best to ignore the inquiring gaze of the gray-clad man and shelving my anger for later. “Let’s say for a minute that we’re both correct. Do you know how hard they have me by the throat? My crew? They’re out for blood, damn it. These are not people to be trifled with.”

“Why do you think I might have done something in the first place? For kicks and grins?”

“Wait…” I leaned forward as another piece of this woman’s mysterious puzzle clicked into place. Something the Thinkerman had said came to mind. “You were a corporate agent. Oh, I should have seen that earlier. They wanted what Landgrave Horst had, but you… you betrayed them as well once you figured out what the hell you were stealing. They’re out for you now, which is why they knew you’d come here and not anywhere else. There aren’t any corps here, and the Pecos Act means squat. This is pretty much the furthest colony world out without being directly in the Striderlands. The last one. Oh, clever girl. You thought you found a buyer, but he tried to pull one over on you, but you were prepared for that. Oh, yeah. I’m very close now, aren’t I? Who’d you work for? Or rather, used to work for?”

“There weren’t any corps here. Things’ve changed the past few days,” she corrected quietly as she looked back at the security guards. “Besides, theoretically, there could be other buyers in other systems.”

They were all glancing our way now, and one was typing surreptitiously on a wrist comms beneath the table. I knew when the jig was just about up. I wasn’t sure if they had the thief’s picture in their database, but I was willing to bet it all that they had mine.

However, I didn’t want anything to go down in this fine eating establishment. The waitress had been friendly towards Laz, and nobody had batted an eyelash at the prospect of a two hundred pound killing machine acting like a giant goofball for some kibble. This was the sort of place where I knew I’d frequent regularly if I were a local. Hell, it was possible some of Edi’s sisters and their families came here. All acts of violence would need to take place elsewhere.

The waitress came by the table with the bills. I motioned at her that I would cover both of them. The thief’s eyes widened at this but she remained silent as I leaned over and whispered into our waitress’ ear.

“Extra ten credits in the tip if you make a scene about meeting somebody famous,” I told her. Her eyes widened at that.

“Ten credits? Pacquito, I would have done it for free. I love your dog.”

The giant goof’s tail thumped on the floor, twice. He gave her his best grin. Once again, Laz had more than earned his keep.

I still don’t know where he gets that amiable personality from. I’m a grumpy old codger myself.

“Okay, after you ring us up and I sign my ticket, go ahead and act like you just figured out that I was famous or something,” I told her. She smiled coquettishly.

“Oh, I already knew you were. I just didn’t want to say anything or embarrass you,” she replied. “And we just need a thumbprint and we can send the bill to your ship, as long as you filed with ATC Azula. We’re a little more high-tech here than we let on.”

“Outstanding. My dear, this meal has been everything promised,” I told her as I pushed my thumb down on the scanner she provided. “I wish you a fantastic day.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fox,” she murmured, her eyes bright. For some reason our waitress found this exciting. I wondered at that for a moment before dismissing the thought. “Now?”

“Your timing is impeccable, my dear. Isa Layl? Be ready to leave in a hurry, but more of an embarrassed escape than anything else,” I said to my dining companion. The thief looked a little nervous but nodded in agreement.

“Oh my god!” our waitress suddenly shrilled, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. She had a set of lungs on her I hadn’t expected from someone so tiny. Her shriek drew the attention of every single person in the dining area—including the Exeter guards. “You’re, like, famous! You’re that famous bounty hunter! I’ve seen you on the ‘net! Perado, Messias! Come! Come quick! It’s Quintus Fox!”

As I expected, the two booths full of old timers eating breakfast emptied out as they strained for a better look. This completely cut the Exeter guards off from being able to get to us quickly. Unless they wanted to use those truncheons on a bunch of rich nuevistas who were simply enjoying their breakfasts—something that I highly doubted they were willing to do—there was no way they’d get to us before we made it out the door.

The thief and I stood up quickly, me smiling the entire time as I waved for the crowd and hammed it up. Lazarus clambered to his feet, a big doggy grin on his face still as he wagged his tail. More than anyone else on my crew, he loved the attention, because in his mind, attention was typically followed by belly rubs and treats.

“Nice meeting you, folks,” I said, making eye contact with one of the Exeter guards as I waved. Something in his face changed as his gaze shifted to the thief. It must have finally clicked in his head who she was. My pa had always warned be about celebrating too early, before the job was done. He fell off the bench in his eagerness to get out of the booth, and tripped over one of the old timers who’d started to play lookey-loo. “Aw, damnation. Time to leave. Now.”

We made it outside without any further issue, though I could hear some angry yelling coming from the Exeter guards within. The streets were starting to fill with the normal daily traffic, but it was less than it had been previous days. The rioting, apparently, had managed to affect everyone.

“We need to run!” the thief exclaimed. I held up a hand.

“Hold up. Got more important things to do first. Laz? Go find Tara,” I told him. He cocked his head and whined, pressing a muscular shoulder into my hip. The wolf obviously didn’t want to leave me. “I’ll be fine. I promise. Now, go. Find Tara.”

He bounded off down the street, the opposite direction of what I’d expected. It wasn’t the way I’d thought the landing pad was. Odd. For a moment I wondered about his safety. I doubted anyone would mess with him—he was a Jaxian quantum wolf, after all, only vaguely resembling a dog—and animal control would be suicidal trying to corner and take him. The vehicles starting to fill the streets were another concern altogether. I’d seen the way these people drive.

It wouldn’t do to worry about him. He was smart and capable. Once I felt he was safely off to find my crew, the thief and I did what thieves do best—we fled the scene. I glanced behind us as we came to a corner of an alley. The Exeter guards burst out the door and began looking around. They spotted us instantly. We took off down the alley. Unfortunately for us, these guys were in terrific shape, and extremely determined to catch us.

The chase was on.

—» Chapter 10 «—

THIS WAS NOT THE PLAN

“This is all your fault!” I yelled as we sprinted down the alley, the Exeter goons in hot pursuit. “I was doing fine until you came into my life!”

“You didn’t have to take the job!” she countered as we turned the corner and found ourselves out on a major boulevard. Without Tara in my ear to guide me, my knowledge of the local streets was limited to the area I’d already been. Other than the Dome, nothing looked familiar.

“Yes I did!” I countered. We paused and looked both ways. Neither direction was appealing, and there was no going back the way we came. “Damn it! Which way?”

“You’re the famous bounty hunter! You tell me!”

“Don’t you start that shit…”

“Hey!” the shout came from behind us. Glancing back, we saw the Exeter guards closing the distance rapidly. My stomach gurgled as my undigested food reminded me that running after a big meal was for rookies and morons.

“Oh, I hate my life right now,” I muttered. “Left?”

“Left is as good as any direction,” she said, and we took off.

With a belly full of food and hopped up on coffee that would have been illegal in twenty systems, it was difficult to focus on the actual running part of our escape. The contents in my stomach continued to weigh heavily, and I could see that the thief was struggling as well. Every stride during our run was excruciating, and it wasn’t too long before the Exeter guards were closing in on us.

The quiet morning in the nuevista neighborhood was being rudely interrupted by our pursuit. Some local shopkeepers, who’d just been opening up for the day, quickly turned right back around and shuttered their windows as we ran past. Traffic began petering out quickly, which I promptly chalked up to the abuela-gossip network warning everyone in the neighborhood that something was going down, and it would be in everyone’s best interest to stay indoors.

Gossip travels far faster than the truth, I’ve been reliably told.

Two vehicles slid around the corner ahead of us, cutting off our escape route. The wheels squealed as they laid skid marks onto the pavement. Neither vehicle had come to a full and complete stop before masked men in body armor were pouring out of them. There were eight in total, four from each one. They carried non-lethal weapons, which was nice, but I was willing to bet they followed the old adage of “just because it’s non-lethal doesn’t necessarily mean painless.”

Unsurprisingly, six of them turned their stun batons my direction, the long wands snapping out with a menacing click with a flick of the wrist. While I couldn’t see their faces, their eyes were narrowed and glaring directly at me. The amount of attention I was receiving made sense. I was, after all, a famous bounty hunter, and clearly the more dangerous threat.

I was average height on most worlds. Here on Nueva Aires, however, I was about a full head taller. Even my erstwhile frenemy had a little bit of height and reach on them. However, all eight men, while shorter, had more mass than we did. It was going to get ugly if I let them get too close.

Trouble ahead of us, trouble behind. There weren’t a whole lot of options before us. So, I did what any good bounty hunter worth his salt did in a situation like this: instead of slowing down because of trouble, I charged head-long into it and started swinging.

None of the new Exeter guards had been expecting this.

My first punch glanced off the temple of the lead guard. Whichever supervisor decided to send masked, anonymous guards with body armor had not been expecting a real fight. None of them wore any sort of protection for their heads, excluding the thin layer of cloth protecting their identities—which did absolutely nothing against my enhanced speed and strength.

In my long and misbegotten youth, I’d once visited an Augmentor, one of the surgical suites where they could do all sorts of wonderful improvements and enhancements to the human body, on a whim one fateful day. If you had the credits, they would provide. I was absolutely flush with both credits and bars of gold at the time, courtesy of a fat bounty I’d collected. Seeing the upgrades, I’d slapped all of the gold bars down on the counter—along with a hefty chunk of my credits—and asked what it could get me. After a little bit of dickering we agreed on a price and the surgery began.

Surgeries, actually. It turned out that every single upgrade and enhancement was its own surgery. At one point there were three different automated surgical bots working on me at the same time. It’d been terrifying, since I needed to be awake during the entire process. Sometimes I still dreamt of that sterile room, lying flat on the cold table, my entire chest cavity open for the universe to see as the bots sought to make me damn-near immortal.

In the end, it was worth it. I was faster, stronger, more resilient, and could withstand far more punishment than even the strongest non-augmented human. I could see in the dark, was immune to quite a few poisons, and could even exist in vacuum for brief amounts of time. Not for very long, maybe a minute or two at most, but it was still better than nothing at all.

All of this flashed through my mind as my follow-up blow landed flush on the lead Exeter guard’s chin. I’d broken many jaws over the years, and the crunch beneath my knuckles of both teeth and bone giving way was an old, familiar friend. The guard staggered back, dazed, so I tagged him in the diaphragm, hard. Unable to breathe and in too much pain to do anything else but pitifully moan, he crumpled to the ground.

My attack had happened so quickly, none of the other guards had had time to figure out what I was trying to do. This suited my purposes as I snap-kicked the next guard in the face with my pa’s boots. Sure, the tassels get a lot of questions and even some laughs, but the reinforced toe of the boot wasn’t anything people forgot about when it struck true. The second guard’s eyes crossed from the force of the blow and like a great, towering oak cut down in its prime, he fell over backwards and landed flat on the ground, unconscious before his head smacked into the wander-way pavement.

Meanwhile, the thief had been busy herself. While she clearly had not been augmented the way I was, she had moves of her own—primarily, her exceptional reach. Her lean, athletic frame might not be able to pack the same amount of power that I could, but that didn’t make her weak. Or slow.

One of the guards, seeing what was clearly a helpless female charging him, gave a leering grin and reached out to grab her. She slipped from his grasp with practiced ease, rotated her hips around the gain even more momentum, and proceeded to kick him with all her might right in his groin.

I swear upon every god in existence and others simply not found yet that I heard something go pop! when her foot impacted on his balls and promptly drove them upwards and into his brain. His grandkids would feel that kick when they hit puberty, and somehow genetically remember to fear all women who were redheads. He didn’t even have time to scream in pain. I’ve never seen anyone throw up the entire contents of their guts from a single hit.

It was a horrifying spectacle.

Never had I ever been closer to admitting that I might be in love.

Another guard took a swing at her. She only just managed to get her shoulder up to block the punch, but she still caught a good chunk of it. However, thanks to the deflection, she was simply knocked off-balance instead of unconscious. The thief had speed and range, but the guards all individually outmassed her. In a fair fight, it wasn’t going to be close.

Which was why my Pa always said that if you ever found yourself in a fair fight, you done screwed up somewhere.

The man was a figurative poet back in his day.

Lashing out with a jab, the woman managed to catch one of the masked guards unawares somehow. He didn’t fall—she hadn’t put enough into the punch to cause that—but he did step back, surprise in his eyes at being tagged. Instead of waiting or gloating about it, though, the thief pressed onwards, delivering a flurry of kicks to the legs of the guard. He kept backing off, his baton out as he struggled to stop the onslaught by parrying the blows with his stunner.

He was reluctant to hit a woman. I don’t know why I found that little bit of information to be relevant at that precise moment, but it felt important. There was no time for me to dwell further on this little tidbit, though. I was too busy trying to keep the three who’d decided to swarm me simultaneously from knocking me down.

The batons whipped through the air. I managed to weave and bob, keeping them away while looking for an opening. Testing their defenses with a jab of my own, I was rewarded by being sharply smacked on the wrist, the electric jolt running up my arm. I winced and pulled back. There was no opening I could see.

Unfortunately, I was so intent on the three in front of me that I’d forgotten about the men chasing us. That was a rookie mistake.

A heavy blow slammed into the small of my back. Staggering forward, a stun baton smashed the side of my face. My enhancements kept me from blacking out immediately, but apparently the Exeter guards had had enough of my shit, because they proceeded to use those batons on me with boundless enthusiasm and more than a bit of force.

The last blow I felt was to my temple, then sweet darkness claimed me.

* * *

I was getting real sick and tired of being knocked out then tossed around like a bag of flour. Licensed bounty hunters deserved to be treated better, damn it.

The floor was cold and beveled, hard stone with only the barest of straw or something similar covering it. The stuff smelled like mold and rat droppings. The air was chilly, which was unusual for the locale. Wherever I was, it was a place that did not see a lot of daylight. Groaning, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. It was stone as well.

“Oh, look who decided to wake up,” a strangely familiar voice stated sarcastically. Looking to my right, I saw my newfound thief friend sitting on the only stool in the room. She looked a little disheveled but otherwise uninjured. “Good plan, mister famous bounty hunter. Next time, we should split up.”

“Pretty sure I suggested that,” I grunted and sat up. My head spun a little and I groaned again. “Oh. That was more potent than what those Plankerton bastards hit me with.”

“Multiple doses of high-yield animal tranqs within a short period of time can have adverse and lingering effects,” she intoned.

“Thanks, doctor thief.”

“Whatever.”

We were in what appeared to be an honest-to-goodness dungeon cell, replete with flickering torches just outside the iron bars keeping us trapped within. There were no windows or any other exit that I could see. Nor were there any visible toilets. Pulling myself up off the floor, I tried not to dwell on the damp straw as did a quick check of my body.

They’d taken both my guns, as expected, as well as the rounds I had stashed in my belt. They’d also found the knife. Again, not a huge shock, but I’d held out a little hope that their search would be more cursory than anything. Apparently these Exeter guards, unlike Plankertons, took their jobs a little more serious than what I was used to. I’d have to be careful around them—assuming they were going to let either of us walk from here.

“That’s not what you think on the floor,” she muttered. I gave her a look. She motioned at the wet straw material. “It’s rainwater. The Dome has underground ducts flowing beneath it to transfer water in and out. Sometimes it seeps in when it’s raining really hard. Like right now.”

“Raining hard?” I asked. It’d been sunny with clear skies when the Exeter guards pursued us.

“You’ve been out for over twelve hours.”

I winced. That put it around nine in the evening, local time. Give or take an hour. I couldn’t quite remember what time it had been when we’d ran from the restaurant from the gray-clad uniformed guards. While unconscious, they’d removed my wrist comms—though to be fair, that was more for show than anything else—along with anything which might have been used as a weapon or tool to escape. Thankfully, they didn’t touch my boots. I guess sturdy boots with tassels don’t warrant any respect these days.

“They start asking questions yet?” I asked her.

“You mean have they started with the torture?” She shook her head and gazed pensively at the wall. While outwardly she seemed calm, there was a tension in her shoulders similar to when I had first confronted her at the restaurant. Her hands were also shaking slightly, though that might have been from the damp chill in the air. “Not yet. I don’t think that’s going to happen. Damn. It’s funny.”

“What?”

“My gut was telling me I should go to New Jordan and talk with a buyer there.”

I snorted. She had a set of brass ones, I’d give her that. Even now, she was still trying to mess with me.

“Hey, guards? You guys feeding your prisoners?” I called out. “What about potty breaks? My bladder is killing me.”

A guard appeared from just out of view outside the cell. He stared at me for a second before he murmured something into his wrist. I waited for him to make the inevitable threat but after a moment, he nodded and tapped his comms.

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

“Hey, do you give people the right to call legal representation here?” I cracked my neck. It was stiff from being in the same position for twelve hours. I almost dreaded what my face looked like after the beating those guards had given me. However, the fact that I still had all my teeth was promising.

“This is the Colosseum. The only rights you have here are the ones we give you.”

Well, that wasn’t ominous sounding or anything. I leaned against the wall and immediately pulled away. The stone was slick and covered in something, probably algae. They hadn’t removed my shirt, but Algravian silk was susceptible to various types of algae and mold. It wouldn’t do to lose one of my two remaining secret weapons before I knew what was going on. Plus, the shirt was prohibitively expensive. Months might pass before I could get around to replacing it.

It didn’t take long for our mysterious host arrived at our cell. The wager I would have put on him waiting somewhere within the structure, waiting for me to finally come out of whatever tranquilizer concoction that I’d been hit with, would have been large. Also, guessing who it was didn’t take a mental giant.

As he stepped out of the shadows and into the light, I realized just how much had changed since I’d seen him the day before. Or had it been two days? Somehow in the midst of it all, I’d lost track of time. If my cellmate had been telling the truth, then it’d been only a few days since I’d stumbled onto his deal-gone-bad in the alley.

“You…” Chavez growled as he looked me over. He was dressed in an expensive suit, the sort I’d expected to see from major corporate executives, the three piece ensemble signifying power and respect. Or clamoring for, possibly. I wasn’t sure. You would never catch me in a monkey suit like that. “He told me you were gunning for me. I didn’t believe it until I saw you in that alley, working with her.”

There was a lot of venom in the last word, more than he’d tossed my direction. My guess? He was far angrier at the thief than he was with me. I was something unknown, a strange quantity in his daily equations. She, on the other hand, was the Devil incarnate and worthy of scorn and hatred.

I kind of felt left out.

“I work with who I want,” I said. For the time being, it might be more beneficial to allow Chavez to think we were working together. It could potentially keep us alive long enough for my crew to pull off some sort of miracle rescue.

For that matter, I was slightly bothered that I still had no connection to either the Sly Fox or Tara. I had hoped she might make it back to the ship, but so far there’d been zero indicators that she had. My heart raced as my imagination went through every single worst-case scenario in my head. Squashing down those fears with ruthless efficiency, I focused instead on the man standing opposite of the bars to my cell.

“Apparently you work with the very criminals your kind is supposed to stop,” Chavez snapped back, his eyes shifting back onto me. Good. Let him vent his anger my direction. Perhaps he’d slip up and tell me something important. Like what, precisely, he’d been trying to buy off of my thief.

“I’m only interested in collecting the bounty,” I told him, keeping my tone easy as I glanced back over at the thief. She was clearly interested in the conversation as well, though undoubtedly for different reasons. I jerked a thumb her way. “She was supposed to be helping me, but you screwed it all up. My boss is not going to be happy.”

“Your boss can go to hell,” Chavez hissed. “Nuevo Aires is my planet.”

“Not sure about that,” I said in as casual of a voice as possible. “I think the people in the streets are arguing against that.”

“The rabble? They’re going to learn their place soon enough.”

Interesting. I’d assumed he’d been behind the protests, but perhaps they were instead protests against something else. I’d calculated wrong, but any good bounty hunter was flexible and capable. Shifting tactics, I tried to pump him for information.

“Oh please. I saw your Plankerton goods out there, haranguing the people. Surprised they haven’t started targeting you and your supporters yet.”

“Exeter is going to protect…” his voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed as he realized what I was doing. “Oh, you think you’re clever. Get me to monolgue and spill all my secrets to you. Amatuer hour in here.”

“Eh, you gave me enough.” I shrugged. “But you can keep talking if you like. At least I know you and the Plankertons aren’t working together now. Good info for someone in my position to have.”

“Your position? You’re going to be dead tomorrow. Everyone will see the famous Quintus Fox die a horrible, ugly death at the hands of a nobody. Everyone will watch, they will cheer, you will die. The scuppers will run red with your blood. Your position? Sucks.” Chavez smirked. I remained silent. He cocked his head. “What? Nothing to say now, big guy?”

“Naw, I was just wondering if you were ever going to shut up and got caught up in my own thoughts.” I faked a huge yawn and covered my mouth. “Oh, so sorry. Got a good nap earlier and I’m still waking up. You give your guests coffee down here?”

“You fucked around,” Chavez growled, trying to sound menacing as he leaned closer to the bars. It came out as rather pathetic, a weak attempt at best. “Now you’re gonna find out.”

“Find out… that your mother didn’t know your father?” I asked, putting some astonishment in my tone. The thief sniggered as I continued. “Alert the media! This is going to go viral across all systems and stations! Next thing you know, you’re going to shock me with news that your children aren’t your own. That’s a thing here, isn’t it? The ‘net is gonna explode at that.”

“Fuck off, you piece of shit. Welcome to the Colosseum, miserável. You won’t be leaving here alive. Tomorrow morning you will meet your maker in front of 100,000 cheering, screaming people. People who want to see you bleed.”

With that, Chavez turned and walked away from the iron bars, leaving me and the thief alone in our cell. Outside, the two guards in what appeared to be local police uniforms stood watch over the only way in or out. It looked like we weren’t going anywhere.

“Getting really sick and tired of people tranquilizing and then kidnapping me,” I complained loudly and sighed dramatically. No response was forthcoming from either guard. Not that I expected one now that Chavez had left. Only stupid guards engaged prisoners in small talk, and while I had my doubts about Chavez’s intellectual prowess, his guards were probably efficient at their jobs. Glancing to my left, I eyed the thief next to me. “Since we’re both apparently going to die in here, we should be properly introduced. I still don’t think Isa Layl is your real name. It’s too fitting.”

“It’s a really nice nickname,” she admitted and lowered her head. “I don’t need your name. You covered that at breakfast. And the alley. And just now. Quintus Fox, the famous bounty hunter. Sorry about that static grounder, by the way. I’d already set it before you arrived. I’m really sorry about what happened to that alien dog thing with you. Hadn’t meant for it to get hurt. I’d pre-calibrated it for a dozen men. How you survived is beyond me.”

“I’m pretty hard to kill,” I said. I paused, then acquiesced slightly. “And Lazarus is tough. Quantum wolves are hard to kill.”

“Apparently. Either way, I’m glad. You can call me Samantha, since we’re both going to probably die in this place.”

It sounded real enough for a name. “Nice to finally meet the real you, Samantha. Shame it’s in a situation like this.”

She settled back against the wall, put her head between her knees, and sighed. I completely understood that feeling. It was pretty bad that I was more than likely going to die in some arena for vid show ratings on the ‘net, a bread-and-circus distraction for the citizens on a planet I wasn’t from, a weak attempt to obscure from them a government collapsing and a coup.

Though it would be fitting, all things considered. I was pretty famous.

—» Chapter 11 «—

WELCOME TO THE COLOSSEUM

The next morning we were fed and offered showers. Samantha—if that was her actual name or not—declined initially, but quickly changed her mind after threats of a beating. While I knew they wouldn’t want to leave any visible marks for the ‘net to see, Samantha hadn’t and considering it was her fault I was in this situation in the first place, I wasn’t about to tell her. Besides, I felt grubby and gross after a sleepless night in the dungeon.

They even cleaned my clothes for me, which was nice, and returned them, which was surprising. It also made a twisted amount of sense. Nobody wanted to see someone dragged in off the streets to fight for their life in an arena, no. They wanted people who looked as though they might walk past them in a shop. Twisted, yes, but understandable all the same.

Chavez and his ilk sold a product to the people, a distraction from their everyday lives. It wouldn’t do to remind them during the games.

Leaders and rulers have done this throughout history. In ancient Rome it was bread and circuses, and later Great Britain as well as the Pan Brasilia used their versions of football to distract their destitute peoples. They were created as great beings, more important than those who would lead, which created an almost a two-tier justice system later when leaders who tried to be nothing but populists tried to appease everybody. My pa had always said a good deal was when nobody was happy with the end result of the agreement. In both Britain and Pan Brasilia, one side was favored and rewarded more than the other. This led to a horrific crash of governments and society during the exodus from ancient Earth.

Once we were cleaned and fed—another surprise—we were ushered into a waiting area. With us were six other men and women who were dressed in some sort of segmented armor on top of green coveralls. None of them had any signs of obvious weapons and they didn’t have the look of mercenaries or bodyguards. It was a strange sight, one Samantah immediately commented upon.

“Oh, sure. They get to have matching uniforms,” she groused. I snorted, amused, and leaned over to one of the other “contestants” who were about to go out there and try to pay off their debts without dying. I felt bad for them all. While it was true they’d gotten themselves into this mess, I couldn’t help but have some sympathy for their plight.

“You have any idea what they’re going to be doing to us out there?” I asked. He looked me over, and I was reminded strongly of Edi. I’m not going to be that guy and say that all Nuevo Aireans looked alike, but this guy did have a passing familiarity to my employee. Given how large Edi’s family seemed to be, it might be possible.

“They’re going to throw us out there, most likely,” he said in a much calmer voice than I would have expected. Considering how many people seemed to die in the Dome and the ‘net ratings they garnered, I’d expected much more fear than this. Color me impressed. “Wild animals, traps maybe. Once in awhile they send in actual people in ancient military garb to try and have us reenact battles from history. Last month they did something called the Battle of the Bulge. One side had spears. The others had clubs. It was a massacre. But they like to change it up, so that’s probably not going to happen.”

I nodded. It made sense in a sick sort of way. Nobody was going to tune in on the ‘net for the same thing every month. No, humans craved variety, and the Dome—in actuality, the Colosseum itself—provided alternative forms of death to viewers.

“If we work together, we can beat whatever they throw at us,” I said in a loud voice. Unfortunately for us all, whoever was running the games had different ideas. From high overhead, a massive voice filled the makeshift arena. Dust shook off the walls as the voice filled the cavernous room, as well as the arena above.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages! Chavez Industrials along with the Exeter Group proudly brings to you a spectacle for the ages! Eight brave men and women are treading into the Colosseum to pay their debts and earn a chance at a better life! Eight shall enter, but only one shall leave! This… is… Battledome!”

“What the hell is Battledome?” I hissed to our helpful compatriot. His jaw was clenched, though. His eyes narrowed and he was eyeballing both myself and Samantha in a new, appraising light. It made me a little uncomfortable. I glanced over at her, and she shrugged. Whatever was going on, she didn’t know either. Overhead, the voice continued to thunder on as the cheering grew louder.

“For those of you new to the Colosseum, the Battledome is a simple concept. First, we have the HUNTERS. They are the individuals dressed in BDUs and green standing in the waiting area below. This will help them blend in to their environment and make them better HUNTERS. These six individuals have two goals. The first, and most obvious one, is to survive the wild fauna within the Dome! The second one is simple, but not as obvious—they cannot leave as long as either of our two PREY survives!”

“Well, at least now I know why you stopped being so helpful,” I muttered at the man who was going to be trying to kill me in a few minutes.

“There are two PREY who shall be set loose first in the arena. The first is a thief and known con artist who is responsible for the deaths of thousands on Tau Ceti! She is a most dangerous fiend, and was convicted by trial in absentia yesterday for the murder of forty-six children missing here on Nuevo Aires!”

The crowd erupted in boos at that. I glanced over at Samantha. She had a horrified look on her face.

“I’ve never even been to Tau Ceti!” she protested loudly. “And children? I steal things! And even then, it’s corporate work, not anything that hurts people.”

“I… don’t think they care about the truth. They just need a reason to let their bloodlust out.”

“This is utter bullshit!”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Our second PREY is an outlaw bounty hunter who threatened to overthrow our beloved government after being told he could not operate here! His name is whispered in fear across fifty systems, and he slew innocents in the deserts of New Ariz! He is the famous bounty hunter known as Quintus Fox!”

This drew a mixed reaction from the crowd. I smirked. The announcer was going to need a minute to figure out that reaction. Fame is a dual-edged blade, and even here my reputation was known. The thought that a single bounty hunter was responsible for the rioting that had taken place was a stretch, even for the nuevistas who simply wanted to see blood and gore.

It took ten seconds for the announcer to find his footing once again. His spiel returned, and this time there was some added pep in it.

“Throughout the Colosseum, weapons are stashed for our HUNTERS to find! To sweeten the pot for this Battledome, our benefactors at Chavez Industrials and the Exeter Group have decided to offer a reward—whichever one of our HUNTERS kills one of the PREY, they will earn 100,000 credits, tax FREE, per kill! What is going to happen next?”

The crowd above us went absolutely ape-shit at that bit of news. I swallowed and shook my head. “Scapegoats. Bread and circuses.”

“Oh, damn,” Samantha growled and looked at the six men and women next to us. They were all sizing us up now, with most of them giving Samantha once-over and targeting her as the weak one of our duo. I casually stepped between the group and her, crossing my arms as I did so. I’m not a big man when compared to Mike, but on this world I was tall enough to look down at them. Still, every one of them were short and muscular, probably as almost strong as I was.

Overhead, the announcer’s voice continued to drone on about sponsors and whatnot, and I’d started to tune it out before something caught my ear.

“…and at the end of the 48 hours, if they’re all still alive, then we will release… the STAR DEMON!”

This drew a roar louder than anything I’d heard yet. I swallowed nervously as sweat began to roll down my back. I knew about star demons. I’d met one, once. The experience was not one I wished to repeat, and that had been with the star demon not trying to kill us all.

It was cool in the dark passageway below the Dome, but the walls felt as if they were closing in around me. Never before had claustrophobia been a thing for me.

“They have a star demon?” For the first time since I met her, I heard actual fear in the thief’s voice. She was shaking as well. I put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“It’ll be fine,” I lied.

“To make this Battledome more challenging and exciting, our PREY will only get a five minute head start instead of the usual two hours! Let’s get ready to BATTLEDOME!”

The roar of the crowd reverberated through the floor. I could feel it in my teeth. While I’d never been involved in anything like this before, I’ve had my fair share of crowd responses. Back in my youth I’d made a little bit of money doing underground fights. Granted, they’d banned me later when they had figured out I was enhanced, but for a brief two months, I’d practically bathed in nothing but blood and crowd adulations.

I hadn’t thought about that part of my life in a very long time.

“Stay together,” I whispered, leaning in close to Samantha. “They’ve got to go and find those weapons they mentioned first. They might be able to strangle us, but that takes work. Weapons will give them an advantage. That’ll give us a bit more time as well.”

“Do you have a plan to get us out of here?”

“Working on it,” I replied, keeping my voice low. Truth be told, I had no idea just how we were going to get out of this. I’d heard nothing from Tara or anyone else since the riot. If she had managed to get back to the Sly Fox, we might have a way out. Or not, depending on how well-shielded the Dome was. However, I knew better than to underestimate the capabilities of my young Coderunner. “We just need to stay alive for as long as we can. We need to give my crew time to find us.”

“You think they’ll come for us?” she asked quietly as a countdown timer appeared on the the wall beside us. It was a thirty second countdown.

“I know they will,” I said as I watched the numbers tick down. “Trust me. Just stick together, okay?”

“I have a hard time trusting people, Fox. But I believe you.”

“Impending death has a funny way of putting things into perspective, don’t they?” I asked her as the timer hit “10.” I raised my voice slightly so the others could hear. “We run up the tunnel, then go right. Stay along the edges of environment, okay? These people won’t be able to find us if we go right.”

“Are you insane?” she hissed in my ear. I gave her a small smile as the timer reached zero.

“Let the Battledome begin! Release the PREY! Start the HUNTER countdown!”

“That’s our queue,” I said as we ran down the tunnel the crowd roared as a deafening buzzer sounded throughout the Colosseum. The tunnel angled upwards slightly as we drew closer to the light. A few steps later we were at out of the tunnel and into the Dome proper.

If I’d thought the cheering had been loud below the surface, up on top it was overwhelming. The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, pressing down upon us as they screamed, cheered, and stamped their feet. The rhythmic pulsing of their shouts slowly merged into one unified chant. I didn’t understand it, but to my right Samantha’s face went paler than usual.

She started to run right but I grabbed her hand to stop her. I jerked my head to the left.

“What? You thought I’d make it easy for them to track us down and kill us?” I had to shout the question. Her eyes widened. “I haven’t lived this long being stupid!”

“…a signal! Old man, can you read me?” an all-too familiar voice echoed in my ossicula implant. I grinned as we ran. Wrist comms were nice and all, but nobody ever expects an ossicula implant. Having a comms unit strapped to ones wrist was, by and large, far cheaper than having the implant done.

I’d done it in my youth. Never regretted it once since. Nobody ever expects it because, well, convenience for convenience sake.

“I read you just fine, Tara,” I huffed as we sprinted across the open area between the tunnel and the forest beyond. It wasn’t a large cluster of trees, especially when compared to the looming forest behind us, but its size actually gave us a benefit. The hunters would assume we went right because I’d helpfully told them that, and there were far more trees there—not that I’d known that at the time, but a bit of fortuitous luck in the planning never hurt anyone.

“Where are you? We’ve been trying to contact you for twelve hours!”

I winced at that, then considered. It meant that they had somehow gotten back to the Sly Fox and past the landing pad guards after Samantha and I had been running from the Exeter guards. Which tracked… especially if the underground of the Dome was shielded against comms.

“We’re in the Dome trying to outrun people who are getting rewarded by killing us,” I said as Samantha nearly tripped over a half-buried stone. Hauling her back upright, I looked around for any sign of a weapon or even a stick we might be able to use to defend ourselves. There was nothing around, but I held out hope that we might be able to appropriate a weapon from one of the hunters.

“Edi says you’re being broadcast all over the ‘net,” Tara confirmed. She sounded angry. “Oh, wow. You look horrible. When was the last time you slept? Eh, we’ll worry about it later. We can get you out now, boss. Easy peasey. We’ll just go ahead and fly the Sly Fox through that Dome there, then shoot anybody who tries to stop us.”

“There’s 100,000 people in here, Tara,” I pointed out. “That’d be a war crime or something. There are innocent people… okay, no. There are non-combatants in here. Think of something else.”

“Who’s Tara?” Samantha asked. I blinked, confused, before I remembered I hadn’t told her about the implant. I motioned for her to quiet.

“Okay… Mike says he has another idea, but it involves breaking some legs and even more laws.”

“Tell him I said it was fine,” I said as we were finally within the small cluster of woods. They were clearly artificial, a far cry from what Edi had described experiencing during his Explorer exam. Chavez had really let this place fall apart. It was a little sad. Then I reconsidered my words. “Tell him no killing!”

“What about Plankertons?”

“Well… try not to?”

“We’ll take that in the spirit it was given and not the intent, boss. Stay alive! We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

What did she even mean by that? I shook the question away and focused on staying alive for thirty more minutes.

“RELEASE THE HUNTERS!” the overhead voice of the Colosseum announcer blasted above the thrum of the crowd. Their cries and cheers reached a crescendo as music began thumping heavily over the arena’s speakers. It was heavy in bass and light on anything else, which was to be expected. The mood in the Dome was downright primal. The music selection would serve to enhance this, as well as make the crowd desire more blood.

“On a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we?” Samantha asked.

“Twelve. But help is on the way.” I leaned against one of the larger fake trees and looked back at the tunnel we’d emerged out of not too long ago. From our vantage point we had a pretty good view of the hunters as they appeared from the underground waiting area. I peeked out and saw that, sure enough, the hunters who’d been with us underground had emerged from the tunnel and immediately went right.

While the sight of them going to wrong way was pleasing, I couldn’t help but notice that all six of them were now carrying weapons they hadn’t had before we’d departed. They were getting unexpected help and, considering the announcer had said the hunters would have to find the weapons, I couldn’t help but think someone was cheating just a bit. Before the anger could blossom in my gut, though, I bit down hard on it. Getting angry would not help get either of us out here. Staying alive was the most important part.

“Okay, you’re not an idiot,” Samantha declared as she watched from over my shoulder. She was leaning uncomfortably close, and I shifted away uneasily. This was not the time for my wits to be wandering. “Who’s Tara?”

“Not now. The ruse buys us some time, but not a lot. Did you see what they were carrying?” I pulled back into the shadows. Eventually the hunters would figure out they’d been duped, but there was no point in making it easy for them. While my outfit wasn’t the most glaringly bright colors amidst the greens and browns of the small forest, there was enough of a contrast to be noticeable. The dark purple vest was fine, but the white shirt beneath? The visible parts of it were almost bright enough to be a beacon for the hunters.

“They find any weapons yet?” she asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. Nothing ranged, thankfully. But still… you got anything on you they didn’t find?”

“No.”

“Me neither,” I grumbled. Being without either of my pistols wasn’t so bad, but also taking the knife in my boot and the ammo on my belt left me feeling rather naked.  At least they’d left me my boots. “You think the announcer lied about there being weapon caches all around here, or just by the entrance for the hunters?”

“Maybe?” Samantha nudged my shoulder and pointed in the direction the hunters disappeared to. “Looks like they figured out pretty quick that you’d duped them.”

“That was much faster than I thought.” I looked around. The forest here wasn’t very large, but the undergrowth was particularly dense. It would be slow going for us—and for our pursuers. There were no signs of any disturbances nearby. Wherever the weapon caches might be, they weren’t here. I figured as much. “Let’s move.”

The undergrowth provided us with some cover. Samantha seemed like she was a natural in these environs, slipping between tangleroot trees and the hangman’s vines dangling from above in no discernible pattern, suggesting it was natural growth. I could see relay vids partially hidden in a few trees pointed in all directions, haphazardly scattered about so the crowd would know precisely what both hunter and prey were doing at all times.

It was meant for the announcers to give breathless blow-by-blow accounts of fighting. However, I was a much more devious-minded individual. “Tara? I need your help.”

“Little busy at the moment,” she replied.

“Doing what?” I asked, surprised. Tara normally could multitask as easily as sleeping.

“Learning something new,” she answered after a brief moment of hesitation. “What do you need, boss?”

“There are vid relays throughout the Colosseum they’re using to broadcast things. They see everything.”

“You want me to spy on them so you can get behind those people chasing you?”

“It’s like you read my mind.”

“Who are you talking to?” Samantha asked.

“Okay, I can relay—shit, that was close. Okay, no, I got this… sorry boss. You’ve got two guys sneaking around your position, coming from your three o’clock.”

“We’ve got incoming,” I told Samantha and jerked my chin to my right. “Two bad guys inbound. Well, not really bad guys, but… damn it. Try not to kill them.”

The thief nodded and moved into the shadows of a tall Kapok tree. She somehow managed to disappear the moment she was there. I’d seen her fight when outnumbered, and she’d impressed me then. I wondered how she would do when given prep time for an attack. Recalling the incident in the alley with her static grounder, I felt pretty confident in her capabilities.

Sliding behind a large bush with strange orange thorns on them, I waited for our new arrivals to show up. We didn’t have to wait long. A man and a woman, clearly working together, came trotting into view. For people who were supposed to be hunting dangerous—albeit unarmed—prey, they sure seemed to have no idea what they were doing.

Samantha took the woman, I hit the man. She struck at the same instant I did, and performed some bizarre spin kick to drop her target. Being more benign, I simply slipped up behind my would-be attacker and applied a rear naked choke. In less than ten seconds he was unconscious and on the ground.

Being professional sometimes meant knowing when to kill, and when to render incapable of fighting. It’s an artform.

“Ooooh, what a hit! HUNTER Melina will be unconscious for at least a day after that blow! And Juarez is LIGHTS OUT thanks to that fantastic Mata Leão from the famous bounty hunter, Quintus Fox! Who knew our PREY, even unarmed, could be so dangerous?” the announcer’s voice boomed overhead. I winced a little. Enhanced hearing sometimes had its drawbacks as well. There was a high-pitched whine in my ears from the tinnitus. Great. Assuming I survived this, I’d need to go and get my hearing fixed.

Again.

“Still no weapons,” Samantha reported as she checked them quickly. Eyeballing the nearby Kapok tree, I pulled the two unconscious hunters out of harm’s way. For some reason the ancient Earth tree seemed capable of growing just about anywhere in the universe. It was one of the first trees planted by colonists when they started terraforming a habitable world. On Nuevo Aires, they grew in abundance. Samantha noticed what I was doing and frowned. “What are you doing? They’re trying to kill us.”

“I’m starting to think—” A shoulder slammed into the small of my back, throwing me off-balance. Sprawling and unable to stop my momentum, I landed on top of an exposed root. The hard, knobby bit tagged me perfectly in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of me as a heavy figure landed on my back.

The first thing to do when you get the wind knocked out of you was to not panic. It’s difficult, however, when someone was on top of you and trying to drive something sharp into the small of your back. The Agravian silk held up against the knife, but it was designed to stop ballistics. It would fail eventually if I just lay there and let the man—or woman, I couldn’t tell—free rein at my back.

Without oxygen in the body and my diaphragm struggling to remember how to draw more in, I was in a bit of a bind. Fortunately for me, Samantha seemed more inclined to help than to flee.

“Get off him!” she shouted and kicked my attacked in the face. The blow was tempered, however, by the fact that her aim had been off slightly. Instead of a clean blow to the side of the head, her boot clipped by shoulder. The impact sent a painful tingle all the way down to my elbow. My left hand briefly went numb. If I hadn’t been more interested in trying to breathe, I would have definitely given her a piece of my mind.

My body suddenly remembered how to draw a breath once more. There was nothing I wanted to do more than sit there and luxuriate in the sensation, but there was a heavy weight on my back which needed to be removed posthaste. I threw an elbow, which connected solidly into my attacker’s ribs. He—definitely a he, I was certain now—exhaled from the shot, but didn’t let go. Putting more strength into it, I hit him two more times. The final one did the trick, and he let go and rolled off. The man clutched his ribs and wheezed. Either I’d broken one, or did to him what the tree root had managed to do to me moments before.

“Tie him…” I managed to gasp out. Apparently I wasn’t breathing quite as well as I’d hoped.

Fortunately, Samantha was the sort who was on the ball. She grabbed some of the repurposed vines and started hog-tying the man up. Within moments she had him trussed and ready for display. Overhead, the announcer’s voice boomed once more as I picked up the hunter’s dropped knife.

“Ooooh, what a turn of events! It looks like the HUNTERS have become the PREY!”

The roar from the crowd that followed was sickening, but we didn’t have time to dwell on it. There were still some of the hunters out there gunning for us, and the clock was ticking before our rescue arrived.

But at least now I had a weapon. The eight inch blade wasn’t much, it it was better than nothing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain seated. There has been a slight distur-” the announcer’s voice suddenly cut off. A familiar one filled my head.

“Hey boss. We’re letting the riffraff in. The guards are panicking and GTFO’ing. Prepare for some chaos.”

I blinked at the gibberish. What did she mean by “GTFO’ing?”

“Ladies and gentlemen! Do NOT remain in your seats? Chavez Industrials and the Exeter Group are more than happy to, like, totally screw you all over! Prepare for absolute CHAOS!” a new, familiar voiced blasted throughout the Dome. The cheering intensified, though beneath it I could almost feel a difference in it. The damned fools had no idea what had just been unleashed on them.

“That’s Tara,” I told Samantha as she finished the last knot on my attacker. He wouldn’t be moving anytime soon from the looks of things. “Our ride is on its way.”

“You don’t say,” the thief replied, looking around. We were at the edge of a thicket, with a massive open space just beyond the Kapok tree. In the middle of the clearing were two pedestals, both roughly three feet high. What was most interesting about them, however, were the two long swords resting against them.

They were too obvious. Clearly the people running the events within the Colosseum wanted someone to try and make a grab for them. The why was the probable trap laying in wait for us nearby. The options ranged from pitfall trap to automated guns to shoot whoever tampered with them, all the way down to the hunters themselves had set it there for us, hoping we’d grab them so they could shoot us with a ranged weapon of sorts.

“Bait?” I asked her, just to be sure she saw them the same way I did. She shrugged, then nodded.

“Probably.”

“Yeah, let’s not go and get those,” I said, looking around. They were a trap if I’d ever seen one, and I was not in the mood to go and find out. Leave that for idiots and desperate measures. “Tara, I need some info. Where are the other hunters?”

“They hightailed it after you took down that guy with the knife, it looks like,” she replied back almost instantly. “They’re hiding out on the opposite side of the arena now. Can you see the crowd, old man? I brought the chaos.”

“No, all I see is the fake scenery they have up,” I told her.

“No? Dang. I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste. Holographic imagery coming down… now.”

I slowly stepped into the clearing as a shimmering took place throughout the trees in the distance. The illusion of trees with a cloudy backdrop remained for a fraction of a second longer before the entire imagery was brought down in the blink of an eye. With the holographic illusion gone, I could finally see precisely what Tara had been talking about.

There were throngs of black-clad people moving into the crowd from the exit tunnels, most carrying signs and chanting, but a not-insignificant number were starting fights with the crowd. Those who’d been more than ready to cheer for my death not ten minutes before were now screaming in fear and terror as the possibility of their own demise was at hand. Part of me felt a little empathy for them, but it was a tiny part, roughly the size of my pinky toe.

The fighting and rioting in the crowd was growing by the second. Whoever had mysteriously let the hooligans in clearly had bad intentions in mind. Not that I was ungrateful about the sudden turn of events. The crowd had been cheering for me to die, after all. Even the most forgiving of people wouldn’t have been upset at seeing the tables turned.

I needed to talk to Tara about upping her pay.

People were trying to escape the rioters by jumping down into the Colosseum proper and trying to find a way out somehow. Or more likely, look for some of those weapons the announcer had promised but never delivered on. My eyes tracked one well-dressed, obese man running into the clearing near the Kapok tree my knife attacker was hogtied.

For a hefty guy he moved fairly well. He reached the swords and grabbed one from the pedestal. Lifting it above his head triumphantly, he looked around the Colosseum until his eyes found me. They grew wide, then a look of determination crossed his face. Screaming incoherently, he charged across the field my way.

“What in the hell…?” I muttered. He was drawing closer. “Uh… Samantha?”

My worry was for naught. Turns out, there were traps surrounding the open plain, just as I’d thought. One of them triggered as the heavy-set man stepped on it and he abruptly disappeared, his raucous war-cry changing to one of terror, then pain as he landed on the bottom. The shrieks were high-pitched. Instinctively I started towards him, wanting to see if I could pull him out.

Samantha grabbed my arm to stop me. “He was going to kill you! Not your circus, and definitely not your monkey.”

I glanced at her as the screams abruptly cut off. A deep, terrifying roar echoed from the pit. Then absolute silence.

She was right, of course. Not my circus, not my monkey.

In the midst of the chaos, something decidedly strange happened. From beneath the floor of the Dome, a loud rumble caused the ground to vibrate beneath our feet. Samantha looked around, her eyes wide.

“What is that?”

“I believe that is help coming our way,” I replied with a not-quite suppressed grin.

“What do you think of my party favors, old man?” Tara asked, the barely contained glee slipping through the comms. “I didn’t bring Johnny Rotten to the riot, I brought the riot to Johnny Rotten!”

I had no idea what the girl was going on about, but I didn’t care. She provided the distraction we’d need to escape… as soon as I figured out how to get back into the underground tunnel we’d originally emerged from and somehow find out way out through the labyrinthian-like tunnels.

“Good work, kiddo.”

“Good enough for a raise?”

“Don’t push it.”

“She sounds fun,” Samantha muttered under her breath. She sounded distracted, but I was busy worrying about Tara. I’d worry about her in a minute.

“A regular peach.”

The rumbling ceased, but then something large and very aggressive-looking barreled out of the tunnel I’d just been planning on trying to escape from. Large wheels kicked up a large plume of dust and the engine on the beast made my heart hurt just from being nearby. It took me a moment but I finally recognized the Warpig the Plankertons had been driving around in the previous week, though someone had put on a heavy steel grill in the front to batter anything or anyone who tried to stand in its way.

It made the vehicle looked even more aggressive than before.

The vehicle swerved as it dodged a cluster of rioters and revelers who’d found their way to the Colosseum floor and angled directly at us. My eyes tracked upwards to the unmanned turret mount. If this was how I was going to die, well, there were worse ways to go. I once knew a man who’d choked to death on a cracked tooth while trying to open a bottle with his mouth.

Granted, I was pretty sure the bottlecap was what did him in, but the tooth story always got me more free drinks at a bar.

I was beginning to worry that the Plankertons driving the light reconnaisane vehicle were out to run us down before it slid to a stop. Staring, my jaw dropped as I looked into the driver’s seat and didn’t see any of the usual Plankerton goons inside. No, I saw instead someone with pink hair driving.

“All aboard!” an all-too familiar voice shouted from the driver’s seat. I blinked. That driver was way too young to be behind the wheel of such a fine piece of machinery—Sly Fox notwithstanding, of course.

“Tara? What in tarnation are you doing off the ship!? It’s dangerous out here!”

“Dangerous in it, too. Had some looters try to get them some."

"What?" I asked, shocked and angry at the idea of some local trying to harm my ship. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Laz took care of 'em."

I wasn't paying Lazarus enough. “Where is he?”

“Back at the ship. Someone needed to keep it safe.”

“Hey, where’d that thief you were talking about go?” Edi asked as he slipped out of the Warpig, his carbine up and ready just in case any of the rioters or surviving hunters decided to get frisky. He needn’t have bothered, though. Nobody wanted anything to do the with MRV-14. Still, the swarthy retired Explorer covered his assignment, just in case the situation changed abruptly.

I looked around and cursed quietly. Samantha had used the distraction of the vehicle arriving and the protestors spilling out of the stands to make her own escape. Knowing her, she was probably halfway off the planet already and would be free and clear in hours, with the Barrani tech in hand.

“Damn it,” I growled.

Tara sniffed haughtily, then grinned as she pushed her dyed hair back out of her face. "Get in, losers! We’re goin’ war criming!”

I was clearly not paying the girl enough either. Or perhaps I was paying her too much? She clearly had way too much time on her hands if she thought stealing the Plankerton’s vehicle to come rescue me was a good idea.

On the other hand, she had rescued me… I blinked.

When the hell had they stolen the Warpig?

“It’s not a war crime the first time,” I reminded her, deciding to shelve my private concerns until later. It was difficult to keep a stern look on my face, but I must have managed because she looked properly chagrined. Moving around to the passenger side, the door swung open to reveal Mike riding shotgun. Edi silently slid in behind Tara, giving her a slight squeeze on the shoulder as he got comfortable in the rear-facing backseat. A strange woman was situated in the other back seat, looking mildly put upon.

If we’d had time, I would have demanded answers. Since were were pressed for it, however, answers would wait.

“Like our ride, sir?” Mike asked.

“Very nice. I think we’re going to keep this one. Finder’s fee, you know? I got shotgun. Mike, get up in the turret and get ready to deliver some hate.”

Mike grinned and passed over the stubby carbine before sliding into the center console to man the turret up top. He chuckled darkly. “I knew you’d say that, boss.”

Predictable? Me? Perish the thought.

“These assholes aren’t going to know what hit them,” I told them as I glanced around at the interior. While the Warpig had clearly started off as a military vehicle, someone had done some serious customization to make it far more comfortable and better suited for driving around town instead of free-wheeling out in the wastelands. I ran a finger across the dashboard. The stitching was clearly done by hand, and done well. The seats matched, and had additional cushioning for lumbar support. “Is this original Corinthian leather?”

“Plush, isn’t it?” Tara smirked.

“Nice.”

“It pays to be the bad guy,” she added.

“Stealing from bad guys isn’t really stealing, is it, sir?” Mike asked from above.

“Moral debates about the pros and cons of thievin’ from thieves later,” I told them. Jerking a thumb at the back seat, I gave Tara a questioning look. “You mind introducing me to your friend?”

“Oh, that’s your friend, boss,” Tara replied, giving me a knowing look. I blinked, confused. The woman was a stranger, one I was certain I’d never met before in my life. Tara continued. “You two have been talking for days about the Jonny Qi, Amir Bentley, the New Hope Dawn connection, and human trafficking. Detective Sylviana Blanco, meet Quintus Fox.”

“If you think you can just march onto this planet waving your bounty hunter badge around, thinking you just gonna steal this case from me and get all the glory, you got another thing coming!”

“Nice to meet you too, Detective,” I said, trying not to wince as Tara’s introduction pretty much brought me up to speed. She was angry, rightfully so, but under the wrong impression of our intentions. I still had no idea what Tara had told her or, more importantly, pilfered from her files while building her own case against the trio we’d had under surveillance before Chavez had popped up on our radar. I’d need to tread carefully around this detective. At least, until I had a better grasp on things. “I have no interest in stealing anybody’s case, most especially yours. I am, however, a huge opponent of human trafficking.”

This seemed to mollify her a bit. “So am I. To think, the young miss here suggesting that our Customs officials are on the take…”

I glanced at Tara but she offered no help. A lot had gone on while I’d been sequestered away by both the Plankertons and the Exeter Group. I sighed. There was some catching up to do, and we simply did not have the time to do it. Some days it didn’t pay to get out of bed, and some weeks weren’t worth stepping out of your ship.

“Let’s go save some people and show them what it is to be the good guys,” I declared. I looked back at Detective Blanco, who was fuming still. She was clearly irritated by all of this. It made me wonder just how Tara and the others had convinced her to come along. I really needed the full story but until we were back on the Sly Fox and safely off this powder keg of a world, it could wait. “Oh, and arrest those two traffickers you had your eye one. I have a suspicion this is all linked somehow.”

Tara squealed excitedly over this, and even Detective Blanco smiled. Mike whooped loudly and turned the turret around to watch our rear as Tara slammed the stolen—ahem, tactically acquired—Warpig into gear. There was a little grinding but nothing which told me the clutch was not about to die quite yet. I made a mental note to give her some lessons once we were safe and the Warpig stowed on board the Sly Fox.

“I prefer being the hero of the story anyways,” Edi murmured from the back seat. The rugged, oversized tires spun in the gravel as the Warpig lurched forward, a cloud of dust billowing into the air. "I like being the good guy."

So did I, as a matter of fact.

Peering out the window, I took one last look at the ruined Colosseum as we drove into the large staging tunnel. There was no sign of Samantha anywhere, but throngs of people were fleeing through any exit they could find. The battle between the rioters and Exeter was starting to spill out of the stands.

The crowd had come for blood. They were about to get it, and get it good.

A small part of me was glad that Samanatha had managed to escape in the chaos. As much trouble as she’d been, I couldn’t help but admire her a bit. After all, it wasn’t often that anyone pulled one over on me.

I’ve always preferred brains over beauty, and she had both in spades.

—» Chapter 12 «—

SECRETS ON TOP OF SECRETS

The streets of Cidade Azula were crowded with protestors, rioters, innocent people caught up in the mess, with Plankertons and bright blue uniformed police officers trying to keep the peace. Here and there we caught sight of gray uniforms running around, but whether they were helping or hurting remained to be seen. In short, a complete and utter madhouse.

Rain was coming down in sheets as the storm continued to rage in the sky. It was very reminiscent of the angry crowds rampaging through the streets, looting and burning their way through the wealthier parts of Cidade Azula. The picturesque wander-ways I’d walked down were filled with rubble as the crowd seemed to revel in tearing down the beautiful buildings stone by stone.

Part of me wanted to cry out in pain upon seeing the damage. Most of these people had never done anything to wrong the rioters, yet they were blamed just as much as those who had. My pa had once said that all it took for evil to win was a good man doing nothing. When I was younger, I hadn’t really understood. Not until I had collected my first bounty and discovered that the killer I’d tracked down could have been stopped early on if someone had stepped up.

After that I fully understood the meaning behind his words.

Wanton destruction like this, organized by some unseen force to cause chaos amongst innocents? It infuriated me, awakened a hatred I rarely felt. This is what happens when the evil comes for the good who did nothing to stop it early on. The tsunami of rage and hate was too big to stop now. The only thing the nuevistas could do was wait for waters of violence to recede, then hopefully rebuild.

And learn, because nothing was as good of a teacher as experience gained. Be it good, or bad.

A few rocks bounced off the armored doors of the Warpig, but the crowd wasn’t quite angry enough to try to rush it. The fact that Mike was up top, keeping the turret rotating around, probably discouraged the worst of the provocateurs as well. Plus, nobody had brought out the Molotov cocktails just yet. I’d take the wins where I could get them.

Tara was doing a magnificent job at not running anyone over as she navigated through the streets. Considering I’d never taught her to drive, she seemed to have an innate grasp of it. Granted, she probably downloaded dozens of manuals into her brain to learn the how, but muscle memory and actually doing it were far different animals. No complaints from me, however. It gave me time to think, to go over what I did know and compare it to the unknown.

For instance, I knew with absolute certainty that a Thinkerman had hired us to retrieve an item stolen from Landgrave Horst. Whether or not he actually had worked for the corporation, however, remained to be seen. Still, I knew roughly what the capabilities of creativity a Thinkerman was allowed when completing a task. Claiming to be from a rival corp, while not out of the question entirely, was a risky venture. Odds were good that the Thinkerman who’d hired us did, indeed, work for Landgrave Horst.

Next, the Plankertons. I never had discovered who hired them. Smart money was on the local police force, since they probably suspected something was in the works. Plankertons, after all, were marvelous at breaking up riots, protests, and worker strikes. A situation like this one was an average Wednesday to them. But if the local constabulary had indeed hired them, then how had they known that I was coming? The tail had been on us from almost the moment we landed.

Chavez was the prospective buyer of Samantha’s stolen item, I knew without a doubt. I’d pretty much caught him in the act of the double-cross—though why he had gone to the meet when his men were supposed to be grabbing her off the shuttle was still a mystery. The fact that he also seemed to be the head of the Exeter Group was interesting, but it didn’t seem to solve anything else. Instead, Chavez being behind the riots and protest just muddied the waters. There was more going on than any of us knew, but my gut was telling me I’d find out more after we tracked down Jonny Qi and Amir Bentley.

Those two were definitely into human trafficking, and I could draw a tentative link between New Hope Dawn and the Exeter Group. Not good enough for a court of law, but enough for another interested party to take a deeper look at their operations. I was counting on my buddy back on Jaxia to come through for me on this one. Otherwise, we’d be left flapping in the breeze, tethered to the flagpole, holding on by just a thread.

Still, that thread was a dangerous one, a powerful one if nobody knew it was coming.

“Boss,” Tara’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts. Looking around, I spotted what had drawn her attention. It would have been hard to miss.

Twenty uniformed Exeter Group guards were trying to break through a small squadron of Plankertons. Though outnumbered five to one, the Plankertons were holding their own. However, I could see a few of the Exeter guards fingering their sidearms. Before too long, there would be shooting. Once that started, the pressure which had been building up during all of this might finally explode.

My Pa had always said that the enemy of my enemy was the enemy, nothing more. But one of those enemies could make for a powerful tool when the time was right. I didn’t know much about either group’s intentions here. However, while the Plankertons had kidnapped and waterboarded me, it’d been the Exeter Group who were burning a city to the ground and harming innocents.

If I had a choice, I would always go with the enemy I already knew, and understood.

The Exeter Group had a vehicle similar to ours, complete with their name spraypainted on the side with a “Y” and a slash through it to designate… something. It was clearly designed for crowd control and suppression. Instead of guns on top of the larger vehicle, there were two large hoses, undoubtedly linked to a water tank of some sort inside the carriage. The uniformed guards standing near it and not brawling with the Plankertons were seemingly unaware of our arrival.

The Plankertons might have been outnumbered, but they were tough and not going down without a fight. Though I might regret my decision later, I decided now was the time to try and get more information.

“Mike? We need to send those Exeter boys a message.”

“You want the vehicle?” the big man up top asked.

I smiled. “Am I that predictable?”

The thunderous crack of a .50 caliber gun is something I hadn’t heard since the Aeon War. It hadn’t been pleasant then, though the dislike was mitigated somewhat by the fact that it was usually me doing the firing. A belt-fed .50 caliber could push out a lot of damage in a short amount of time. So long as the shooter was accurate, it would most definitely send a message.

Mike, it turned out, was a virtuoso with the .50 cal. Three quick, carefully aimed bursts ruptured the side of the large Exeter vehicle, casing water to rapidly spill out. While all of his shots punched through the side armor of the crowd control vehicle, miraculously nobody on the other side had been hit.

Well, none of the people who were wandering the streets protesting were hurt, at least. Two of the Exeter guards dropped to the ground, clutching their legs from shrapnel on the far side of their large truck. I glanced back up at Mike. He shrugged and tapped the ammo box. The Plankertons had been using some sort of fragmentation rounds instead of the normal ones I was used to seeing in war. Instead of body parts everywhere courtesy of the large caliber rounds, there were men on the ground, screaming from the fragments which had torn into them.

I can’t explain why my mind found this little tidbit interesting.

Leaning out of the window of the Warpig, I eyeballed the Exeter guards. They might not have been intimidated by me, but they sure were aware of the .50 cal up on top which happened to be trained on them at that precise moment. Their gazes shifted between Mike, the belt-fed weapon, and me in a continuous pattern. On any other day and in any other situation I would have found it hilarious. Today, though, there was nothing funny about it.

I coughed as hazy smoke drifted through the air, and I uttered a single word.

“Git.”

It was a simple command, but one which brokered no argument. The Exeter guards slowly backed away from the besieged Plankertons, dark mutterings and looks being cast our way. Those remarks remained nothing but that, courtesy of Mike tracking them as they moved back towards their ruined vehicle.

When it became apparent that their big lumbering vehicle wasn’t going anywhere thanks to Mike, they began to hoof it down the road. The protestors and rioters didn’t attack, which was strange. They had a lot of hatred directed at the Plankertons, but not the Exeter guards? Very interesting.

My eyes tracked the group of Plankertons, then they widened as I recognized one of them. Would wonders never cease. It was Runty, one of the fellows who’d joined in on my kidnapping and subsequent waterboarding. He and his men had held firm amidst the sea of gray, their own bludgeoning tools used with ruthless efficiency whenever one of the Exeter guards had come too close. Blood trickled from a small cut on his forehead, and the other Plankertons around him looked worse for wear, but they were alive. Judging by the unconscious Exeter on the ground nearby, they’d made a good account of themselves.

You know the world has gone to absolute hell when I’m out there complimenting a group such as the Plankertons.

As the group began pulling themselves up off the ground and assisting their downed comrades, Runty looked up and seemed to recognize me for the very first time. His cold expression turned sheepish as he realized who his savior had been. Our rescue counted for something with him, because he didn’t even blink at the prospect that we’d apparently stolen his Warpig. Or perhaps he was dazed and didn’t recognize it.

“Thanks for the assist, Mister Fox,” the Plankerton said, coughing. His young face looked around as the crowd gave us—and the Plankertons—a large berth. They were out for blood, true. But none of them seemed eager to go out a martyr. “I, uh, think I owe you an apology.”

“Yes, you do,” I agreed.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir. We should have run his credentials when he showed up, but we were busy trying to help the ones that hired us keep a lid on this place that we didn’t ask the right questions,” Runty continued as one of his fellow Plankertons slapped a bandage over the cut on his head. The oversized gauze looked rather ridiculous for such a small cut. “We were just too busy to actually check him out…”

“Who hired you?” I asked as a strange feeling washed over me. It wasn’t regret, not quite, but close. Whatever the feeling was, I hadn’t felt it in a very long time.

Unease.

“The local police did, to help back them up,” Runty answered. “But when Operative Goode showed up with secondary orders, our unit was tasked to assist him. Comms back to HQ were slow and delayed, but his credentials were solid, so we took him at his word. Sir, I’m sorry. That Operative? He’s not one of ours. I got word back from HQ to detain and arrest him, but the man had already skipped out.”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place, but another was jarred loose. My mind drifted back to the way the Operative had professionally worked me over, and yet had lost his cool the moment I started needling him in return. It’d felt wrong then, almost false, and now I understood just why. He wasn’t a real Operative, but someone pretending to be one.

But for what reasons could anyone have? If he didn’t work for the Plankertons, then who? And why single out me and my crew? A new player had entered the game, and had done it without letting anyone else in on his little secret. He might have gotten away with it, too, if we hadn’t run into these particular Plankertons.

Talk about your random luck.

“Get your men back to your staging area,” I told Runty, waving a hand at the protestors milling through the streets. There was no sign of the Exeter guards. It appeared that they were content with leaving their riot control vehicle behind with the Plankertons, who were keeping a respectful eye on our turret up top. Around us, though, the mood was shifting. If these Plankertons didn’t get off the streets soon, they’d be torn apart by the mob. “All this is fabricated.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“This isn’t organic or spontaneous. This is planned, and specifically designed to cause enough damage to…”

To what? I had no idea. Kicking myself for not asking Edi to get me a better read on the political climate, I tried to pin down the uneasy feeling in my gut. This was definitely not the first riot I’d been caught up in. However, unlike the others, this one felt completely false, a charade. A memory tickled my mind and I hung onto that single thread, letting the past come back to me as I recalled the last time I’d seen this exact scenario play out.

Suddenly it clicked into place. I’d seen this before, but it’d been so long I’d almost forgotten what one looked like from the ground floor. Cursing my own stupidity, it took me a few moments to calm myself down before I could offer the others a coherent explanation.

“This isn’t a riot. It’s a fucking coup.”

* * *

“Did you hire them?” I asked Detective Blanco after I’d explained to Runty and his group of ne’er-do-wells that it would be in their best interest to find the local precinct, report in, and wait for more orders—and get the hell off of the planet as fast as they could. They hadn’t argued and had set off at once.

“Maybe? No, probably. I know we were looking at getting support from off-world, but I hadn’t known if we’d managed or not,” she replied quietly. “Meu chefe doesn’t tell me much, but everyone in our precinct knew he was under pressure from on high. I’d heard rumors… but nothing like this.”

“Okay…” my voice trailed off as I thought things through. There wasn’t much we could do about Samantha and the stolen LHC property—not at the moment, at least. Her time would come. My current priority was getting my crew off Nuevo Aires alive and safe, then track down our recalcitrant thief. The prey was crafty but then, I am a wilier hunter. “Tara, tag any outbound freighters. Ignore the fast movers and the personal craft. Look for something that was scheduled, and going to a neutral station. Just tag it and pull the flight logs. We can chase it down later.”

“You think she’s got other buyers?”

“She might have mentioned it,” I said, thinking back to our ill-fated breakfast. Had it merely been the day before? So much had gone on since then that I’d almost completely lost track of time. That hadn’t happened to me in a very long while.

“No other planets?” Tara asked for clarification. I shook my head.

“Naw, she’s going to avoid any planet for the time being. Stations and people who deal in rare collectibles are going to be what lures her out from hiding.” I paused and thought it over for a moment before changing my response. “Actually, watch for departures for moons as well.”

“Isn’t a moon just a planet that is small?” Edi asked.

“Ehh… semantics,” I replied.

“Depends on the size of the gas giant it’s orbiting,” Mike helpfully supplied from above, poking his head down inside so he could chime in.

“Tara?” I gave Mike a stern look and he disappeared back up top. “Get us over to Jonny Qi’s place, and try to avoid any more Exeter guys if you can?”

“Do my best!” Tara exclaimed and we were back on the road in moments, the crowds parting rapidly to allow us faster access. We turned down onto major road and it opened up a bit. She didn’t stomp on the gas and floor it, though I could tell she was mighty tempted.

“Is it always like this?” Detective Blanco asked as we slowly made our way down Oito de Junho Avenue. Like every other road within a ten-block radius of the Dome, there were crowds of people wandering the streets. Unlike the others, though, vehicles—even larger ones—could pass them without too much of a safety issue here.

“Is it always like what?” I turned in my seat and looked back at the detective, confused. I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I’d almost forgotten she was back there. “Riots?”

“Bounty hunting,” she clarified. Her dark eyes glanced at Edi, who still cradled the carbine in his hands, and up at Mike, before she continued. “This is so… chaotic. Is bounty hunting always like this?”

“Well…” Stopping myself from going into a longwinded explanation explaining the vagarities of bounty hunting and the lifestyle, I simply shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Takes a special breed to do it,” she muttered.

“That it does,” I said, turning back around. “Tara, you got Jonny’s marked?”

“Four security bugs Mike planted for me are watching his place. As of thirty seconds ago, he’s still inside.”

“Good. And Bentley?”

“Hmm… not at his place. Let me run footage back… got him. He departed wo hours ago. Tracking available vid records now… oh, hey, would you look at that. He’s currently two blocks from Jonny’s, and the path he took suggests that it’s his destination,” she said, analyzing footage with her mind as she skillfully wove the Warpig around another small cluster of protestors.

Like I said, the girl is damned terrifying and doesn’t even know it.

“How… how is she doing that?” Blanco asked.

“Never seen a Coderunner before, have you?” I retorted. She paled and crossed herself immediately.

“Número de anjos,” the detective whispered in an almost reverent tone. Beside her, Edi snorted. Whatever she’d said had clearly amused him.

“I’m stealing that,” he told her. He leaned forward and poked Tara’s arm. “Hey, Math Angel. How much further?”

“Math angel?” I asked but kept my eyes straight ahead, knowing that if I even dared look at Tara’s face, I’d probably burst out laughing.

“It’s what the locals call a feiticeira,” Edi explained. “Superstitious, you know? Like a witch.”

“BEWARE THE MATH WITCH, FOR SHE’S A-COMIN’ THROUGH!” was bellowed from above. Despite everything, Mike seemed to be having fun, at least. It took every little bit of willpower to not laugh. I did not smile, either. Not even a little.

Okay, maybe a little.

“You won’t be laughing when I turn the climate control of your cabin to freezing, you big old lout,” Tara grumbled as she snap-turned the wheel to dodge an empty space in the road. Mike was slammed into the side of the turret but he was still laughing, completely undeterred.

“Math witch sounds cool,” I finally said, managing to get the words out without tittering.

“You bunch are crazy,” Detective Blanco stated. She pointed a finger at me. “You were tortured by Plankertons, but you let them go. You were thrown into the Colosseum, yet survived. And here you are, acting as though nothing happened and are joking with your subordinates. Only the insane wouldn’t be touched by what has happened to you.”

“I’ll feel it later,” I said, glancing back at her. “In the loneliness of the deepest black, when the hour is late and everyone is asleep? That’s when the shakes will come. The cold sweats. The nightmares. The memories… in vivid detail. In those hours is when I’ll question everything, and wonder how I survived yet again, why I am still alive. I’ll demands answers from fate and ask that old wily girl why do you keep me alive when so many others have died?

“Those late nights will consume me. I’ll get morose and moody. Tara will avoid me. Mike will lock himself in the engine room and rebuild something. Edi will do something similar. Only Lazarus will stay nearby, offering what little comfort he can. I know my crew will be praying for me, and worried about the weight of it all. Just as I do them. And after a few nights of self-pity I’ll pull myself back up, dust off my Pa’s boots, and get back out there and find more work. Why? My crew is my responsibility. I accepted that when I took them on as part of the crew, and I made promises I am honor-bound to keep.” I stopped and took a calming breath. There was a reason why I didn’t like talking about those nights, or what it was like before Lazarus and the others came into my world. Somehow I made it through the first half of my life alone with nothing but my thoughts. But now? I had people—beings, if you wanted to get technical—genuinely looking out for me the same way I looked out for them. The realization made my voice drop to a whisper. “Plus, I know they would do the same, because they just did.”

“You are unlike any bounty hunter I’ve ever met,” Detective Blanco admitted after a few moments of silence.

“It’s what makes me the best.”

“Hey old man, I just got confirmation that Jonny and Bentley are together at Jonny’s place,” Tara said, bringing my mind back into focus. “I really want to go rain on their parade.”

“You’re not old enough to know what raining on a parade means,” I told her. She sniffed.

“I read four times more books than you ever will,” she retorted.

“That’s because you cheat and download them straight to your brain,” Edi chimed in from the back. “Plus the cliff notes.”

“All right, time to put your game faces on,” I interrupted. This time I made no effort to hide my smile. I truly had the best crew in the galaxy. “Tara, did you hear back from our mutual friend on Jaxia yet?”

“Yep. The Royal Game Wardens state that because you are still a deputized game warden, courtesy of Warden Supervisor Buffington, the presence of a critically rare or protected species warrants action and you are duly authorized by the Earth Colonization Act of 2291 to step in and countermand any authority figures when it comes to the apprehension and disruption of smuggling rings,” she intoned as we turned down a narrow block. I recognized it immediately, courtesy of the recordings Tara had taken of Jonny’s during surveillance. His place, if my memory served correctly, was at the very end of the block, nestled at the end of a cul-de-sac. Tara nudged my shoulder with an elbow. “Kinda playing fast and loose with the interpretation of that law, old man.”

“Not really. Lazarus is here, and Jaxian quantum wolves are some of the rarest creatures in the universe. There’s a suspected smuggling ring here, transporting live goods.”

“You’re going to argue in a court of law that in this case, two plus two equals five?” Tara asked.

“I won’t have to. The Jaxian Royal Game Wardens will do it for me. I just need to get the suspects into local custody.”

“So that’s how you’re getting around the protective order Chavez Industrials has finagled Parliament to issue on New Hope Dawn,” Detective Blanco said wonderingly.

“Wait, what?” I half-turned in my seat again. “The hell are you talking about? What protective order?”

“About one year ago, our ruling Parliament issues a protective order, saying that Chavez Industrials is immune from prosecution for anything defense-related,” she explained, her expression clouded. We came to a stop four buildings down from Jonny Qi’s place and she killed the engine, using the large Warpig to block most of the road out. The street here was quiet, devoid of any protestors. Either everyone inside was locked up tight and waiting for everything to blow over, or they were fast asleep and blissfully unaware the world outside was slowly being consumed by zealous flames. “It was later expanded to cover all of their activities after the last election four months ago. Totally illegal until they let it fall under the Ministry of Defense and Article Eleven. Then it was legal. Chavez Industrials then bought up a bunch of smaller companies, which caused them to fall under Article Eleven as well. One of those was New Hope Dawn, so my boss told me to drop the case against it but focus on the individuals.”

“I have no idea what you mean… wait.” More pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. I half-closed my eyes and let my mind run down the track. “Theorizing here. They were covered by… Article Eleven, you said? Okay, so if they’re protected by that, why would Chavez even need a cutout?”

“Cutout?” Blanco asked.

“Agente,” Edi helpfully supplied. “Bode expiatório.”

“Ay, that makes sense.” The detective leaned back in her seat and looked out the window. “The agente could be used for many things. Article Eleven doesn’t mean they’re completely immune from conventional law, only protected on a state security level.”

“How… how would your department make a case against Chavez Industrials and tie it back to New Hope Dawn?” I asked, curious.

“We can’t. We’re forbidden by Article Eleven for the time being. That’s the problem.”

“But you had files on them!” I protested. “Conventional law versus state secrets? That doesn’t make any sense at all! Why build case files on them if you weren’t going to do anything about it?”

“Things change, senhor. Governments? They change, too.”

I suddenly saw Detective Blanco in a different light, and I liked what I saw. She was determined, and held out hope for a brighter future. An idealist in police uniform, one who had yet to be ground down by the wear and tear of her job. The idea that this detective was stubbornly clinging to the hope that someday the political environment might change so she can bring criminals to justice made me happy.

“Can you make a case for human trafficking against Jonny Qi, Amir Bentley, and New Hope Dawn?” I asked, waving away her expected protests. “I mean, if Article Eleven wasn’t a barrier, could you?”

“With our files? Easily.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Then we do this my way.”

“What’s your way?” Tara asked.

“We go in hard and fast, and then we get them the hell off this planet and into Jaxian custody,” I explained quickly. “They flip for us and tell who their boss is—I’d be shocked if it was Chavez himself, but we can still hurt the Exeter Group’s public standing off-world—and the Royal Game Wardens can bring back evidence to the government and then we…” something clicked in the back of my mind so suddenly, so abruptly, that my entire plan was forgotten as a very important piece of the thrice-damned puzzle suddenly shifted and fell into place. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Edi asked.

“The coup. I should have seen it.” I smacked a palm against my forehead. “It’s our fault. We’re responsible for this.” In my excitement at finding a loophole, I’d completely forgotten key details I should have remembered. Timing of events, why Chavez had been lured out to meet up with Samantha despite him knowing she’d been grabbed at the port by Exeter guards, and his reaction when I’d shown up… and his second reaction when we’d been held prisoner beneath the Colosseum.

“No, impossible,” Blanco argued. “This? All this? This began well before you got here.”

“When I appeared and confronted Chavez when he was making… I don’t know, contact with the thief we’d been tracking, he panicked,” I explained. “He’d been planning this coup for a long while, but seeing me here and out to make some arrests, even if Nuevo Aires doesn’t abide by the treaty, probably spooked him into rushing things. So instead of a clean and orderly electoral coup, we’re getting a messier one early. Damn it!”

“But it’s not our fault,” Tara argued quietly from the driver’s seat. I glanced at her. Her jaw was set determinedly, and I knew better than anyone that when the girl decided to be stubborn, nothing in this universe or the next could change her mind. This, however, was unlike how she argued in the past. Before she’d be argumentative, almost downright petulant about things. This was Tara maturing before my eyes, and even though she wasn’t my daughter, it still both hurt and made me proud to watch her grow up. “It’s not your fault, boss. You carry a lot of responsibility, and rightfully so, but this? Not on you, or us. This is on Chavez.”

“She’s correct, Senhor Fox,” Detective Blanco reiterated. “This has been brewing for a long time. Years. You are not to blame for anything.”

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re both right. Still, sometimes a man can feel guilt over things out of his control. So let’s do something about what we can control. Put your war face on, people. Tara, do you have the layout of Qi’s place? Are there any back doors?”

“I have them, yeah. No back door on the plans, but he did apply for a remodel permit six months ago and hasn’t filed the redesign yet,” she answered. “He might have a rabbit hole. Two back rooms, one looks like it could be a bedroom. There’s a supporting wall there between it and a smaller room. Looks like storage? There’s a back window there.”

“We’re gonna have to take that risk,” I growled. “Any security cameras you can disable to make our approach quieter?”

“He has one above his door covering the entry… and another one on a window in the back,” she responded, her ethereal-like voice back as she did her Coderunner thing. I doubted I would ever grow used to it. “Wait a few seconds… wait… got it. Both are now looping every five seconds to show the same thing. They shouldn’t see you coming.”

“Good job. Mike?”

“Hard and fast,” he confirmed. “Get in, get out.”

Tara grinned goofily. “That’s what she said.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, staring at my young protégé. She giggled and looked away. “Edi? You bring a spare piece with you? I have a strong desire to shoot something.”

“Sorry, jefe, but giving you a firearm right now might result in our pilot quitting,” Edi countered as he practically melted into the shadows of the building to our left. “And she scares me more than you do.”

“I can fly my own ship too, damn it,” I muttered as Mike, chuckling under his breath, descended from the turret mount. He silently passed me his backup firearm, which I quickly checked the cleared chamber before nodding my thanks.

“Yeah, but she has a certain panache when she does it, sir,” Mike quipped. I glared at him.

“You too?”

“If you rapazes are quite finished?” Detective Blanco slid out of the Warpig and checked her rig. She had a shoulder holster—in her line of work, not the best choice, but perhaps detectives on Nuevo Aires faced different situations—and a small waistband holster with a backup piece. Her eyes narrowed as she frowned. “I want to get these porco imundos out of my maldito city.”

“Fast breach,” I said as we walked up to Jonny Qi’s front door. I could see the tiny, pinhead-sized camera just above the doorframe. There was no movement or noise from the inside that we could see. They were completely unaware of our approach, just as Tara had predicted. “Mike, left. Edi, right. Blanco and I will go straight. You go far left, I’ll clear far right. Buddy system. Mike and Blanco, Me and Edi. Questions?”

“I’ve, ah, never cleared a room before,” Blanco admitted as Mike moved forward. He paused and looked at her, a grin on his face.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” he told her, ever polite. “Just use me as a meat shield and watch my back.”

“I can do that,” she said, though her face was a shade paler than before.

“It’ll be okay,” I told her. “We’ve done this many times before. Just follow Mike’s lead. Or, you could wait out here.”

She paused and considered it for a moment before nodding. “I haven’t trained with you. I don’t know your habits. It makes more sense for me to watch the door.”

“Okay. New plan. Mike, breach hard and fast, head straight then far left. Blanco, right behind him and clear the near left corner. Yes, I know that’s not how we do things, but I seriously doubt they’re expecting anything like this,” I reiterated. “Me and Edi will stick with our normal plan. Once the front room is cleared. Blanco stays back and covers the door. Nobody else in or out. One of the suspects makes a break for it, take them down, hard.”

“Agreed.” Blanco looked a little less pale now. Good. I really wanted the extra gun in the room, but also remained tacitly aware that there was a danger doing a breach with an unknown quantity.

We moved quickly to the front door. Looking back at the Warpig, I tapped my ear. Tara gave me a thumb’s up and switched back to our private comms.

“They’re inside and in the front room,” Tara reported. “IR scans show them seated directly across from the front door. You and Mike will be the first ones to hit them.”

That might keep Blanco out of the line of fire at least.

I held up three fingers and pointed at Mike. He nodded and repeated the gesture, then ticked down the numbers. On “1” he leaned back and kicked the door handle with his large, heavy boot, putting all his weight and strength into it.

The door blasted inward as though we’d put a breaching charge on it. Mike barreled into the building first, with Edi and I right on his heels. Blanco came in last and did precisely what I’d told her to do. It was about as good as a breach as we could have managed, all things considered.

It was also completely unnecessary.

Both men were seated at a small meeting table in the center of the room, their chairs old and rickety. The room was brightly lit but otherwise spartan in appearance, without a single decorative item on the wall. Or anywhere, for that matter. My eyes tracked all of this in an instance as I followed Edi inside. Mike and Edi tackled both men before either could manage to move, so sudden was our entry.

Bentley, the larger and more muscular of the duo, tried to fight as Edi took him down. Unfortunately for the alleged human trafficker, Edi fought mean and dirty. Two knee strikes to the balls settled our suspect down real quick, the horrible but necessary result of abrupt but decisive violence. Bentley would not be struggling anytime soon.

Jonny Qi was smarter. Or just slower to respond. It didn’t matter in the end. He did not struggle at all as Mike gentle manhandled him, producing a pair of flexicuffs from his pants pocket. Edi snatched one of them and rolled the still-retching Bentley onto his stomach. He slapped them on, then smacked the man in the back of his head.

“Stupid ass,” Edi muttered. Mike chuckled and cuffed Jonny. While neither man had protested their capture just yet, Jonny had fear in his eyes. Bentley? Not so much. I blamed his excruciating pain and suffering. He’d come around eventually and realize just how much trouble they were in. Or not. I didn’t care, really.

“Two suspects in custody,” I reported to Tara.

“Hey, tuga,” Detective Blanco called out. Glancing around, I found that the police detective had poked her head into the back rooms. She motioned at me to follow. I held up a hand and looked at Mike.

“We good?”

“They’re secured, sir.”

Nodding, I moved to where the detective was standing. There was a curious smell in the air, and the soft hum of electronics filled the space. Looking past Blanco, I saw the two rooms right where Tara had predicted them to be.

The first was, indeed, a bedroom, with a single bed and a small desk in it. The bed was rumpled, as though it’d been in use recently. Given the hour of the day, I wasn’t too surprised. In my experience, most criminals were up all through the night and slept in late. Combined with Bentley’s sudden arrival, it made sense that Jonny Qi had probably been snoozing when his partner in crime arrived.

The second room was where the treasure trove lay… of sorts. Dozens of small, cube-like devices were stacked neatly on a work desk. I spotted a joiner, a soldering iron, and multiple stacks of honest-to-God electronic motherboards that were probably older than the colony of Nuevo Vista. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to figure out what, precisely, I was looking at.

“Tara?”

“Yeah boss?”

“Why would someone build small cube-like computer systems?” I asked her. If anyone would know what the hell was going on in this room, it’d be a Coderunner.

“I’m not picking up any signals from in there so whatever it is, it’s hardwired.”

“Can you crack it?”

“Not here. I probably can back on the Sly Fox, though.”

“All right. I’ll grab everything and bring it back with us.”

“Not going to have a lot of room in the Warpig, old man,” she reminded me. “How’re you going to get everyone back?”

I smiled thinly. “I thought I saw some tie-downs in the back.”

“You are NOT putting delicate electronics on the hood of my Warpig!” She practically shrieked at me. I cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry. Whose Warpig?”

“I boosted it, fair and square!”

“You still owe me fifteen thousand credits for covering your debts back at Vasa Station,” I reminded her.

“The Warpig is worth two and a half mil, easy!”

“Who said anything about tying down electronics?”

“Wait, what?”

“Can we argue about this later?” I asked her, catching a concerned look on Detective Blanco’s face. She was staring at me as if I’d gone insane. Which made sense. Unlike Mike and Edi, who both wore earpieces so Tara could maintain constant communication with them via their wrist comms, Blanco wasn’t in our comms ‘net. Apparently nobody had bothered hooking her up to our link before they’d busted into the Dome and rescued me.

Oops? I was willing to bet that was by design on Tara’s part. I was a bit paranoid, but Tara made me look like the most trusting individual in the universe.

“Got it, boss.” Tara might be a stubborn teenager, but she knew when to quit. I was sure to get an earful from her later, though.

“Mike? Grab our two new friends and tie ‘em up to the Warpig. One on the front bumper, one of the rear. Use the tiedown straps that’re in the back seat. Edi, grab the boxes and all of the electronic equipment you can find. Box ‘em up and stick them in the Warpig. It’ll be crowded back there, but you’re short. I’ll help Mike. Detective Blanco?”

“Senhor Fox?”

“Can you assist Edi with moving the boxes?”

“I can help,” she said agreeably. She’d holstered her firearm, all previous nerves vanished as quickly as they’d come. The detective moved into the room and began to stack the boxes neatly as Edi began categorizing them.

Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes for a brief moment. I’d been running on pure adrenaline for the past two days but it was starting to catch up with me. The desire to just head back to my ship and get us back out into the black, away from all this political crap, was strong.

The reasons I stayed out in space for long periods of time were many, but watching Nuevo Aires fall apart around me was one of them. Human suffering was horrible, something no person should have to go through or watch. But I wasn’t a fool. I couldn’t snap my fingers and make the suffering disappear. It was part of the human experience, and whether we liked it or not, how we reacted to it defined us all.

My Pa had been a strict man, but a just one. He wanted to help people, ease their suffering, bring criminals to justice, a bounty hunter similar to what I did now. Outlaws whispered his name in fear late at night when they were on the lam, hiding in shadows, trying to stay out of his grasp. He’d taught me from a young age that humans needed both suffering and happiness, because without one we would never truly appreciate the other.

To me as a teenager, it’d sounded like a load of horse crap. Now? He’d been a far wiser man than I ever could be. The best I could manage was a pale shadow in comparison.

* * *

“This business… Senhor Fox, why do you do it?” Blanco asked me as we finished tying Jonny Qi to the front fender. Bentley was already bundled up on the rear lift, being the larger of the two. The tie-down straps worked perfectly for our needs, and a little bit of gaffer tape we found in Jonny’s makeshift workroom shut both men up when the realized what we had been planning. It wouldn’t do for either of them to be hooting and hollering for help while we dragged them back to the Sly Fox tied down on the Warpig.

I checked the final strap on Jonny’s chest before patting him on the cheek. “You’ll be safe there, pal. Don’t fret none.”

His muffled curses were pretty east to discern, but I let them roll off me as I turned and responded to the detective.

“Bounty hunting? Well, it’s… complicated,” I paused, mulling the question over as Mike and Edi finished packing the equipment taken from Jonny’s. We had a few moments until it was time to roll out, so instead of brushing the question off, I tried to be honest with her. After all, we wouldn’t have been able to find these two as quickly if not for her files on them. She'd done all the legwork without a Coderunner, which was no mean feat. I couldn’t fathom spending that many weeks and months building up a case. “There are thousands of inhabited worlds out there, ma’am. Not all of them are well-taken care of. So when a monster shows up, they call someone like me to take care of it. Because if bounty hunters don’t take the job, then who will help out the little guy?”

“Plus you get paid!” Tara chimed in from the driver’s seat. I sighed and smiled.

“And we get paid.”

“But you do it to help people?” she asked carefully. I nodded.

“That’s why I started out doing this. Helping people who need it. It wasn’t until a little later that I started getting paid for it.”

“Then you must do the next part without me, Senhor Fox,” she said, stepping away from the Warpig. “If I am with you while you are technically kidnapping innocent civilians from our planet, then my presence will force me to abide by the law and prevent them from leaving the world.”

“I get it,” I told her. “These two will be out of your hair within four hours, tops.”

“They will receive a fair trial, yes?”

“Yes ma’am. The Royal Jaxian Game Wardens might be assholes, but they’re our kind of assholes,” I replied. She snorted and giggled slightly as some of the tension in her shoulders bled away. “They’ll provide legal defense and everything. It might take them awhile to sift through the data and find the evidence, but Tara… we found precisely what we were looking for.” I wasn’t ready to tell Detective Blanco how we’d come across her the human trafficking ring files just yet. Letting her think they were our original target might be for the best. “They will not be tortured for confessions, either.”

I hoped. Truth be told, I had zero clue as to how Warden Buffington and his boys are going to handle this. Judging by what I knew of the man, however, I felt really confident in this claim.

“Well then… it’s a nice day to be walking, no?” She asked rhetorically. I glanced up at the sky and grimaced. It was still filled with clouds, though the downpour which had begun when I’d first entered the Colosseum had ceased, it was threatening to start up again. As if on cue, rolling thunder from a short distance away rumbled through the air. The air still smelled like rain. “It is a long walk to the precinct and I am out of shape. It should take me… a few hours to make it there and report what I saw. If I can find my superiors in this chaos.”

“Four hours sounds reasonable enough,” I agreed, then tilted my head slightly as worry creased my forehead. “Are you going to be safe walking the streets? Those protestors? The wander-ways…”

“I am a garotinha of this city, Senhor Fox,” she replied, lifting her chin proudly. She was both honorable and defiant. Once more was my gut vindicated. “I made it to thirty without being run over once, and these gullible tolos won’t want to get into it with me. I think I will be multar… ah, I will be fine. But… thank you for your concern.”

Taking one final look at Bentley—conveniently tied down on the back of the Warpig, though away from the exhaust pipe so we didn’t accidentally kill him—Detective Blanco pivoted on her heel and began to slowly walk down the quiet street. At the end, she turned left, and disappeared from sight a moment later.

“That is the sort of woman my mamãe wants me to bring home,” Edi muttered behind me. I fought back a grin.

“You Lorets do seem to have a type.”

“That we do. Dangerous, capable, and honorable. And hot. Very hot. Oh… right. Jonny’s secured finally. Squirrelly guy. Should’ve knocked him out. Tara is itching to get back to the ship so she can tear into whatever it is they had in those boxes. No problems with bumper boy here,” he reported, kicking the rear tire with a boot. Bentley’s squeal of fear was muffled by the tape. Nodding, I turned back and looked at the Warpig. With Bentley strapped to the rear and Jonny up front, it looked more like some sort of post-apocalyptic vehicle than something normal folk would drive.

Then again, we were anything but normal.

“Let’s roll.”

—» Chapter 13 «—

NEGOTIATIONS WENT… POORLY

The journey back to the Sly Fox went without too much issue. While it was a slow drive thanks to the crowds still out in the streets, one look at the two suspects we had tied to the vehicle and everyone moved out of our way as quickly as possible. It was only on the narrower streets close to our landing pad was when we couldn’t do anything about the crowds. We simply honked the horn on the Warpig a few times, revved the engine to make them think we were going to run them over, then politely ask them to move. Typically this did the trick.

We did have one slight issue along the way—a group of Exeter guards had gathered to try and stop our progress. I wasn’t sure if it’d been an intended road block or happenstance that they found themselves in our path blocking the road, but there they were. We pulled to a stop, not wanting to run them over—well, okay, I didn’t want to run them over. My bloodthirsty pilot, Coderunner, and teenager behind the wheel was definitely interested in seeing what the bumper value of Jonny up front was.

Fortunately, Mike had a better plan. While we were stopped, he pulled back the charge handle of the massive .50 cal machine gun and pointed it at the heart of the Exeter formation, waiting for them to make a move against us. Glancing up, I saw a huge grin on his face as he held out an open palm and then gesture twice in a “come hither” motion.

They declined and got out of the road without even a casual curse tossed at us. In moments we were back on our way.

Once back, we quickly unloaded the precious electronic cargo and our not-so-precious prisoners. The clock was ticking. While I had no doubts that Detective Blanco would honor her word and give us the necessary time to clear atmo, there was no reason to push the time gifted to us. We had a little trouble getting our acquired Warpig into the secondary hold. Not because the vehicle was too big, no, but because I’d used the hold as a junk storage room for the past fifteen years and it’d gotten a little out of hand.

Eventually we got it sorted. It’s amazing how much landing officials will look the other way when it comes to credits exchanging hands. They removed the junk for me, saving us precious time as the invisible countdown ticked inexorably downwards. Once that was cleared, the Warpig was on board, secured, and we were just about ready to leave.

“Boss,” Tara said as soon as we finished all of our pre-flight checks. She was back in the pilot’s seat, but her eyes were on our external vids. Since we were technically still attached to the biowaste disposal the landing pad offered, we were still under their authority. We had permission for a scheduled departure, but a gaggle of security-like vehicles, ones resembling our new Warpig but smaller, rapidly converging on the Sly Fox suggested that we were not, in fact, getting off this planet scot-free.

“Damnation,” I growled. “Mike? Keep the engines spooled. Tara, tap into all channels and try to find out who the hell we’re dealing with here.”

“I think those are Exeter vehicles,” Tara said, her voice steady and normal. “They’ve got the logo of the Exeter Group on their doors.”

Well, at least we knew who we were dealing with at last. Unfortunately, they were the last people we wanted to see before we got off this planet.

“You going to try and negotiate with them?” Edi asked as Mike slipped back into engineering. I shook my head, then reconsidered. They were here in force, but if they were carrying any sort of armor-piercing ammunition on them, they could potentially compromise the outer hull of the Sly Fox.

Granted, the ship was designed for a beating and handled micrometeorites on a regular basis while in space, but the Johnson-Boson negative field, courtesy of our engines, helped keep most of the usual space debris away from the ship while out in the black. Here, on the ground and the field inactive, they could do enough damage to keep us from breaking atmo.

“Yep,” I decided. “We don’t have what they want, and I doubt they want to go toe-to-toe with us right now. Naw, this is posturing and threats, and maybe…” I paused, considering, before shaking my head. “They might want our two boys in the brig.”

“You going to give them up?” Edi asked. I snorted.

“After all the trouble we’ve gone through? Hell no.”

“You still got that backup piece?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, boss. If they kill you, can I have your ship?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

“Tara? I’m going out to meet our new friends,” I told her. “Keep Laz here and safe. Anything happens to me, you blast off this rock and get to Pecos Station. Hire some goons to come rescue me.”

“Haven’t seen the pup since before we came to rescue you. Besides, Pecos Station seems kind of backwards for a new ship owner to go about doing things, old man,” she replied. I scowled and glared at her. She looked back, a picture of pure innocence. “I mean, wouldn’t it make sense for me to consolidate my gains beforehand?”

“Where’s Laz?” I asked, concerned.

“Probably being sneaky-like and looking for a way to slip out and rip a throat or two open,” Tara said.

“Damn it. Okay, don’t fool around. If you see Laz, keep him in here.” I pressed the button to lower the docking ramp and waited for the narrow walkway to descend. I glanced over at Edi, who was clearly worried. “It’ll be fine. Just watch my back.”

I descended the walkway slowly, keeping my hands in sight so no trigger-happy punk would have an excuse to shoot me. Overhead, rain began to slowly fall from the sky. It was cold, much colder than anything I’d experienced on Nuevo Aires to date. Lightning flashed in the distance.

Well, if I was going to die in a shootout, this was as good of a backdrop as any.

With my borrowed piece tucked into the small of my back and fairly disheveled appearance, I knew I was a sorry sight. The stubble on my chin and cheeks spoke of someone not well acquainted with a razor. Sweat and smoke was my cologne, and exhaustion my constant companion.

When I’d been forced into accepting this job, I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Never could I have predicted it would be this difficult, though. I’d rather be chasing psychotic mass murderers than dealing with CEOs and politicians.

“Got you, boss,” Tara said as I reached the bottom of the walkway. Fat raindrops splashed on the ground, creating tiny craters which quickly doubled, then tripled in size as the rain grew steadier. The Exeter guards slowly got out of their vehicles, no weapons evident. This made me feel a little bit. They weren’t going to shoot me just yet.

“This is promising,” I subvocalized to Tara. “They’re not shooting right out the gate.”

“Yeah, it could be worse,” Tara whispered in my ear at the sight of the four additional vehicles arriving. Each one was clearly sporting extra armor, with gunports in specific locations in the windows for superior defensible positions. They’d been made with one purpose in mind, and peaceful resolutions were not it.

“Oh goddammit, Tara,” I muttered as Chavez extracted himself from the rear of the lead armored car as soon as it stopped moving. He looked pissed. I almost turned to glare in the direction of the cockpit above. “You know better than the tempt fate like that.”

“Sorry, boss.”

At least she sounded contrite. On the plus side, it appeared that Chavez had brought my gun belt and both pistols along. He held them in one hand and waved them towards me, a savage and victorious look on his face. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all?

And maybe I’d grow wings and fly.

“Where is she, Fox?” Chavez snarled as soon as he was within earshot. “Where’s that thief friend of yours?”

“Ain’t my friend,” I replied easily, relaxing my posture. This was promising. “She bailed on me in your Colosseum, remember? You were there. Left me to rot.”

“You know where she is though, don’t you?”

“If I did, I’d have her in chains like those two idiots in my brig,” I told him truthfully. “You don’t have to trust me, though. I can let you on board and you can see for yourself. In exchange? Let us go without any more problems. Quite frankly, I just want to get the hell off this planet, figure out my next step, and get my guns back. And the belt.”

“What two idiots?” Chavez asked, his anger gone in a flash. The sudden reversal made me nervous. I’d dealt with men like him in the past, who reacted to their will being thwarted with anger and violence. The abrupt change set my teeth on edge.

“I arrested two men on trafficking charges,” I told him.

“You bounty hunters have no authority here.” Chavez’s tone shifted back to anger.

“But a deputized Jaxian Royal Game Warden does.”

This shut him up, and quick. His demeanor changed once again, as did his body language. I found this interesting and began to wonder what was real, and what was fake. Was it the quick to anger, hot-headed sociopath who reacted poorly when he didn’t get his way? Or was it the calm, collected man who calculated everything before responding?

Both were dangerous but in different ways. I definitely needed to tread carefully.

“Is the thief on your ship?” Chavez asked quietly while I was determining just how to handle this.

“No.” I shook my head. “I have my crew on board, and the two I mentioned previous.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m not gonna let you tear apart my ship to find someone who isn’t on board,” I told him.

“I can blow it up, then sift through the rubble to see if her remains are there. It would be simpler. Consider this a courtesy offer. One that is going to expire in short order.”

That… was an option I hadn’t considered. Truth be told, it would be simpler for him to simply damage the ship, kill everyone inside, then run biometric scanners over it until he was convinced there was no residue of Samantha on board. Before the coup had kicked off, I would have dared him to do it.

Now?

“Okay, but I’m not letting your armed monkeys come onboard to tear it all apart,” I relented. He scowled.

“I am building something important here. You must be daft if you think I’m going to get on that ship without armed security.”

“Fine.” I took a deep breath, then exhaled. “Let me yell up at my crew to come on out and wait down here with your guards. We’ll go chat with the two down in the brig. They might be more honest with you than they were with me.”

“Those terms are acceptable.”

I walked halfway back up the narrow walkway and yelled into the ship for everyone to come on out for a minute. I could hear Tara complain loudly, but eventually she complied, bitching about getting her hair wet the entire way out. Edi and Mike came together a few minutes later. The guards nearby gripped their weapons tighter at the sight of Mike. While an intimidating specimen, he wasn’t the one who kept me up at night worrying over.

Edi remained silent but he did glare at his fellow Neuvo Aireans with barely-concealed disgust. One or two met his gaze, but the majority of them looked elsewhere. There was shame on those faces. They were working for Chavez and Exeter, true. But they were of Nuevo Aires first. That means something to these men. It definitely still meant something to men like Edi, at least.

I began to wonder at that moment just how successful Chavez’s coup was going to be in the long run.

“Where’s the monster?” Chavez asked me as soon as my crew were on the ground and standing in the cold rain. “The wolf?”

“No clue,” I said, shrugging. “Haven’t seen him since before your goons chased me.”

He stared at me, suspicion in his eye. I had nothing to hide here because I honestly had no clue where Laz had gotten off to since I told him to find Tara and the others. Tara had said she locked him up on the ship, but she’d told that lie before. More than likely the wily pup had found some poor sucker of a food vendor and was cleaning him out while being utterly fluffy, murderous, and adorable.

Life wasn’t fair sometimes.

After what felt like an eternity, Chavez shrugged. “Fine. But you won’t be the one punished if anything happens to me while on that ship.”

He snapped his fingers. Abruptly, men piled out of all the vehicles present, each armed with a stubby carbine very similar to the one Edi preferred. Mike cursed under his breath while Edi fingered his belt, where I knew he kept a pair of throwing knives tucked within. Only Tara remained motionless, though her eyes were unfocused and staring off into the distance.

I hoped that the Exeter guards mistook it for shock and fear than what it really was. My eyes flickered between Tara and Mike, and my engineer understood instantly what I wanted and moved closer to the teenage girl. He stood protectively by her side while she continued to do… whatever it was she was doing. Turning, I glared at Chavez.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

We started on the Sly Fox’s tiny bridge. There was barely enough room in there for the pilot, co-pilot, and someone standing behind them. It would be impressive if our thief had managed to hide somewhere in there, but Chavez insisted. After token resistance, I allowed him to poke around. However, I wasn’t stupid enough to actually let him touch anything on the console.

Galley? No sign of the thief. Neither of the cargo holds held much interest to him, though he seemed rather impressed that we managed to squeeze the Warpig in the secondary hold than anything else. He didn’t actually enter anyone’s berthing areas, which would have set Tara off and more than likely been the death of us all, but he did poke his head inside to look. Every compartment, every room he entered, it was as though he was less concerned about finding Samantha and more into making sure I knew he’d been there, in our personal space, stripping away everything which made this home.

After he did the same thing to my berthing space, I realized that it was exactly what he was doing. Keeping my mouth shut, we finally reached the brig I’d custom built into one of the original berthing spaces. He was marking his territory, letting me know that my ship was at his complete mercy. Instead of growing angry, though, I focused on what this meant. He wasn’t really looking for the woman, no. Chavez probably already had a line on her, and if she was still on the planet, it would only be a matter of time.

His true target was me, and the two men in the brig. Chavez wanted me angry, wanted me to reveal things while riling me up with this blatant lack of respect. The prisoners? The jury was still out with what he wanted with them.

When I’d bought the Sly Fox back in the day, there’d been ten berthing spaces originally. Over the years I’d converted a few to serve other purposes. The brig, which had originally been one of two berthing spaces near engineering, had been the only space without its own private wash closet. A toilet, yes, but nothing else. No scrubber shower, no sink. Most importantly, no secondary exit. Since quite a few of my jobs required me to bring someone in alive, it made sense to turn this one into a jail of sorts. I’d succumbed to naval terminology and called it a brig, which actually made Mike happy when he first signed up.

Both men were still in the space now, sitting about as far from one another as possible in the cell. If I hadn’t known any better, my first impression would have been they didn’t know one another. Neither one of them looked happy to be there. Amir Bentley, he who thought fighting back would be a good idea, sported a nasty, rapidly growing bruise on the side of his face. It ranged from his chin all the way to his temple. Jonny Qi simply looked sullen, though his face brightened when he looked up and saw Chavez standing next to me.

There was the spark of familiarity I’d been hoping for. Jonny knew Chavez on a personal level. Judging by the way he was looking at the head of the Exeter Group as a savior and not as a famous, powerful man cemented the connection between Exeter and New Hope Dawn in my mind. Unfortunately, I didn’t have definitive proof. And until we went through all the hardware we’d pilfered from Jonny’s place, we wouldn’t.

Chavez’s eyes narrowed as he looked over my two prisoners. After a moment of silent contemplation, he turned and gave me a look. I’d been expecting something, so I wasn’t too concerned when he raised an eyebrow and motioned at the two men in the cell.

“Am I supposed to know who these two are?”

Instead of responding immediately, I watched the faces of the two men in the cell. Chavez’s words were definitely not what they’d clearly been hoping for. He was not to be their savior this day, nor any day in the near future for that matter. The man was distancing himself from them both, and making it abundantly clear.

“Naw, I didn’t,” I lied, satisfied slightly. Motioning at his hand, I continued. “Can I get my belt and guns back? Actually, just the belt and the revolver. Don’t care much for the semi.”

Chavez looked down at my gun belt still clutched in his hand, surprised. “You think I’m going to give you these back?”

“I know you are,” I replied, smiling easily as a flitting shadow appeared and disappeared into the wall. I’d seen something like it before, once upon a time. My shoulders were tight from tension, and I had to hope that my vest hid this from him. My salvation was at hand, but I had to play it cool. Chavez hadn’t seemed like the most observant type and probably missed the ghost in the wall. “You have no need for them now.”

“Or…” he paused and pulled the semiautomatic pistol from its snap holster and aimed it directly at my head. “I kill you in here, my boys outside take care of your crew, and these two idiots disappear into the rain. It’d be a shame, someone of your stature dying by the hand of some up-and-coming corporate CEO, but all legends die with time.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t think that’s how this is going to play out,” I said.

“You don’t?” Chavez asked arrogantly.

“No. Not really.”

A long, low growl from inside the bulkhead of the Sly Fox seemed to agree with me. Chavez’s eyes widened in fear. His head whipped around, but the ethereal sounding growl was emanating from all around us now. His gun hand wavered and he shifted his aim, trying to figure out where the threat was coming from. The two men inside the cell also heard the growling, and they inched as close to the center of the cell as they could manage.

“W-what is that?” Chavez asked, all of his previous arrogance and cockiness disappearing rapidly.

“That is why you’re not going to do anything to me, or my crew,” I said as Lazarus phased through the bulkhead of the engine compartment behind Chavez, his head low as the wolf stalked his prey. His hair didn’t sparkle in the light as it had the last time I’d seen him. Instead, it looked finer now.

Lazarus had finally learned how to phase shift, something only adult Jaxian Quantum Wolves were capable of. My little pup was all grown up.

That did not bode well for Chavez.

“All I need to do is call out and tell my men to eliminate your crew,” Chavez warned, pulling out a small comms device roughly the size of my thumb. He grinned maliciously. “One word, and they’re dead. Each and every one of them. Call off your beast, Fox. Call it off now.”

“Tara?” I subvocalized, my eyes locked on Chavez.

“Hard block on all transmissions except yours coming out of the ship, old man. Got enough of his voice to spoof him,” Tara reported back instantly. It was a shame Chavez couldn’t hear her voice in my head. It would have made him piss himself.

“Go ahead,” I told him, motioning at the device. “Go tell them to kill my crew. You’re going to be surprised at just how vicious a quantum wolf can be. Especially when they think you’re threatening them.”

All color from Chavez’s face drained away. He coughed and clicked his comms. He blinked when no reply came. Looking down, he pressed the button two more times with similar results. Smiling, I dipped my head towards my gun belt.

“Something wrong with your comms? Strange. My belt and guns, if you please.”

“If I don’t come off this ship, they’re dead either way,” Chavez warned. I shrugged.

“You’re leaving this ship,” I replied, irritation flashing through me momentarily. This man was responsible for deaths throughout the city, the ruination of families, and the probable fall of the government on Nuevo Aires. The fact that he had the gall to think everyone was like him… “I never had any intention of harming you, even after you tried to have me killed in your Colosseum. Just leave, and let us leave. You didn’t find your thief, just as I said. You’re going to let us go without any further issue… unless you’re willing to dispute the legal authority of the Jaxian Royal Game Wardens.”

He clearly wasn’t. “You won’t always get what you want, bounty hunter.”

“That’s deputy at the moment,” I corrected him.

“Your universe is shrinking. Soon everyone will be under the rule of someone,” Chavez stated, shifting his body as Lazarus prowled into his vision. The man was clearly nervous but wasn’t breaking. Yet. He held out the gun belt and my two firearms, which I accepted back with a slight nod. “Change is coming.”

“It always does. But for now? The Sly Fox goes where we want, when we want. I fly in the black, where it’s still free and I can make my own decisions, and suffer the consequences of my own choices,” I countered, staring hard and matching Chavez’s glare. His bright blue eyes bore into my own, unflinching. Gone was the timid, meek man who’d ran when Samantha had grabbed him off the street days ago, and the blusterous man who’d been threatening me not minutes before. This was the powerful CEO of the Exeter Group, a dangerous foe.

“Sure, you’re free to fly for now, but one day your wings will be clipped. Good day, Fox. I do hope our paths will never cross again.”

Ignoring the cries of the two prisoners, Chavez turned and walked away from the brig. I glanced at both Jonny Qi and Bentley as they quieted down, sullen expressions on both their faces. It was slowly creeping in on them that there would be no getting out of this, not now. Their supposed savior had just bailed on them.

“Looks like you’re on your own,” I told them and followed Chavez. At the doorway I paused, and looked back. “But any information you give me or the Jaxians would probably work in your favor, and maybe lead to a reduced prison sentence. Not sure, but it never hurts to clear one’s conscience.”

I said it loud enough for Chavez to hear, though. Let the pompous, arrogant ass chew on that for a while.

Five minutes later my entire crew was back on board and the ship was sealed properly. Chavez and his group departed the moment he was down, not a further word spoken. Over the next few days, I predicted that the CEO was going to be busy trying to ensure his coup went off without a hitch. He didn’t have time to deal with us at the moment. Nor did he get what he’d been after in the first place, which was Samantha and the ancient Barrani tech.

Or was it really so ancient after all? The way everyone was acting about it, between Landgrave Horst, Chavez, and Samantha’s odd insistence had me wondering. People might fight over relics, but this seemed… rushed somehow, like they were all racing some invisible clock that only they knew about.

* * *

“Boss?” Tara said an hour later, once we were clear of the local buildings and our flight plan was laid in. We weren’t about to follow what we filed with the ATC of Nuevo Aires, but they didn’t need to know that. “Been monitoring traffic over the past few hours, like you asked. I’ve got a bead on three potentials for our thief.”

“Lay them out for me,” I told her as we broke atmo, the powerful engines thrumming as we continued to accelerate. A pressure in my chest I hadn’t even realized was there eased as we clawed into space. For reasons which only came to me in the dead of night, being trapped on a world was unsettling, terrifying. Space was ruthless, unforgiving, but also uncaring. It did not concern itself with the life of a single ship and those on board, no. The cosmos held no grudge.

Planets, though? Where humanity had settled, raised cities, civilized? Those can love, or hate. They can build or destroy. Dying at the whims of an egomaniacal asshole was not how any person should go. Fate, however, always has a different opinion on the matter. No matter how hard we try, it’s always there.

Dying out in the black? That’s acceptable, even if it’s cruel. On a mudball at the behest of a bloodthirsty crowd? Not for me, thank you.

“The first freighter burned out of here at high speed at 1450 local time, headed for Giuseppe VI,” Tara reported as she flipped the information on the three ships she’d tracked headed out-system. “They were fined by ATC because they exceeded the speed limit, and a marker was put on this ship by… the Exeter Group for detainment and extradition of crew and passengers back to Nuevo Aires. It’s a pretty hefty sum, boss.”

“The decoy,” I said immediately. Samantha was anything but stupid. The woman had probably paid them off, and paid them well, to act like they were fleeing. Part of me admired her chutzpah, and the other part felt a bit of pity for the unsuspecting crew. Undoubtedly the marker placed on their heads had been unexpected. “She played the crew of that freighter. I feel bad for them. Not so much for Chavez and Exeter, though. What else you got?”

“This one is headed for the New Jordan colony,” she said, showing me the profile of a small, non-descript freighter. It was very similar to the Sly Fox, save it was designed for transport of persons. While we could technically do something similar, my ship had been originally designed as a small cargo freighter which could fly in atmo—something of a rarity these days. “Going casual-like, you know? I think this is the one.”

“It’s not,” I said, remembering my conversation in the bowels of the Dome before we’d been marched to our presumed deaths. The woman was devious, I’d give her that. She had “casually” dropped New Jordan into our conversation after mentioning buyers elsewhere. This freighter? Probably not it. But just in case… “What’s the name of the freighter?”

“The Ranjat Hamra,” Tara supplied instantly, though she frowned when she spoke. “Weird. Someone changed the registry on the planet. It used to be the Tadhkirat Rukub. That’s gotta be it, boss! Plotting a course now to New Jord-”

“Belay that,” I said, trying not to laugh at Tara’s expression. It was a mixture of outrage, confusion, surprise, and a little bit of exasperation… the sort of look only a teenager could pull off. “Our thief is too clever for her own good. I bet she paid them to change the title registry.”

“What? Why would she do that?” Tara asked.

“Because she knows I speak old Arabii, and the new name literally means ‘red herring.’ No, she’s toying with us.” I chuckled softly. That woman was impressive, and had the mind of a bounty hunter. The universe was a large place but I was willing to be she was unique amongst the stars. It made me want to catch her even more now. I pointed at the third transport on the display. “That’s our ship.”

“Really?” Tara sounded uncertain. I couldn’t blame her. The Free Trader was precisely the sort of ship someone like Samantha—if that was even her real name—would avoid. It was a large transport freighter, used mostly to haul foodstuffs in stasis from planets to stations which hadn’t managed to attain self-sufficiency yet through crop domes. It was a niche trade, which meant there were only a few destinations within range of the freighter. It was the kind of vessel an average thief fleeing the law would avoid.

“Definitely. Where’s it headed?”

“Sarkanylovas Station, in the Nova Castri system,” she replied.

I started at that bit of information. “No kidding?”

“Why?” she asked, irritation on the very edge of her tone. Of course she wouldn’t recognize the place. We hadn’t been to that system yet. There’d been no need.

I hadn’t docked or berthed at Sarkanylovas in over a decade, maybe longer, but I had an old friend who lived there who needed a visit. Last I heard from his kid, old Cornelius had retired from the bounty hunting business. I knew Cornie well enough. The man wouldn’t stay retired for long. While he was definitely too old to go out collecting bounties these days, he was definitely in good enough shape to run a business still.

A place like Sarkanylovas Station, where the miners on the twin moons orbiting a gas giant came to drink, gamble, and womanize, was a gold mine for someone who had a good nose for business. Cornie was crotchety, unpleasant, and generally a pain in the ass, but he had an eye for business. It’s what helped him become one of the best in our line of work, back in his prime.

Of course, Tara had unwittingly crossed paths with that old grump’s kid a year or so ago, back when I’d first taken her on as part of my crew… but it wasn’t likely that the grumpy codger would know about Tara. After all, Barnabas hadn’t seemed the type to tell daddy that he’d been hustled by a then-fifteen year old girl. Not willingly, at least.

Granted, her ID had said she was older than that back when we’d first met, but Coderunners can beat just about any system. ID scanners were something she could run circles around without any legs to walk on.

Samantha running to Sarkanylovas told me… what? I didn’t know just yet, but my pa didn’t raise a quitter.

“Old friend of mine is there,” I said, thinking as Edi joined us on the bridge. “One you and I both know peripherally. That’s our destination.”

He’d been silent for the most part since our standoff with Chavez and his Exeter goons, but one look at his expression told me a lot. He’d been thinking of home, something every bounty hunter must come to grips with at some point in their career. Edi had been away from Nuevo Aires, his home, for far longer than even a bounty hunter normally would be. Being an Explorer meant long periods away from home at the very least. Bounty hunting offered a different sort of difficulty, but potentially more time to simply return to ones roots.

Unfortunately, Tara was still young and didn’t understand some things. Like why someone would go through all the trouble to bait two hooks just to mess with an overthinker like myself.

“Look, old man. I’ve run the numbers. She’s definitely going to New Jordan,” she argued, crossing her arms and leaning back in the pilot’s seat. Say what you will about teenagers, but they sure know how to sulk.

“Tara, this woman has played me once already, pulled one over on two separate corporations—check that, three corporations, escaped from the Colosseum in the middle of a riot, and paid off who knows how many people to cover her tracks. She’s going to pretend to be on the obvious red flag ship, have a secondary one that she ‘accidentally’ dropped to me and won’t use, and will actually be on the least likely vessel for someone on the run. Do you know why?”

“…no…”

“Because she has a handicap which will dog her until she gets rid of it,” I said. Seeing Tara’s blank expression, I turned to Edi. “Care to help?”

“She has the stolen alien artifact with her still,” Edi told her, his tone calm. He was an excellent instructor at times, and he should have been hired by the Explorers to teach prospective recruits how to assess a situation. “She can’t risk losing it, so she’s going to be as quiet and meek as possible, travel ways she normally wouldn’t, and find a way to make it to the next buyer on her list. New Jordan? None of those dirt farmers can afford her asking price. But at Sarkanylovas? Lots of credits flow through there, with powerful people using it as a junction port, you know? Lots of corporations have smaller offices there to handle the mining ops on the planet. You understand?”

Tara’s expression remained carefully blank as she processed it all. I knew from experience that sometimes we get so locked in on working a problem that we’re too close to it, miss the entire picture for the sake of a single pixel. It took her a long time by her standards, but in three seconds her eyes cleared and she was nodding. However, she did not look too pleased at reaching the same conclusion I already had.

“I should’ve seen it,” she muttered. “No wonder I got kicked out of my creche. Not good enough to be a Runner. Coderunning is for the best, and I’m nowhere near it. Damn. Damn it.”

“This universe will live to see 100 trillion more years,” I told her soothingly. Tara was young, hadn’t had life really sink its fangs into her soul yet. She was still idealistic, even if she’d been through much to get here. The poor child simply didn’t understand what it was to be human, to be who we are. “We have a finite time in it, kid. It's not how long we have, though, but what we make with what we're given. Don’t sweat your past mistakes. Learn from them.”

“It just seems so… stupid. And obvious,” she finished, pouting. I smiled and gave her a pat on the head.

“First sure thing of being an adult? It’s all stupid. But that leads to a strange beauty of its own. Trust me. It’s not always ‘I’ll explain when you grow up.’ Eventually it turns into ‘what I would give to not know this shit.’ The fact that you can spot it means you’re going to go far, kid.”

She grumbled under her breath but said nothing else. Edi stared at me, a strange expression on his face.

“And Tara?”

“Yeah boss?”

“You getting tossed out of that creche was the best thing that ever happened to us. You’ve saved our lives more times than I care to count. You saved me. Not many people get to claim that they’ve saved the life of the famous Quintus Fox more than thrice.”

She blushed at this and turned away. Leaning back in the co-pilot’s chair, we stared out into the blackness of space, watching the stars wheel as Tara began to input a new course for Sarkanylovas Station. It took a minute for the engines to spool up, and a readout told us we’d be at the station in twelve hours. The fuel cost was negligible, thankfully. Some of the other stations out in the Striderlands were thousands of lightyears apart, and traveling between them was not cheap. But Sarkanylovas was closer in to the core. This was both beneficial, and dangerous. While it saved on fuel, it also brought us closer to the grips of power, where the nations and star systems ruled in the name of a corporation.

“Wake me up when we get to Sarkanylovas,” Edi muttered. There was still some residual anger and confusion there, and justifiably so. Home was just out of reach, but he couldn’t go back now. Possibly ever, so long as the Exeter Group were running things with Chavez in charge. He hated the corporations more than anyone else, having been burned by them in the past on both personal and professional levels. Mike, Tara… hell, even Lazarus had all run afoul of an overreaching corporation at one time or another. To not entirely agree with my decision was fair. Sure, they’d all gone along with it in the end, but trust?

Never a corp. They trusted me. Nobody sane trusted a corporation who operated like Landgrave Horst. Or, apparently, the newly-formed Exeter Group for that matter.

Why did I keep running into corporations who were deliberately out to screw the average person? My life was full of questionable decisions, but surely my luck wasn’t that bad. Was it?

“Night, Edi,” I said as the retired Explorer departed. I sat there in the co-pilot’s chair for a long while in silent contemplation. There was really nothing for me to do at the moment but think.

Was I doing right by my crew?

It was a question which haunted me on a nightly basis. As it should any proper captain. But at the moment, the question seemed louder, more pressing. The answer was there, and my gut told me I was, but in the back of my mind? The question niggled at my soul like a rot.

With Tara at the helm and Mike down in the engine room, there was nothing left for me to do in the cockpit but sit around and worry. I could do that elsewhere. With a grunt and a quiet farewell to the Coderunner, I returned to my quarters. That luxurious pillow had been calling my name for over two days, but I’d been unable to return to it because of, well, shenanigans.

My mind drifted back to the doubt which haunted me. Maybe it was the simple fact that none of us should have survived, yet here we were, with nary a scratch on us. Well, minus some bruising, thanks to the false Plankerton Operative I’d called Jane. No, that couldn’t be it. I’d been beaten before. This was something else.

Perhaps it was the looming prospect that maybe intelligent life—real spacefaring alien intelligence—was closer than anyone would have thought possible, and a greedy corporation was trying to horn in on what could be the biggest historical event since long-distance space travel was discovered.

My mind drifted back to something Chavez had said during his ranting when Samantha and I had been locked away beneath the Dome, before they’d paraded us up in the Colosseum as nothing more than entertainment chattel.

“For someone so smart, you don’t see the bigger picture.”

I hadn’t understood it then, but as my mind pondered it and the emergence of the Exeter Group, new possibilities began to take shape. His phrasing had been odd, but at the time I hadn’t noticed. Now, though, my overly-analytical mind began working on the verbiage from a different angle. Nothing firm, not yet, but I had the strange feeling that we hadn’t seen the last of Chavez or the Exeter Group.

Plus, if Runty had been right, then we had a fifth player in the game—whoever our mysterious not-Operative worked for.

Inside my quarters, I paused as the door sealed behind me. Lazarus was already in his bed, sleeping, his hind leg twitching every so often as he dreamed whatever quantum wolves dreamt. Quantum rabbits, maybe? The thought gave me a warm feeling in my heart. He snorted, stretched, and exhaled deeply as the twitching restarted. More pursuits, no doubt. Quantum wolf heaven was probably quantum rabbit hell.

It was strange to think that he was no longer invulnerable to physical harm. I’d had him since he was barely a few weeks old, and the entire time his diamond coat had protected him from knives, gunshots, and even a vehicle on New Ariz. For some reason I thought he’d stay a young pup forever. Now a matured adult, he could be harmed, but he also could now phase quantumly—which opened up even more questions which I had no answers to.

How did they do it? How could he stay on a spaceship as it hurtled through space, in quantum form, without being left behind in vacuum? It made absolutely zero sense to me. What Laz and his kind do should be impossible, yet here they were, a species who could somehow manipulate their own cells to phase through things.

I needed to get ahold of my old friend, Wardon Buffington of the Jaxian Royal Game Wardens. He knew more than anyone else the full capabilities of the quantum wolves. Plus, I had two men down in the makeshift brig who old Orph would be thrilled at meeting—and would enjoy nothing more than tossing the duo into the deepest, darkest jail he could find. The only thing the Royal Game Warden hated more than exotic animal smugglers were human traffickers.

As the engines of the Sly Fox thrummed with power beneath my feet, I had a moment of introspection.

We lived in hard times created by weak men who’d come before us. But they say that hard times created hard men, and later they will be the ones to create the good times. I don’t put much stock in simple explanations of humanity like that. We’re too unpredictable to be simplified as nothing more than behavioral patterns. A single person or, damnation, even a controlled group, perhaps. But humanity as a whole? No way.

Aliens, on the other hand?

Real space-faring aliens who could think, talk, barter, and ally with us? Or make war against? How would we respond as a species? Would it be with violence, as has been our wont throughout the eons… or maybe not. Perhaps we’ve changed some. There always was the possibility that humanity would embrace a sentient, cohesive alien species.

Unlikely, but a good man once told me that hope defines us as a species.

The Landgrave Horst Corporation couldn’t be trusted with any sort of alien tech. Neither could the Exeter Group, not after watching what Chavez did to the world he lived on, the people he called neighbor. I wasn’t even certain that any of the friendly governments could. Not technology which potentially might alter the path of humanity as a whole. Accepting more work from LHC on this wild goose chase would keep us up and operating, but at what cost to our independence? What cost to my own soul? Being an independent business owner meant taking jobs where I could in between tracking bounties, and being the sole owner and operator of the Sly Fox meant my crew were, in the end, my responsibility.

But I still had my code. It had kept me alive and in good standing across dozens of systems, even while being a wanted man in others who hadn’t accepted my bounty hunter badge as a viable identity for the jobs I’d done.

Was I good enough to keep them all fed and taken care of? I’d operated for so long on my own that I honestly couldn’t be certain. They were all adults—mostly. They could fend for themselves, if push came to shove.

Well, maybe not Tara or Laz, I silently assented as my boots came off and were set on the floor next to my bunk. Sitting down on my bunk, I stared at the hand-me-down duds as memories flooded my mind. Images of him and his sisters chewing on the tassels while they were less than two months old flashed before me. Laz had long since stopped trying to chew off the tassels, thankfully, so there was no danger to him tearing them up while I slept. The memory made me wonder if his sisters were doing well, and that I needed to check in with Warden Buffington. Laz was a full grown quantum wolf now.

I wondered if he’d need a rabies shot.

An idea out of the blue came to mind as I sat there mulling things over. It was dangerous and, if played incorrectly, could land us in a barrel of boiling engine fluids, but… there was a thin line we could toe as contractors working with the LHC. Dangerous, yes. But if we worked with them and against them at the same time, we could possibly still be of help to those feeling the corporate squeeze, and Landgrave Horst would be on the hook for the credits.

It could also keep Samantha out of their vile clutches.

Peace of mind would not come. My thoughts drifted to the redheaded thief. There was no telling what game she was pulling, or if her intentions were as honest as she claimed them to be. There was no denying she’d done the universe some good by lifting the item from Landgrave Horst. Even Edi would admit this, and he was a very “by the book” sort of man usually.

However, there was also the quiet part I wasn’t about to admit aloud—I might have developed some feelings towards her. The idea of her being disappeared by Landgrave Horst disturbed me a little.

It’d been… a very long time since I’d felt this way towards someone. The few dalliances I’d had across the years in space had been few and far between, none lasting more than an enjoyable night. Something about Samantha was different. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, though.

This might be worth mulling over some more, I thought and

Plus, if this alien thing really was some sort of long lost alien weapon, I’d sleep a lot better at night knowing I’d done my best to keep it out of the hands of the wrong people.

Sighing, I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. There would be time enough to worry about all of this later. No need to borrow trouble, as my pa had been fond of saying. First and foremost, I had to keep Landgrave Horst off our backs while tracking our erstwhile thief. The men who’d worked for the Exeter Group seemed a little too eager to destroy everything in their path to retrieve a small, supposedly inconsequential piece of alien tech, long-dead or… otherwise. Landgrave Horst was willing to pay the equivalent of a small station’s budget to get it back. We’d have to watch our step every second of the way while we searched for Samantha. Hopes and prayers wouldn’t keep the Sly Fox in the sky, after all. Nor alive in the deepest black.

Dreamless sleep finally came and, for a brief time, I was able to find a little peace. I’d need it. Eventually I was going to have to tell that damned Thinkerman I hadn’t caught his thief yet.

I was not looking forward to that comms call.

END BOOK ONE

AFTERWORD

Congratulations!

You made it to the end of the very first Quintus Fox novel, something I thought would never, ever be written. Don’t worry, there are more in the pipeline as you read this! Already Book 2, Moons Run Red, is available for preorder. It’s got a nice cover, too. The artwork, for both of the novels, are from the hugely talented Laercio Messias. You should think about hiring him. He is available for commission work. The cover compositions (i.e., the lettering, where it goes, etc.) are by Ibson Writes, Inc. Jamie Ibson is a fantastic designer and editor. They both do tremendous, and since I like my covers to match, they’re terrific to work with! You should really check them out if you’re looking for covers.

Quintus and crew will continue their journey to try and keep the stolen Barrani technology out of the hands of the vile Landgrave Horst Corporation and their Plankerton goons in the next book, Moons Run Red. At the same time, they’ll be making it appear they’re doing the very job they were hired to do, while trying to catch Samantha and dodge the Exeter Group. A very narrow tightrope to walk indeed. Is Quintus and the crew up to the task?

And yes, I loved spaghetti westerns as a kid, which means every title in the series will be named in that vein.

If this is the first time you’ve read any of my Quintus Fox stories, welcome! I’ve written six Quintus-related stories to date, and the first four are helpfully collected in Side Hustle: Vol. 2. Story number five is in the Dancing with Destruction anthology from Baen Books (July 2025) that I edited, and is the first time we meet Edi. It’s not how he joins the crew, though. No, that story is in the Chaos and Consequences anthology (another one I’m editing for Baen Books). It’s currently scheduled for 2026, though I’m not sure when.

But enough of that. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty of why I’m rambling drunkenly late on a Saturday night with the expectations that you, the glorious reader, have made it this far—reviews and ratings.

Book reviews always help, whether it’s on Amazon or elsewhere (I’m looking at you, booktubers). Ratings left after you’ve read this book on your electronic device are also a massive boon to those of us working in the cold and dark nothingness (okay, it’s North Carolina and not quite the cold and dark nothingness… I would kill for some colder weather 8 months of the year). Sharing with everyone else why this is the best bounty hunter western space opera around (the only one? Who knows) also helps tremendously. People are more apt to buy a book recommended by their friend than by an algorithm.

Coincidentally, do you know what killed the television show Firefly?

That’s right, it was [[ REDACTED FOR LEGAL REASONS ]], as well as viewers who weren’t telling people how much they loved the series! We want to keep the Sly Fox out in the black, taking the jobs nobody else wants while trying to do right by those who live, work, and breathe on board the ship. The best way to do that is with YOUR HELP.

Legal disclaimer: the opinions in this novel are those of a rabid fanbase and not the author, who is simply sharing the opinion of millions of Browncoats around the world. He means no harm. It’s been 20+ years. SURELY the fanbase has forgiven the original broadcasters of the television show by now, right?

Right?

Back to the real important stuff at hand…

Book 3, Stars Over El Dorado, should be available for preorder in April 2026, with a release date later in 2026. Book 4, Renegades of Tycho, should be out sometime after that. I’d write them sooner but I just signed the contracts for the last two Monster Hunter Memoirs books (the ones I collaborated with Larry Correia on, and probably the reason most of you picked this up in the first place) and those are going to be taking the majority of my focus for the remainder of 2025.

Plus, something BIG just dropped on my lap that you should be hearing about by the time this book comes out (but just in case, I’m keeping quiet on here for the time being). That is going to eat up… pretty much all my free time in 2026. Well, technically, Books 3 and 4 of Quintus Fox will be done in my free time because the big project will be the primary. Oh, and I have some short stories I owe people, Melissa Olthoff and I have to continue our series, and I have the final Kin Wars book to turn in.

I always forget at just how busy I am sometimes.

Until the next time just remember, when caught in between a rock a hard place, ask yourself: Who would Lazarus eat first?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book wouldn’t have been possible without the assistance of many people. For starters, Jamie Ibson was the editor who picked up the very first Quintus Fox story. When I approached him about the idea of a ghost wolf haunting a space station and the local Boss Hogg-type character was looking to hire a bounty hunter to take care of the issue, his enthusiasm was so boundless that it actually kicked my brain into writing more of the stories. Jamie is also the creator of Warden Orph Buffington, who first appeared our collaborative two-part story of “It’s All Fun and Games… Until the Wolves Arrived,” which was featured in We Dare: Old Age and Treachery.

Jacob Holo, H.P. Holo, and Tom Pope also deserve special mention alongside Jamie. When my cancer diagnosis came last August (literally three days before Dragoncon), all of my friends stepped up and helped. These four, however, went above and beyond, putting their own issues and problems aside to try and help me deal with surgery, recovery, and the constant infusions I’ve endured since. Without these four people, I doubt I’d be in as good shape mentally as I currently am.

Also, the wonder twins of Melissa Olthoff and Nick Steverson need to be thanked here. Melissa is pretty much my sounding board for most of what I write, while Nick is the reasonable voice of insanity who constantly reminds me that boring books are boring. Melissa is also Alpha Reader Zero. She gets the words raw and unedited. Poor thing. I pay her back with mochas. Also, I get a little caught up in the mental games my characters play on themselves sometimes, and Nick is always there to smack me in the back of the head and tell me go blow something up (figuratively).

Also, I need to thank all three publishers who’ve published Quintus Fox-related stories to date. Chris Kennedy Publishing, Three Ravens Publishing, and Baen Books all have published at least one short story in the Quintus Fox universe (Quintverse?), and without their support there never would have been enough stories for me to go anywhere with this series.

And finally, thank you to everyone who purchased a copy of Side Hustle: Vol. 2. The support for that collection of shorts helped give me the confidence boost needed to make this indie/self-pub dream a reality. As I’m going through this process, it’s nice to know that there are readers like you out there who want to read what I write.

That, for an author, makes all of the hard work worth it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

National bestselling author Jason Córdova is both a John W. Campbell Award and Dragon Award finalist (though not in the same year), and is the editor of the Baen Books anthologies Chicks in Tank Tops and Dancing with Destruction. He is also the co-author of Monster Hunter Memoirs: Fever with Larry Correia, and author of the bestselling Mountain of Fire, a Black Tide Rising novel.

Along the way, he has had his novels published in multiple languages around the world, been featured in over 40 anthologies, and has penned over two dozen other novels across multiple genres including YA, horror, science fiction, and urban fantasy.

A history nerd, he is a Navy veteran, former teacher, and is currently working as an Associate Editor at Baen Books. He can be found on Twitter/X at @warpcordova, as well as his website, www.jasoncordova.com, where he updates irregularly.

The following is a special sneak peek of what is to come…

BOOK 2

—» Chapter 1 «—

ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG

There are very few things in this universe which are certain.

Death and taxes? A veritable classic, one Christopher Bullock had said best almost a thousand years ago in his theatre production of The Cobbler of Preston.

Disgruntled employees? Every person who has ever employed anyone has had them. Doesn’t matter how well you treat them, there’s always something wrong, and they will remind you of this. With vigor.

Oh, and we can’t forget the last, most important one of all: angry teenage girls.

Unfortunately for me, at the moment I was dealing with all of these things simultaneously. Clearly God has a sense of humor, albeit a twisted one.

“What the hell do you mean I’m dead?” Tara asked, her eyes agog as she stared at the vidscreen. Her teenaged face was twisted as a varying range of emotions—some of which I recognized, others… not so much—played upon her features.

The young Coderunner had been in a sort of funk ever since we’d high-tailed it off Nuevo Aires. The idea that were still under the aegis of the Landgrave Horst Corporation really irked her, and the fact that we’d had the thief and yet she’d escaped really chapped her hide. On top of it all, we’d been so caught up in chasing our thief that we hadn’t restocked on fresh foodstuffs. We’d been living on reheated food for three days now.

I blamed her mood on a decided lack of citrus. She was always cranky if she couldn’t get grapefruit.

“According to the records we have here, ma’am, one Tara Bjornsdottir died eight years ago,” the Sarkanylovas customs agent said in a bored tone. “I’m sorry, but we are unable to process you for entry to Sarkanylovas Station.”

“Tara, it’s okay,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “You can just wait on the ship—”

“No!” she shouted and slammed an open palm onto the pilot chair’s armrest. “Check it again!”

“I triple-checked, ma’am. I’m terribly sorry. Sly Fox, you’re cleared to dock at Port 41, E Ring. Please enjoy your stay.”

The comms went silent. Not sure whether to pat her a second time or simply leave her be, I decided on the latter course of action and leaned back in the co-pilot chair next to her. Tara stared at the blank screen for a long time before she uttered a single word.

“Shit.”

She was handling the news of her apparent death far better than I could’ve hoped.

To be continued…