Bounty Hunted

by Ian Cannon

  Another down. Two left.

  Coming to the end of the retaining wall, she had to pause, search frantically. There was nowhere to go. She was trapped. She looked out across the dark sky. Lights showed distantly in the night. She squinted. One of the flight-suit guys had adjusted. He was reacquiring, coming quick. The other two guys were picking their way cautiously over the retaining wall, coming after her. Above her head, a window. Someone’s home. No other choice.

  She jumped up, grabbed the sill and yanked herself inside to a flurry of panic and screaming. Young Sarconan kids scurried around in a flurry. This was someone’s bedroom. She hit the floor groaning, “Never mind me. All is well. No problems.”

  They flooded out the doorway with Tawny hot on their heels. She scampered down a narrow hallway as the sound of adults started ringing out at her. They were behind. And they were angry.

  She looked back. The first security guy was struggling to climb inside the window at the rear of the house. She screamed, pointing, “There, there! They’re coming in!” The sound of struggling ensued as some big, burly Sarconan father mixed it up with the Cabal agents. One of them shouldered through, kept chasing while the other started getting pounded.

  One guy left.

  Tawny hit the entrance and was back out in the night, laughing. The roofline was low enough to grab. She was up over the house in a flash, doubling back to where she’d come. The lip of the roofline ended in a mountain fall. Footsteps came behind. The last guy had followed her up and was closer than she suspected. The guy was tenacious. She was a little impressed.

  He dove for her feet slip-sliding along. But she didn’t stop, didn’t even slow. She leapt out into the night, arms spread, and began her plummet into the canyon. The security guy clawed for a hand hold. No luck. He went over the edge screaming as he fell.

  No more security guys.

  Tawny’s timing was perfect. She collided with Flight-Suit Guy, wrapping him up. He grunted against her sudden weight, his flight dipping and bobbing.

  “REX!” she screamed.

  “Twenty seconds!” he yelled back.

  Twenty seconds. Perfect.

  Just ahead she could see the Southern Wash—an enormous area of the mountain, flattened to a glassy surface and declining sharply into the canyon where rain water and sewage collected and was driven away from the city. It was several acres of stone where, during wetter times, sheer lakes of water blasted down the side of the mountain.

  Twelve seconds.

  The guy below her swatted at her, grabbing and flinging his arms up over his head. She wrapped her arms around his helmet, blinding him as they struggled across the sky.

  There. The Wash.

  Ten seconds.

  She released him and fell. It was a full fifty-foot drop and she came down on her feet hard-landing onto the declining surface—a greased slide right into the canyon. Her slide toward the edge began immediately.

  Eight seconds.

  She streaked down the decline. The edge pounded closer and closer, faster and faster. Next would be that final descent at terminal velocity right off the mountain where no one would ever find her strewn out across hundreds of feet of canyon wall.

  Six seconds.

  She held her breath. Clenched her face.

  Four seconds.

  The edge rushed upon her, lightning fast. She flew over.

  Two seconds.

  She felt gravity swallow her, darkness engulf her. It was all around. She freefell into the canyon.

  One second.

  Ooof!—she crashed down onto REX’s upper fuselage with a painful, breath-emptying thud. “Gotcha!” he said, and began ascending the canyon, retro burners howling in the night.

  The wind of flight refreshed her as she rolled over to her knees panting like mad. She was alive, not falling, not incarcerated. She groaned in relief. “Okay, REXY, open the top airlock.” It rolled open and she dropped down into her ship.

  Home again, home again. Thank gods!

  Tawny moved quickly toward the cockpit.

  REX said, “So, yeah—I won’t be mentioning any of this to your husband, Boss. He’d drop a poo bomb.”

  “Right,” she said getting into the pilot’s chair. “So can you locate him?”

  “Yep. We’re on our way.”

  After a short orbital stint of a few thousand miles later, REX said, “Descending. He’s just below on the surface.”

  They’d crossed from the planet’s mountain quadrant, over the narrow oceanic straight of Lirum, and into the endless flatlands of the eastern fields. It was tens of thousands of square miles of golden grass made pitch black in the night. They streaked down from the sky as REX’s proximities started beeping. They’d locked in on their target destination. And it was moving extremely fast.

  Tawny could see it under silver moonlight as they approached. A train. It was very long, a hundred cars at least, and streaking along at several hundred miles an hour on a single maglev rail.

  “Which one is he in?” she said, anxious to get her Benji back.

  “Prisoner car five,” he said.

  She screwed her lips in thought. “Fifth from the front, or fifth from the back?”

  “Uh, good question.”

  Great. It was a fifty/fifty guess. She shrugged. She’d take those odds.

  “Fifth car from the front,” she said.

  “Okay, Boss.”

  They settled into position above the train, matching its speed. The fifth car was directly below. There was more beeping. Tawny fired a glance at the proximity detectors and muttered, “Gun spheres.”

  “Yeah, I kind of expected that. We’ll have to move quick.”

  “Okay,” she said jerking the overhead mag-spire lever to open. “Hit the electromagnetics, REX.”

  Outside, the mag-spires opened wide enough to accept the width of car five. The magnets hummed into life shedding an electric blue light in the night.

  “Lower,” she said.

  REX swooped down sliding car five between the spires. “We’re there.” “Close!”

  The spires clamped around its object with a kerbang that jolted them. The train struggled to pull the vessel with it, but Tawny cried, “Reverse!”

  Retros banged in the night, two forces in direct contention. The train slowed, electric arcs blossoming out from the train rail in defiance.

  “More!” Tawny yelled.

  REX’s boosters glowed hot bringing the entire length of the train to a standstill.

  “Go!”

  The ship jerked upward tearing car five from the rest of the train. The entire operation lifted from the surface, headed back toward the night skies. But gun spheres approached in a swarm and opened fire. Laser strikes pelted the train car throwing sparks in showers. Tawny screamed in shock. She’d expected the gun spheres to come after REX. Not the car. “No!” She flew from the pilot’s seat, over the rear cockpit deck and down the tube to the bubble gun. She plopped down lickity split, and started firing back at the night. No targeting. No accuracy. Just plain old carpet firing, laying down swinging trails of laser blasts. Explosions lit up the night indicating target strikes.

  REX leveled off and swung laterally, swinging the mag-spires—and car five—around in a tremendous arc as he roared along the sky. The targeting screen showed the gun spheres in clusters of lighted blips. They blinked out rapidly as Tawny continued her merciless salvo.

  “You got them!” REX called.

  She laid off the trigger. There were no more pursuers, but she could see car five through her turret bubble. Strike pelts scored its flanks. It steamed and smoked. They couldn’t go into orbit with that thing.

  “Set us down.”

  REX slowed, lowered to the ground setting car five in the grass, and rotated the mag-spires into landing position. He settled onto the earth. Tawny streaked into the cargo hold, dropped the ramp and ran out into the night. She hadn’t seen Benji in four months. The whole time she’d longed for this moment. If he was dead
, she was going to be unspeakably pissed off.

  The train car steamed from the attack and its entire length had been buckled under the force of the spires—basically ripped in half. The forward hatch kicked open and Benji staggered dizzily out into the grass.

  “Benjeee!” she screamed running to him.

  The sound of her voice got him back to his feet. He opened his arms as they met, she leaping into him, wrapping him with her legs and knocking him back down. They kissed in an explosive fit, squeezing each other and rolling in the grass momentarily.

  “Baby. Baby. Oh gods …” he said in muffled little groans.

  She looked into his eyes glistening black under the night. “I missed you, baby. I love you. I love you so much.”

  “I love you,” he said and squeezed her against him.

  She looked over her shoulder at REX standing in the night with his tremendous mag-spires reaching high overhead and got to her feet pulling him up with her. “We have to go. They’ll be here any minute.”

  The sound of an approaching rocket grew from behind as fast as a falling building, and something landed hard and heavy behind them. It shook the ground nearly taking them off their feet. They turned to see a manotaur of the Cabal security force stand to its fullest height—fifty feet of bipedal, heavily-armored war machine. The gun ports on its arms and chest swiveled in clicks and whirs, angled down at them like cannons tracking a bug on the floor.

  Tawny screamed, “REX!”

  REX’s top guns swiveled around winding up for a blaster stream.

  Another manotaur rained down from the sky, landed hard. Then a third.

  They were outnumbered and outgunned.

  And they were surrounded.

  REX’s cannon wound back down to sleep.

  All they could do was stand there in the knee-high grass waiting to be collected. Tawny sighed, “How badly can this planet piss a girl off?”

  Ben reached a hand over and took hers. They stood in the night as a flood of light beams showered down around them. They were man and wife again. It felt whole, refreshing. But they were not free.

  Not yet.

  “What’s it gonna take?” Ben moaned.

  Five

  Oh great. That big Saltu was the doorman tonight. His name was Brex or Shrax or … something like that. And he was big. He had the characteristic cat-face of his species with enormous shoulders, proud golden, drawn-back eyes and a big, rounded muzzle always stuck in a frown. He made Rogan nervous. The guy never seemed too pleased to see him approach the entryway. In fact, he’d grown evermore inconvenienced at the sight of him, usually giving him an impatient, bothersome look and ushering him through the door like it was a favor. But, if Rogan wanted to enter Nubbie’s and catch a glimpse of his favorite Lexin dancer—there was no going around.

  The Saltu’s pointed ear rotated as Rogan approached catching his attention. Rogan gave him his most inconspicuous grin, and to his surprise Shrax grinned back. “Rogan,” he greeted with his lion’s voice as those thick, mystacial whiskers twittered momentarily. “Here for Nalda?”

  Rogan stutter stepped to a halt, confused. “Uh—” he smiled and said, “I am.”

  Shrax invited him in with one big paw and said, “Enjoy.”

  “Uh, no charge?” Rogan said.

  “Not for you,” Shrax replied.

  “Oh,” he said a bit mused. “Why, thank you.” He entered the club. It was an unusual moment with the generally stoic Saltu. Nevertheless, Rogan counted his blessing once inside, greeted again by the pleasant scent of alien wines and exotic perfumes. He looked across the place sighing relief. Ahhh—this was home.

  The place was dimly lit with the strains of erotic moon music thudding through the sporadically placed cocktail tables. Toward the front was the stage where Nalda—oh, beautiful, exotic Nalda—would be strutting her stuff any minute.

  He passed the bar on his way to the front when he heard someone call, “Rogan!”

  He froze. He knew that voice. It was Nerkum, the owner of the establishment, a Maltaurian with a disparaging outlook for patrons who didn’t shell out money like a yield machine. He’d also made it clear he had no love for Guilders like Rogan, saying on multiple occasions—I don’t want you Guilder wormdogs coming into my place!

  Rogan pulled a breath expecting a confrontation and turned around. He’d been kicked out of Nubbie’s before, just by virtue of being there. He was probably about to be kicked out again. No reason. No justification. Just a loud—get your wormy scruff narse out!

  Nerkum approached through the dim club. Rogan squinted at him as he came near. Was that a smile? Nerkum stopped before him and sure enough, he had a warm grin on his deep-blue face. “Welcome back!” he said. “Here for Nalda?”

  Rogan took an impulsive step backward. Nerkum mirrored him taking a step forward. “Uh—yes?” Rogan said shocked.

  “Wonderful!” he declared motioning Rogan toward a table at the stage. “Right this way.” He escorted him through the club, pulled out his chair and sat him down. He snapped his fingers and a Danoran waitress moved quickly to his side. “You know Jaynea, yes?”

  Rogan eyed the girl up and down. Yes, he knew Jaynea. She’d treated him like dirt in the past, ignoring his orders and constantly giving him the stink-eye. She smiled at him with a big, gorgeous grin and laid a hand provocatively on his shoulder. “Hello, Rogan,” she said.

  “Jaynea,” Nerkum said, “get our guest anything he’d like. Treat him well. In fact,” he said with a finger in the air, “let’s start him off with a bottle of Danoran Chablet, shall we?”

  Rogan’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. Danoran Chablet? A fine wine, indeed! A grin etched its way across his face and he looked up through that big bug visor of his. “Okay!” he called.

  “I’ll be right back,” Jaynea said, and off she went.

  “Well,” Nerkum said still offering that enormous bar-owner’s smile, “you just sit back and enjoy our services tonight, Rogan. I’m sure Nalda will be very pleasing this eve.”

  “Yeah, you bet!” he called, now fully ensconced in his strange, new reputation. Nerkum left, disappearing back toward the bar area. Rogan bobbed his head pleasantly spying the Danoran girl gracing the stage directly before him. A moment later the music wound down and she left the stage to join the patrons, gracing the tables with a sultry, over-exaggerated gate. A moment of silent jibber-jabber flittered through the pub making Rogan’s nerves spike with anticipation. Nalda was the next performer. He settled into his chair preparing for the show and grinning like a mindwiped juvenile rubbing his hands together. He probably loved her. No—he definitely loved her. Not in any deep, committed way. Not in any life altering way that rearranges one’s worldview. But in that hypnotic, childlike way. The youthful, out of control, don’t-know-how-to-act way that jacks the mind and so often made him fumble through his words like—huh-huh-heh-heh-hello. It was a crush. A mad, mad attraction. But it wasn’t her body or looks. Yeah—he liked all that stuff, too. It was just how damn sweet she was. She giggled with him. Said hello from time to time. Unlike everyone else at Nubbie’s, Nalda made him feel—even if for the few moments she was near—like he was taking up positive space somewhere in the universe. Or at least at Nubbie’s. He was here, like every other night, for that.

  He sighed with an audible, “Ahh.” What a night this was shaping up to be. Shrax—or whatever his name was—had greeted him with something akin to a Saltu’s version of friendship. Apparently, Nerkum had reconsidered his opinion of Guilders … or at least of Rogan. And now he awaited a bottle of Danoran Chablet from the suddenly attentive Jaynea. Grinning and leaning back comfortabely, he placed his hands behind his head in a pose of pure leisurely contentment. This was going to be a rare joy in the life and times of Rogan.

  Nalda’s music started. It was a slowly growing stringed intro straight from Molta-Danora’s island culture with a sexy high-note overtone set to a slinky synchopated beat. She made her appearance suddenly, stepping onto
stage and striking an introductory pose, her hips bopping gently to the music. Rogan perked up grinning stupidly. Her body was a long, narrow infusion of chiseled torso and sculpted limbs. Her eyes spied across her revelers with a seductive look hidden under extremely long locks of honey golden hair. Her gaze drifted to him and stopped. With her bottom lip pursed under her teeth, she strutted toward him giving him her best show—all thigh and pelvis action moving like a snake. She grinned openly and turned on her heels presenting her body to him, locking him down. With his attention gripped in the iron fist of graceful sexuality, she dropped to her knees to gain his eye level.

  His eyes—under those big bug lenses—widened and he had to force a swallow. She sidled up before him well within arm’s reach. His heart raced. He could feel sweat begin to lightly dabble his forehead. She beamed all her attention at him with a heavenly, wonderous power.

  She scooted closer staring him directly into those opaque lenses. He found himself flushed with deep intrigue, and dare he say, the slightest embarrassment. Dear gods, he thought, am I about to get more than I asked for, more than I’ve ever even dreamed of?

  She threw her head forward draping that long hair of hers like a curtain over his shoulder nearly touching him face-to-face. Mouth-to-mouth. He felt her warm lips caress the curve of his ear, and over the audible thrumming of his own heartbeat building inside him, he heard her whisper something. Submerged in his disbelief, he tilted his head toward her. What had she said? What were her words? Oh Gods—say them again!

  “Rogan …”

  Yes! Yes! What? What? Say it again! Say it again!

  “ … you need to leave.”

  He blinked in surprise and muttered, “Huh?”

  She whispered again, “You’re in trouble. You need to leave.”

  She backed away from him allowing that long hair to draw back across his shoulder. She stared directly into him. He gave her a questioning look needing to know more. Her eyes drifted toward the entrance to the club, then back to him begging him to look. He turned slowly and looked over his shoulder.