By the time they hit the central crossing, Ro and Cray had decided to hit the alleyways for their flavors, and Bacthar had gotten off on the market street to replace his missing supplies. Since Tech and Billy Don’t stayed at their usual post on the ship, Reht was left with his loyal first mate and Vaughn. If somebody didn’t keep an eye on the ex-con, he usually wound up incarcerated, but he was acting so twitchy that Reht preferred to do it himself.
“Look, that’s Klex’s old joint,” Reht said as they whizzed past the red light district, its shady buildings glowing with advertisements for the hottest girls. Mom grumbled, unhappy to pass by their old enemy’s territory.
“This place never changes, only the players,” Reht said as a shootout broke out across the street. Their lift operator seemed unaffected as he veered around the corner to the Strip.
“Ahhh, now I’m home,” Reht said. Streetwalkers clumped around the entrances to each bar, their pimps keeping watch from the balconies of the cheap hotels that sat on each joint. Reht waved to the ladies as their lift touched down in front of Suba House.
“Hey, big guy,” one of the painted ladies said, throwing her hips out towards him. Her dark hair and blue eyes reminded him of Triel. “How about a little fun tonight?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Reht chuckled as he plucked a hundred in cash from Mom’s satchel and tucked it into his pocket.
In the back of his mind stirred an uneasy question: Why aren’t I missing Starfox? It hasn’t even been more than a day...
When he put any thought to it, only a vague, emotionless memory of the Healer drifted by.
(I should feel something—grief, anger, longing—shouldn’t I?) a strangled voice inside him cried.
I feel nothing, he thought, walking toward the painted ladies. His passion for Triel, a force that had once pulled him out of his pursuit of the most dangerous game, had completely dissipated. Free of that, he found himself drawn away by the same undercurrents that had once taken him too close to the edge. (Just like after my parents were killed.)
Reht looked at his bandaged hands, imagining the scars through the ragged cloth and laughed. “I’m going to have a good time tonight, aren’t I?”
As he slung his arm around one of the painted ladies, she gave him a slick smile. He saw the devious glint her eyes, but didn’t care. The animal scent under the sweet smell of her perfume ignited his loins, and sense and caution dissolved.
“I missed you, darling,” he said to the painted lady. “What was your name again?”
“You can call me Tracey,” she whispered in his ear as she led him down the stairs and into the Suba House bar. Mom followed reluctantly, snapping his jaw at the streetwalkers that tried to offer him their services.
Suba House, owned by human descendants of Earth’s Asian continent and Nahvari investors from the borderworlds, dazzled with terrestrial and otherworldly cultural fusions. Paper lamps and gold-painted dragons dangled from the ceiling while entertainers plucked stringed instruments and geishas worked the floor. The Nahvari influence revealed itself in the choice of radiant colors and the communal pipes that vaporized strong-smelling herbs.
Reht allowed Tracey to lead him to one of the private booths as Nahvari dancers, covered in blue and red paint, gyrated across the center stage.
“Fifty hard cash gets you topside, five hundred gets you full service,” she said, grinding on his lap. She playfully bit his ear as her hands slid under his jacket. “But I’ll give it to you for three hundred. Don’t get them as cute as you very often.”
“Well, how sweet,” he said, pulling on her hair, bending her backwards, making her chest pop out of her corset.
Mom pulled up the curtain to their booth and growled at the girl.
“Get out,” Reht growled back. “That ain’t funny, mate.”
The giant Talian motioned toward the empty space beside him.
“Chak,” Reht said, seeing that Vaughn had disappeared. “Well, you don’t need me to go find him, do you?” Reht said as the call girl ran her tongue down his neck.
With another insistent growl, Mom pulled open his empty satchel, showing that the ex-con had lifted their cash.
“Ratchakker,” Reht cursed, shoving the girl off and making a break for the exit.
She yelped, falling over into the other side of the booth and cracking her head. “That prick is jacking me,” she screamed to the bouncer guarding the front door.
Before the bouncer had a chance to aim, the Talian dropped his claws and sliced right through his gun. Frightened, the other bouncer backed off, raising his hands. Reht caught the barkeep reaching for his firearm and whipped out his handgun.
“Get down!” someone shouted.
The musicians stopped playing their instruments and the dancers took cover behind the stage. Some of the customers sought the protection of their booths while other reached for their weapons.
“Hey—this ain’t a fight,” Reht said, raising his other hand. “It’s all cool, brothers.”
“We were dealin’!” Tracey said, pulling her shirt back over her breasts.
“We were just talking, baby,” Reht said.
“You got a lot of nerve, ratchakker. You pay to talk around here,” the barkeep said.
“I said it’s cool, right? Let’s keep it that way,” he said, backing out of the door as his Talian covered him.
“Don’t ever let me catch you, kunéndo!” the barkeep screamed as the double doors closed.
“Atmosphere was good. Bad service,” Reht commented, returning the handgun to its holster under his jacket.
Back on the street, Reht took the first corner and wound his way through the alleys until he was sure that he and his first mate had put sufficient distance between them and any interested parties from Suba House.
“Something is definitely wrong with Headcase,” Reht said. He leaned against a brick building and caught his breath. “Where do you think he went?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the street ahead, grumbling to himself.
“Yeah,” Reht said, rewrapping the bandage on his left hand as he thought it over. “That bastard could be anywhere.”
Because of the rehabilitation methods of the prison systems, the ex-con wouldn’t use drugs, wasn’t interested in gambling, and was even less interested in sex. But there were still one thing that got Vaughn to react—violence. And in Aeternyx, the city of sins, any and every pleasure could be found.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Reht said, seeing the scowl on Mom’s face. “But he’s the best navigations officer we’ve had, and he’s saved our assinos too many times to count.”
Mom glowered at him.
“Fair enough. But let me have a piece of him before you eat his face, alright?”
Reht heard shouts coming from the alley and figured the bouncers from Suba had caught up to them.
“Hey, up there,” Reht said, pointing to the cement building up ahead. A solitary lamp illuminated plated metal doors as slow-moving hovercars with tinted windows cased the street.
The area is relatively quiet, so it’s either a safehouse or a dealer’s warehouse, Reht guessed, neither of which he would have minded patronizing right then.
“Come on,” Reht said, running across the street with Mom close behind.
“Yo,” he said, rapping on the door. “Can’t a guy have some fun around here?”
The eyehole winked open and someone peered back. “You, but not your muscle.”
“What, him?” Reht said, slapping the Talian on the chest. “He’s a lamb. Let us in.”
“No chance, ratchakker.”
Reht remembered the hundred he had stuffed in his pocket. “Good enough?”
The door locks turned over, and the bouncer snatched the hard cash from his hand, looking them over carefully. “What business you have in here anyway? You don’t look like hunters.”
The pursuant shouting grew closer, the static runoff of the phase rifles echoing in the alleyways.
&
nbsp; This is gonna get messy if we don’t get in fast, Reht thought, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Think quick. This assino mentioned ‘hunters,’ so this shitbox is probably a bounty post.
Reht grinned. Maybe they could pick up a job, get them back on their feet. And if they had a big enough payoff, then maybe he could hire a decent pilot.
“Isn’t that all the better?” Reht said, shouldering his way past the bouncer.
The bouncer looked like he would retaliate, but he eyed the Talian and backed off.
“This ain’t pretty,” Reht whispered as they entered the killing floor.
Looking around, Reht recognized the violent markers of the brutal world of bounty posts: A sparsely outfitted room with poor lighting and a single bar tap in the corner with no attendant. Overturned tables and broken glass littering the floors, and smears of blood, both old and fresh, painting the ruined walls. A few dog-soldiers and hunters milled around a beaten Sentient who lay on the floor with blood spilling from his mouth and the wounds on his chest. Whatever he was trying to say came out in gurgles. Soon he was quiet, his body limp.
“Looks like we missed all the fun,” Reht said under his breath.
Stepping closer, Reht saw that the dead man was a Toork, a large, lumbering beast of a Sentient who would give any challenger, even a Talian, a hell of a fight. It was unusual to see one taken down, especially without guns.
Reht glanced around to see who had been daft enough to challenge, and somehow manage to kill, a Toork.
A mixed-breed outerworlder with midnight skin and glowing eyes pointed at Reht and Mom. “What the hell you looking at, pretty boy?”
Reht’s trigger finger compulsively flexed, but he gave off only a shrug. The last thing he wanted to do was upset an alien the size of Mom with huge, gauged piercings spearing his body from head to toe.
“Leave them alone,” a voice said, dead and hollow. “They’re with me.”
Shocked, Reht took a step back as Vaughn, splattered with blood and knife in hand, worked his way out from behind the crowd.
“Holy...” Reht whispered. Unaccustomed to anything but the ex-con’s usual stupor, Reht could not reconcile the violent need in Vaughn’s eyes, or the way he licked the blood off his lips with distinct satisfaction.
As Vaughn moved toward them, Reht eyed potential exits, taking solace in the slick sound of Mom’s unsheathing claws.
“You or him in charge?”
Reht eyed the fellow who spoke. Short and squat, he carried a machete on his waistband and a chip on his shoulder.
I’ve never seen a native of Aeternyx, he thought, studying the man’s heavily scarred, ghostly-white skin. Eyes, red and translucent, seemed to burn right through him. Especially one with such intense albinism.
The fires in Vaughn’s eyes disappeared, and he spoke in his usual monotone: “He’s my captain.”
Still in shock, Reht barely took his sights off Vaughn to glance again at the short fellow. “What’s it to you?”
“I run the bounty board in these parts. Your boy just won the rights to the highest-payin’ gig in three systems,” the albino said.
“Is that right?” Reht said, finally realizing what Vaughn had done. That crazy bastard jacked my cash to buy in to the fight for the highest-paying bounty. What the hell? As long as Reht knew the ex-con, Vaughn had never acted aggressively unless provoked or directed.
I still want to slit his throat, he thought. Then again—this is one hell of a bounty.
“How much is it?” he asked.
“Two million—in hard cash.”
“Chak,” Reht chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “Gorsh-shit.”
Vaughn stood before him, blood still dripping from his hands and knife, eyes vacant and emotionless. Reht cautiously approached him, keeping an eye on the knife.
“Why’d you go and do this, Headcase?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Vaughn whispered, dropping his gaze to his feet.
“He’s quite the fighter. I never, ever seen no humanlike take down a Toork. Best fight in decades,” the albino man said, kicking the Toork in the head. It bobbled back and forth, a pink tongue lolling out of one of the Toork’s mouths.
“Next bid is in twenty, boys—get ready,” the albino said, motioning for Reht to follow him.
The albino man led them into a back office where a young girl, probably no more than fifteen, sat half-naked on his desk. She wore only enough clothing to cover her most coveted areas, but the black netting didn’t leave much to the imagination.
“Time for play?” she asked, giggling as she spied Reht, Mom and Vaughn.
The albino slapped her on the butt and jabbed his thumb at the door. “Business, sweetie. Go wait for me upstairs.”
Reht tried not to stare as the young girl walked out, her undeveloped hips swaying side to side, small breasts bouncing up and down.
“Where do you get them that young?” Reht asked as the albino shut the door.
“She’s a real Puppet from Earth,” he said, tucking his over-stretched tank top into his pants. “Got her custom-made a while back. Stays young forever, but still wears out, if you know what I mean.”
Reht raised a brow. “Custom job?”
The albino sported a smile with several missing teeth. “The Puppeteer usually don’t like you hittin’ ‘em too hard and breaking their parts, so they designed the puppets with a self-preservation program. But the maker owed me a favor and made me a special girl of my own—without limitations, if you get my drift.”
“Yeah,” Reht said, hiding his discomfort with a chuckle.
The albino sat behind a cheap wood composite desk and offered Reht, Mom and Vaughn plastic chairs. Mom, seeing it would not hold his weight, stood behind his captain. Already uncomfortable, Reht eyed the old clock radio on the desk playing metallic core music and wished he could chuck it across the room.
“Name?” the albino asked.
“Jagger. Yours?”
The albino looked him up and down. “As in Reht Jagger, captain of the Wraith?”
Reht nodded.
The albino seemed to think it over before responding. “Ash.”
Placing a dataclip into the feeder drive, the albino accessed the terminal mounted on his desk. “Well, this bounty is probably of particular interest to you. I heard she hates you. Wants you dead.”
Reht took the dataclip Ash slid across the table and studied it.
“Collect information on the activities of former dog-soldier Diawn Arkiam,” Reht read aloud. “What the hell? That’s it?”
Ash leaned back in his chair. “That’s it.”
“Who posted this bounty on her?”
“It came through a few channels, so it’s hard to trace.”
“Your best guess,” Reht said, leaning forward in his chair and flashing his incisors.
Ash looked unaffected. “Best guess is that since this is a high-paying bounty, it’s best not to ask too many questions.”
Mom’s low, disapproving growl didn’t prevent the gears in Reht’s mind from turning. Diawn has probably found a way to make a lot of money, and it’s most likely pissing off one of her competitors. And since it’s not a kill or capture bounty, someone is being careful about knowing her connections first.
“How do you know Di, friend?” Reht asked.
The albino snorted. “Are you kidding? Who doesn’t?”
Reht didn’t know how to take that. “What?”
“Look,” Ash said, unhooking his machete from his belt and placing it on his desk. “You want this bounty? I have about a dozen other guys who are ready to rip each other’s throats out for this chance.”
Reht thought it over. “How much you make with buy-ins and fights, without even including your share of the bounty?”
Ash grinned. “Enough.”
“Looks like I got in the wrong biz.”
The albino scrawled a name on a piece of paper and handed it to Reht. “This is a friend of
mine who knows the area better than anyone and can probably get you headed in the right direction. She’s vicious, so watch your assinos. Most likely she’s got eyes out for hunters. Well, and the likes of you.”
“Right,” Reht said, putting the piece of paper in his pocket. He didn’t like the way the albino said that.
“Hey,” Reht added, “I need a cash advance. I lost my pilot, as you know.”
The albino pulled a roll of hundreds out of his pants pocket and casually tossed it to Reht. “Thirty percent return on that, plus twenty percent of your take.”
“Go chak yourself,” Reht said.
The albino smiled again. Light reflected off the metal studs that capped the last of his teeth. “Don’t chak with the wrong people, Jagger. Your Talian won’t always be enough, you know.”
He saw Mom dropping his claws and held up his hand.
“Twenty percent return on the loan, fifteen percent of the take—plus I’ll throw in something special. Something for a man of your appetites, yes? Something fresh.”
The albino licked his lips. “Done.”
As Reht left the bounty post with his first mate and navigations officer, he couldn’t shake an unsettling feeling. This seems way too chakking coincidental. But the idea of two million hard cash drew him in too deep to reevaluate.
“Hey Mom—don’t worry,” he said, knowing his first mate’s reservations. “We’ll keep it tight.”
“And Vaughn,” Reht said, elbowing the nav’s officer. “I’ll slit your throat next time you jack me.”
“I didn’t want to. They told me to,” Vaughn whispered.
Reht snorted. “Who told you?”
He didn’t answer.
Forgetting that Vaughn had just butchered a Toork, Reht grabbed the ex-con by the collar and slammed him up against the brick wall of the nearest building. “Boy, you are lucky I still need you.”
Vacant eyes stared back at him, unreactive to his aggression.
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