Hunter

by Sharon Partington

  She’d braided her cobalt hair into a single plait that fell over her left shoulder, tying it with bit of red twine. Gold flecks danced in her wide-set violet eyes, and a thin scar decorated her right cheek, running from just below her eye to the corner of her mouth. Her skin had a faintly blue metallic cast, like polished steel. The result of years spent living in the Androsian system’s ulenium rich atmosphere. I wouldn’t call her beautiful, exactly, but she had an interesting face. One that some men might consider attractive.

  “You did a good job putting me back together. Are you a physician?”

  “No, but my home world is at war. I’ve seen my share of laser and plasma weapon injuries.”

  “You’re Androsian.”

  “Yes,” she looked at me. “Have you been to the Androsian system?”

  “Once. A long time ago. What brought you here?”

  Wynn shrugged. “The Rigian system may be awash in corruption, but it’s safer than living in a war zone.”

  “True that. Have you lived here a long time?”

  “Six or seven years.”

  “And you live alone?”

  “My husband is here, when his schedule permits.”

  “Right. He’s been a busy boy what with the campaign and all. Looks like you’re the new First Lady of the Rigian System.”

  “It would appear so.”

  “Try to control your enthusiasm,” I said with a small smile.

  She shrugged. “I might live among them, but the Rigians are not my people, and becoming President was Vance’s dream, never mine. I would have been quite content to remain the wife of a respected academic.”

  “But Vance had other ideas?”

  “My husband is a visionary. A man of great courage and principle. He doesn’t suffer injustice easily. It’s one of the things that first attracted me to him.”

  “I’ve read the press. He’s the mighty hero who’s going to rescue the Rigians from the evil Guilds. A pretty neat trick if he can pull it off.”

  “You must think so, since you spared his life.”

  Touché.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Is there nothing you believe in? No great cause that inspires you?”

  I smiled at the hint of defiance in her voice. “Once, maybe. Not anymore.”

  “That’s unfortunate, every man should have a dream. I think we can leave the dressing off now,” she said, “You appear to be healing quite well.”

  She helped me on with my shirt, then gathered up the old dressing and bandages, dropping them into the basin and carrying them to the counter. “I’m going to the market.” She picked up her bag from the couch. “Is there anything you need?”

  “I don’t think so, thanks.”

  “Will you be all right until I get back?”

  I patted the rifle. “I’ll be fine.”

  She left, and I stared at the door for a long time, trying to figure out her relationship with Delaren.

  Trying to remember who she reminded me of and where I’d seen her before. I shook my head, closing my eyes in frustration.

  Give it up, Gage. It’s not important and none of your business anyway.

  ◆◆◆

  I woke, instincts screaming. Something had pulled me out of a dreamless sleep, and I lay very still as I tried to work out what it was. My hand reached for the rifle, the stock tucked against my side under the light blanket. Moonlight filtered through the windows, casting pale silver bars across the walls and floor. Wynn slept on the couch across the room.

  Muffled voices and footsteps came from the hallway outside. I waited for them to pass by and continue on up the stairs. They didn’t.

  The lock rattled.

  Delaren returning? Forgot his key, maybe?

  The door blew open as the lock disintegrated in a burst of laser fire.

  Yeah. Definitely not Delaren.

  I fired the rifle one handed without taking the time to aim, the muzzle flash erupted like a blue-white star burst as I took out one of the figures in the doorway.

  Wynn screamed, and I grabbed the edge of the narrow cot, ignoring the pain that exploded through my damaged stomach as I rolled onto the floor, flipping it onto its side. I hissed as sticky wetness seeped through my shirt.

  Fuck. I hope that’s not as bad as it feels.

  I glanced over the top of the bed. A burst of laser fire struck the wall behind me, and I ducked back. Apparently the Guilds had sorted out the blood trail in that alley.

  I peered carefully over the top of the bed. The shooter stood in the shadows to the left of the couch. He held Wynn in front of him like a shield, his gun to her throat. He didn’t present me with much of a target; it would be next to impossible to hit him without going through her.

  Where the hell were Delaren’s men? I thought she was never unguarded?

  “Let her go,” I called.

  The man barked a laugh. “I don’t think so. Come out where I can see you, or she dies right here.”

  I hesitated a moment, considering my options. There weren’t many, and none at all that didn’t end with Wynn dead if I played this wrong. I stood slowly, blood dripping from the hem of my shirt as I held the rifle away from my body—pain made it hard for me to stand completely straight. Wynn had her eyes closed as she clutched the arm holding the gun.

  “Drop the cannon,” the shooter growled.

  “She’s not the one the Guilds want.” I grit my teeth as I slowly placed the rifle on the floor. “Let her go, and you can still get out of this alive.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Confusion? His gaze flitted to the door then back to me. “She’s mine.”

  The downstairs door banged open, and footsteps thundered up the stairs. Wynn wrenched herself free, and his shot sizzled over my left shoulder as I dived for the rifle and brought it up firing. I hit him square in the chest, blowing him backwards into the wall as Delaren’s men burst into the room.

  The lights came on, and I blinked in the sudden brilliance. There was blood everywhere. His. Mine. Jesus, what a mess.

  The shooter lay crumpled against the wall, his partner lay on the landing outside the door. Both of them dead. Both of them Androsian.

  One of Delaren’s men helped a trembling Wynn to her feet while two more prepared to carry the dead men out. My eyes narrowed as I glimpsed the tattoo visible on the shooter’s hand: a snake, coiled around a lightning bolt.

  Where had I seen that emblem before?

  “Are you all right?” Rolan, Delaren’s chief of security knelt next to me.

  Jesus, asshole. Do I look all right?

  “Not really, no. I think you might need to work on your timing.”

  Rolan scowled. “I’ll get someone to patch you back up.”

  Gee, thanks.

  Delaren’s voice came from the hallway. Wynn gave a whimpering sob and rushed into the President’s embrace. He held her, murmuring soothing words into her hair.

  He looked from the dead men to me. Was that relief I saw in his eyes? Or fear.

  “You will leave Rigis Prime at midnight tomorrow. My men will take you to your ship.”

  I closed my eyes.

  You’re bloody welcome.

  ◆◆◆

  My ship stood, refueled and ready, as the hover-car approached the landing field. The shack that served as the office sat dark and silent as we pulled into the compound; it looked to be deserted. I wondered how much Delaren had paid to make sure it stayed that way until after I was gone. The hover-car stopped and the rear passenger side door slid open. I climbed out, Delaren followed.

  “Coming to see me off?” I asked.

  “You’re a dangerous man. As the President of the Rigian System, I’m responsible for the safety and security of her citizens. By personally supervising your departure, I’m only doing my duty.”

  I chuckled. “Right.”

  He paused. “I owe you a great deal. Forgive me if I say I hope I never see you again.”

  I slipped on my mirrored lenses
. “Just don’t make me regret my choice.”

  He offered me his hand. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”

  I grasped the offered hand then walked up the gangway and into the ship. The door slid shut and sealed behind me. I entered the cockpit, settling into the pilot’s seat—the pre-flight check took less than five minutes.

  Delaren stood, alone, in the compound, watching. I powered up the engines and lifted into the Rigian night, watching him fade into the darkness as I climbed.

  I breathed a long overdue sigh of relief. In a few short hours I’d be free of this bloody system and its new president.

  And, if I was really lucky, I’d never have to come back here again.

  Chapter 3

  My home, if you can call it that, is a two room suite on the outer circle of the Jaraslad Space Station—the roughest, rowdiest, kick-ass station in the galaxy. It’s nothing fancy, mostly just a place to crash between jobs, and I pay a lot of money to access a highly illegal, highly secure, encrypted message center that brings me my various assignments. I’ve managed to accumulate a small fortune over the years—whoever coined the phrase “crime doesn’t pay” obviously never killed people for a living. I could probably afford a private villa on the outrageously exclusive Rhysian satellite of Aldamar, but like I said, I’m a very low maintenance killer. Jaraslad suits me fine.

  The station sits on the outer edge of the Dorani sector. About as far from Earth as I could get while still being in the same galaxy. Once a Galactic Security Force listening post, it had been abandoned when logistics and distance made it too difficult to maintain. Most of the business conducted on and around the station was considerably less than legal, and it was home to a plethora of drug runners, smugglers, mercenaries, and low life criminal assholes of every race and planetary origin. I’d become very familiar with most of them, forged alliances, and done the occasional favor for a few. The Dorani Sector Security Force dropped in occasionally, but for the most part, Station security was the closest thing to ‘law’ that Jaraslad knew, and most of those could be counted on to look the other way if the price was right.

  I woke to the same blinking green light I had ignored the night before—the one that said I had a message waiting. The voice caught me off guard, it belonged to the one person I never expected to hear from again.

  “Hi, Gage. I know it’s been awhile, but my dad wants to see you. He says it’s important. Meet me in the Orion Bar and we can talk. It’ll be good to see you again. Bye.”

  I played the message again, studying the holographic image closely. The blonde hair was shorter than I remembered, but apart from that Gina Briani hadn’t changed much. She was still as beautiful as ever.

  We’d meant something to each other once. Our relationship had been as stormy as it was passionate, and despite our best efforts, it had eventually self-destructed. I hadn’t heard from her in over a year and now, suddenly, her dad wanted to see me?

  The debt I owed master smuggler Antonio Briani had been repaid years ago. What could he want from me now?

  I ran a quick check of the station’s shipping logs—Bellissima had been docked on the lower rings for over a month. The Tony Briani I knew would never spend that long tied to a space station when there was money to be made elsewhere.

  My instincts twitched as I played Gina’s message a third time.

  Meet me in the Orion Bar and we can talk.

  Talk about what, exactly?

  ◆◆◆

  The Orion Bar was a cheap knockoff of a twenty-first century Terran nightclub, so tacky it made my teeth ache. It was also one of the few places on Jaraslad where weapons were banned, which made it the ideal place for smugglers and black marketeers to hammer out their various working relationships without killing each other. The only exceptions to this rule were station security people and legitimate law enforcement personnel.

  Rachmar, the Arconian bouncer, stood guard at the door. He looked like an imposing cross between a twelve foot tall grizzly bear and a wild boar, his curved, black tusks decorated with gold and silver rings. I held my jacket open as D’Lal, his Dorani assistant, ran a hand scanner up and down my body looking for illicit arms. No bells. No sirens. Satisfied that I’d left my guns at home, Rachmar flashed a welcoming grimace, extended one of his eleven-inch claws, and drew the neon orange, beaded curtain aside so I could enter.

  Blue smoke hovered in the air, and a rainbow strobe reflected off of the three-foot glitter ball hanging from the mirrored ceiling. It cast flickering patterns across the dance floor, illuminating alien and human shapes gyrating to the thundering beat of a Soldian Rabble Band.

  I shouldered my way to an empty table in the corner and sat with my back to the wall and a relatively unobstructed view of the door. It was still early enough that the music level was semi-manageable; in another hour it would be loud enough to stop your heart and make your ears bleed. The scent of dream crystals and the sound of female laughter drifted from a private, curtained area to the left of the bar. A waitress emerged bearing a tray filled with empty glasses. Apparently Korsin Diharryn, the Lyrian bar-owner, was entertaining this evening.

  My gaze swept the crowded club. Gray and blue uniforms moved through the smoke. Dorani Sector Security Forces. There were a lot of them. A twinge of caution flashed through me. One drink. If Gina didn’t show, I was gone.

  My favorite Lyrian waitress sauntered over to my table. The Lyrians are a feline people, and Kayla was one very pretty kitty. Dressed in tight red leather cut to accommodate her three-foot long Persian cat tail, her black and white streaked hair hung in an intricately braided rope over her right shoulder. Her pointed ears twitched, and she balanced her empty tray on her hip as her green, feline eyes studied me with amusement. “Why do you insist on wearing those shades inside?”

  I smiled. “They keep me from being blinded by your beauty.”

  She laughed. “Sweet talker. Rigian Liquor, right? Straight up, no ice?”

  “Ah, Kayla, you know me too well.”

  She flashed a seductive smile. “Not yet,” she purred. “But I’d like to.”

  “So what’s with all the DSS goons?”

  She rolled her eyes. “They probably just enjoy letting us scruffy peons know they’re in charge. I’ll be back in a flash with that drink.”

  I watched the sway of her hips as she made her way back to the bar.

  My, but a man could get into a whole lot of trouble with a woman like that.

  Anxiety fluttered in my gut and my eyes strayed to the curtained doorway whenever someone entered or left. Gina’s message had awakened feelings in me that I thought I’d purged from my system long ago. During our time together I’d never told her how deep those feelings ran. The words “I love you” had never been spoken out loud by either of us. Still, I liked to think they might have been, if we’d given each other the chance.

  The beaded curtain parted and my heart lurched a little as she came in. The holo-image hadn’t done her justice. The white silk blouse and tight jeans accented curves my memory hadn’t completely erased. She smiled when she saw me—a sexy half-smile that spoke volumes. I watched her approach. The club might have been empty and silent for all the attention I paid to my surroundings, and I could have been dead a dozen times over.

  “I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up,” she said.

  The spell was broken and the music and chaos rushed back in. An avalanche of reality that took me a little by surprise.

  “Hey, Gina.”

  She wore the same perfume, sultry and soft, a mix of jasmine and linaea. Blue eyes watched me with amusement as she pulled out a chair and sat down. “You’re staring.”

  I grinned and shrugged. “You’re beautiful.”

  The compliment pleased her. Gina always did like a man who could stroke her ego.

  “So, it’s been a while,” she said. “How’ve you been?”

  “I’m still alive.”

  “In your line of work, that would b
e a plus.”

  Kayla brought my drink, and Gina handed her a silver credit chip. “Nothing, thanks. But the Hunter’s drink is on me.”

  I offered a small toast. “Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. So, word is you had a few job related issues on Rigis Prime.”

  “News travels fast. Is that why you asked me here? So we can talk about my trouble with the Guilds?”

  “Maybe,” she gave me a playful smile. “Maybe I missed you.”

  What was it she missed, exactly? The power struggles? The manipulation? The way we tried to out maneuver each other?

  “Yeah, that must be it.”

  Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I know you better than that. I haven’t heard word one from you in over a year, so let’s cut the bullshit, okay? You want something, what is it?”

  “Not me. My dad.”

  “Whoever.”

  A flicker of something flashed in her eyes. Hurt? Guilt? It was there and gone so quickly I couldn’t be sure. She reached for my hand, turning it over to caress the palm before twining her fingers through mine. “I know we had our moments, but it wasn’t all bad, was it?”

  There was a sad sort of wistfulness to her voice, and I felt my defenses crumble. Damn, even knowing her as well as I did, she could still get to me.

  “I guess we did have our share of good times. Just not a big enough share to keep us together.”

  She shifted her gaze to our twined hands. “I have to admit, I was a little freaked when my dad asked me to contact you.” She offered a wry smile. “I almost told him ‘no’.”

  Right. That would have gone over well. Nobody ever said “no” to Antonio Briani.

  “Our last time together, you’d made it pretty clear you never wanted to see me again,” she continued.

  “Ancient history.” I really didn’t want to revisit that particular pain again; the first time through had been bad enough. The music changed, the heart-stopping, head-banger shit replaced by something mellower and a little more melodic. I withdrew my hand and reached for my drink. “So. Tony wants to see me. What for?”