Bounty Hunted

by Ian Cannon

  And others. So many others. Sympto began to rejoice, tears filling his eyes. He knew them all, either by reputation or in person. He wasn’t alone. All they needed was a plan, a way to escape, someone to bring them together. Yes, he was smart. A liaison, in deed. He could lead them, become their surrogate commander. He inhaled to yell out, but then …

  The door slid open on loud, screaming hinges from the far end, and light from beyond the dungeon spilled into the place. Sympto chomped his mouth shut. The prisoner’s snapped quiet, each looking forward. The silhouette that flooded through the doorway was menacing, it stopped their blood cold. Specter stood at the entryway looking in coldly, and behind him standing slightly taller was GuardKing, the cruel one. At the sight of him, Sympto felt his blood run cold. A manotaur stood behind completing the trio.

  After a moment of tense pause, they moved into the dungeon, the hydro-mechanical whirrr-thud of manotaur feet vibrated the metal floor as it lurched forward. It held a body limp in its grasp and dumped it onto the floor. Sympto gasped.

  It was Rogan.

  The man lay there murmuring incoherently, a big lump of wasted flesh. The manotaur reached down and attached energy cuffs with a click and a hum and lifted Rogan up off the floor leaving a rope of drool from his face plant. The cuffs went—thump!—and suspended their new prisoner hard against the stone wall. Rogan’s head rolled loosely on his shoulders, eyes half open, his mouth opening and closing like a drunken fish.

  “Rogan!” one of the prisoners snapped.

  Another one yelled out, “What did you do to him!”

  GuardKing stepped into the dungeon and toward the prisoner. The spear in his hand sang to life emitting a cutting energy light and he jabbed the prisoner in the gut making him scream. The prisoner slumped over heaving, trying to collect his breath.

  GuardKing retook the center of the prison bay and moved forward spearing his gaze into each face, back and forth. As he approached, Sympto found himself trying to sink lower and become invisible. “Benjar and Tawny Dash” GuardKing boomed. “Who here knows their location?”

  No one spoke up. No one said a word. Perhaps they were hiding a secret. Perhaps they didn’t know.

  GuardKing continued, “This establishment was designed for a single purpose. The dolling of pain.” Still scanning back and forth he boomed, “Where are they?”

  Sympto gulped, his mind racing. He knew where they were. No, actually he didn’t. Where could they be? Yes, maybe they’re … uh, umm. No. He had no idea.

  GuardKing’s footsteps came to a chilling halt ever too close. Sympto snapped his gaze up and his thin, Iotian skin drew taught, those big mule ears swirling defensively into their pouches with a—thup thup. GuardKing stared down at him. “You,” he hissed. “You are the leader here.”

  Sympto shook his head desperately, trying to force an innocent grin. “No, no—I, me—oh no. No leader here. Not me,” he whimpered.

  “You are the one they call liaison,” he said.

  Sympto tried to speak but his lips wouldn’t part. All that came out was “Muh-muh-muh-muh.”

  GuardKing turned to face Specter and said, “This one, Sire.”

  Specter turned to his manotaur with a nod. Sympto heard himself begin to sob. The big iron beast thudded forward with its parts whirring and clicking, making Sympto slam his eyes closed. He couldn’t watch his own doom come nearer. The bot snatched him around the neck with one of its enormous hands and jerked him in a circular motion pointing him toward the door like a rag doll. Together, the trio, with Sympto now mumbling incoherently, moved to the exit, through the doorway and were gone.

  Twelve

  REX zipped in from inner-warp as Ben guided them toward the super-orbit byways. Teridrone was a dark world, almost black, with veins of sodium carbonite rivers zigging across its surface. They shone from orbit like intumescent lightning strikes frozen in time. The world had been a dead one but being in the non-partisan sector tucked away behind the living zones shielded it from eyes. It became a refuge for the more unsavory types of the system. Once an unregistered colony was established they had come in droves, spreading their ilk in ever-expanding tentacles of low society. Being unregistered forced the homesteaders and colonizers to provide for themselves through whatever means they could—usually without law or regulation. From there came crime, corruption and all things repellent. Then it grew into its own sprawling megaplex.

  “What do you think?” Tawny asked.

  Ben shook his head staring down at the planet’s surface. He sighed uncomfortably and murmured, “This was Norg’s idea. Do we trust him?”

  Tawny said, “We trust Norg. It’s Norg’s judgment I’m worried about.”

  “Yep,” he agreed. “One way to find out.”

  Tawny looked over, said, “We’ve got a channel.”

  Ben cleared his throat. Their arrival was unexpected and neither of them was too sure how their sudden presence would be accepted. With this crowd, anything was possible. Friends could turn to enemies as quickly as enemies to friends, depending on the change in yield current. Money was sacred to these people. Blood was cheap. Even REX was nervous.

  “Raider’s Bay, this is the private freighter REX on approach requesting dock,” Ben called. Tawny was normally the comms controller, but in the interest of avoiding a fight, he didn’t need the pirate scum nestled below to hear her voice. She agreed.

  They waited. Nothing happened.

  He took a breath, repeated, “Raider’s Bay, this is …”

  “This is Rullum Det, Aegis Prime of Raider’s Bay. We know who you are. Set your sub-orbital drive to incoming route five. Proceed to Knave’s Blade district, port four at seven-six-nine southeasterly, universal.” The voice sounded disgruntled. Tawny and Ben looked at each other with a shrug. Maybe the Aegis Prime at Raider’s Bay was always in a bad mood.

  “Copy that,” he said. “REX.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They dropped through the thin atmosphere of free oxygen generated by generations of atmospheric engineering. It was enough to breathe for most species at surface level as air settled gravimetrically into the lower parts of the planet, collecting in valleys and crevices. That’s why Raider’s Bay was located inside the planet’s equatorial fault, a narrow crevice caused by the separating of its hemispheric tectonic plates. The fault split the world in half like a depthless canyon, relatively symmetrical at a few hundred meters wide, and extraordinarily deep, where the majority of its oxygen stayed housed. The colony hubs, causeways, domiciles and platform structures clung across the vertical sides of the gorge above an ocean of deep darkness. Bridges and walkways crossed the valley from north to south. The lights of civilization demarked the profusion of alienkind, illuminating the equator as they approached. This was Raider’s Bay.

  REX scooted over the canyon’s lip approaching the Knave’s Blade district. Separated by pirate faction, each section of the colony possessed its own culture, rules and tradition. Below was the Syndicate. To the west and falling behind was Blooder’s Kin. Beyond that was Zealout’s Cove and others. Cross-pollinating was heavy. Each burg existed together under the governing body of Raider’s Bay, befriending the other as much as hating. Ties were thin, but commerce was heavy. It was a wild, kinetic world of scavengers and buccaneers.

  “Landing sequence,” REX said as he came to a docking platform and lowered into the canyon, slowed and committed a one-eighty turnabout. Retros fired as he connected to the underside of the platform and the airlock sealed. “Okay,” he said, reticent of the next few hours … or minutes.

  Tawny and Ben gave each other a nervous look. The view of the Knave’s Blade district was a sprawling, dark vista of building structures and passageways clinging to the canyon’s side, suborbital ships and people carriers moving with the two-way flow of traffic through the valley, the vertical walls of the planet itself shrouding everything in shadow. It was a dark place but full of energy, daunting but strangely beautiful.

  Ben got up and
strapped on his holster belt, both B-7 blasters hanging at his hips. He adjusted it to perfection readying a two-handed quick draw. Tawny slapped her own sidearm low at her hip wearing a thigh band on the opposite leg housing a sheathed knife. The M-209 plasma cannon would stay in the cargo hold. Raider’s Bay was no place for distance and accuracy. Here, it was all close quarters action and knife play. Plus, as the colony was built primarily onto the side of a vertical cliff, there was always the chance of plummeting into the endless void in the event of a fight. So, she latched her repelling cord buckle apparatus onto her belt with a competitive grin. Eager to meet her challenge, Ben turned, gathered his electro-magnetic utility gloves and slid them on, one hand at a time, staring her down.

  “Very nice,” she said.

  “And you,” he returned the compliment. “Ready?” Ben asked.

  She gave him her characteristic Raylon assassin’s grin, confident and poised, but said nothing. It made him look directly up momentarily shaking his head—oh boy. A Raylon in a den of theives? Here comes trouble.

  But he dared not temper her. Not here at Raider’s Bay. This was where her skills would come in most handy. The smart thing to do: Unleash Tawny. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go.”

  They entered the docking hub through the upper air lock and climbed up into the greeting passage. Two station guards awaited them. There were no uniforms at Raider’s Bay, just rough civvies dressed in their utilitarian best. These two had sidearms, one brandishing a rapier at his side. Ben said, “Hi.”

  They didn’t say anything, just looked on with a cold disinterest. Footsteps thudded from behind the guards, coming near. They parted as the official greeting party approached Tawny and Ben. A Malybrian. Ben felt his shoulders slump. Why a Malybrian?

  This one wore a bandolier across his hulking yellow-green chest and a pair of pocketed breaches with a snub-barreled pump-action rifle of sorts in a sheath over one muscular shoulder. The look in his basilisk right eye was one of recognition, mean and unsavory. The left eye was shattered by a starburst scar running down his gator face. He wore it proudly. Tawny and Ben knew this Malybrian.

  Korok.

  Ben leaned toward his wife and whispered from the side of his face, “I thought he was dead. He’s not dead. Why isn’t he dead?”

  She shrugged, ready for anything.

  Korok huffed at them indignantly blasting Ben with a shot of hot air. Ben blinked in disgust, recovering with a wry grin. Korok turned, motioning them to follow. They did so with the two station guards following suit.

  They moved to a lift track that whisked them laterally along the canyon’s wall before shifting directly upward. The elevator encased in glass showed the world of lights twinkling against the dark as it fell away below their feet. There were no words. It made Ben nervous. He looked nonchalantly at their Malybrian escort scanning up and down. Like most Malybrians, he was thick and tall, heavily muscled and proud, but quiet, always in a brooding mood. Ben chanced, “Did you know Korok spelled backwards is still Korok?”

  Korok swiveled his head over slowly and looked down at him. Without saying a word, he looked back and waited to arrive at Axum’s den.

  Tawny nudged her husband with an elbow shutting him up. Ben conceded quietly.

  The lift took them up into a tower that stood at the canyon’s edge and passed a series of terraced platforms. Skiffs and open-topped speeders were stored in rows, coming and going. Once they reached the upper throws of the tower, the lift came to a stop and rotated toward the building. The door whisked open to a dim, musical den that wafted the roiling scent of alien tobacco smoke and scented rums at them. A bar sat to the left crowded with comfortably murmuring drinkers with an array of cocktail tables sparsely placed throughout. People lounged in furniture along the perimeter wall to the right. At the far end of the place, an enormous observation window overlooked the entirety of the Knave’s Blade district. It was crowded here, but not overly threatening as the jovial strains of some stringed quartet jingled and jangled lowly across the space.

  Korok moved off into the crowd and disappeared leaving Tawny and Ben standing alone and wondering what to expect. The lift closed behind them and dropped away. Now they were stuck. Shifting a gaze to each other, they slowly took a stride forward, constantly scanning the place. These were pirates and mercenaries, painted space ladies and echelon folk, all enjoying some high class down time. This was the Knave’s VIP upper tier—Raider Bay’s version of Guilder’s Mix.

  Suddenly, everything seemed to quiet. The murmuring lowered. The glass chinking came to an abrupt stop. Even the music wound down. Across the room, a large figure strode into visibility and halted, glaring at them. All eyes turned to watch the showdown.

  Tawny and Ben girded themselves, prepared for anything.

  And there he stood. Axum. He was, at first, silent, dawning a severe glare not unlike Korok before him. He was dressed to the max, a true showman, with an umber frock coat trimmed in shiny gold over a deep red brocade that fell to his knees. A matching alien-silk cravat and sash completed an overdone ensemble with a frogged baldric straining to contain an enormous gut. Knickers and heavily-cuffed vac boots covered his legs, the entire display topped with a swooping pirate hat and tails falling down over one shoulder. He was a tower of tassels and fringe. It was ridiculous-looking, but also formidable. His tongue rolled between his lips showing an indolent expression as he muttered slowly, as if accentuating each word, “Tawny. And Benjar. Dash.”

  Ben offered a subtle nod and returned, “Axum.”

  “You owe me yield.”

  Now, all eyes gazed over at their new visitors. Breaths held. Silence settled over the room.

  Ben took a nervous but insistent breath and stepped forward. He called, “You cheated.”

  Axum’s big head rolled back and forth insulted, and he took a step forward, slowly approaching, his footfalls clomping across the ground. He approached to within an arm’s reach locking Ben’s gaze down inside his own. One could hear a pin drop. Even the air seemed go very still. With sudden jolly Axum boomed, “Of course I cheated! I’m a pirate! That’s what we do, we cheat! So what—hahaha!” The entire room exploded with laughter as all the patrons broke the tension howling their delight and raising their flagons and tankards.

  Axum put both hands forward resting them on Ben’s shoulders. He said under the commotion, “So where’s my yield?”

  Ben drew a cleansing breath and relaxed, rolling his eyes. He said, “It was eight-thousand bits, Axum.”

  He flashed his hand conversationally and said, “Eight-thousand bits here, eight-thousand bits there. It ads up.”

  Ben said, “Gimme a break.”

  Axum put a heavy arm around Ben’s shoulders and walked him into the establishment. Tawny followed cautiously resting her hand on the butt of her pistol, shooting her gaze back and forth at the patrons. “Benjar my boy, do you think it’s the balance that I give two plopped lumpers about? Haha! No, it’s the interest. That was what, five years ago? That’s a big old cargo-galley full of interest, my boy. You know that. You’re a man of the biz.”

  Ben shook his arm off and said, “I’m not a shark, Axum.”

  The big man spun to face him, feigning insult. “Are you spouting off that I am shark?”

  “Uh—yeah.”

  The place quieted again awaiting Axum’s response. A shark? A true insult.

  Axum blurted, “Well of course I’m a shark! I’m a pirate! That’s what we are, we’re sharks! So what—hahaha!” The place guffawed again, another reason to gulp and belch and smack each other on the back.

  Perhaps not quite the insult Ben had intended.

  Axum said, “Look, the point is I got a rep to uphold, here. I’m a shaker, baker, rainmaker, you know? Raider’s Bay wouldn’t be the same pit o mongrels without me, yeah?”

  Everyone rallied, “Harg! Harg!”

  “You see, my boy? Now, what would happen if I soft-bellied up and just let you two get off without paying me my d
ue yield, eight-thousand or no?”

  Tawny’s voice yelled from behind, “It’s not even your due yield, you scallywag. You cheated!”

  Scallywag—now there was a compliment.

  Axum shifted his attention to Tawny with an enormous grin etched across his round, grizzled face. He said, “Tawnia, my gods, you only get more pert, don’t you? Especially when you’re mad. Pert and mad, just the way I like ‘em—hahaha!”

  She stepped to him coolly taking the spotlight, and said, “You’re not going to like me much in a minute, Axum.”

  Axum turned to his entourage with an obtusely impressed expression and called, “Oh, even better!” Back to Tawny he said, “Say that again.”

  She crossed her arms. “Say what?”

  “My name. Say it again, my dear.”

  She clicked her tongue outrageously and hissed, “Un-be-leev-able!”

  Axum gave her a pleading look, said, “Please?”

  Tawny’s eyes shifted to Ben who just gave her a helpless shrug. She switched back, took her time, and said evenly, “Axum.”

  He exploded with cheer, “Oh! Quiver me nethers, y’all!”

  “Harg harg!” everyone called banging their mugs in double-tap rhythm.

  He flashed a randy look at Tawny and said, “Not to worry, my little damsel. All is forgiven—hahaha!”

  Ben squinted, doubtful. “Should I even ask how or why?”

  “You don’t already know?” Axum asked.

  Tawny and Ben looked at each other before Ben assumed, “Would it have something to do with …” He took a breath, said, “Norg?”

  Axum tapped his bulbous nose and said, “Never you worry, my lad. But you are here. And me—I’m always here. So here’s where we are. Which ushers me right along to my next question.” He paced over to a lounge table near the big observation window pointing a thoughtful finger in the air and said, “Why are you here, hmm? I take it your motives are perfectly ulterior. So …” he turned to face them and said, “why?”