Last Fight

by S. J. Bryant

  "Don't be too harsh on the boy," Mackay said. "He's just a bounty hunter."

  "And not a very bright one at that," Jonas said.

  Aart's gaze flew to the medic, only then noticing that Jonas hadn't moved from his seat by the fire. In fact, his feet rested on a second chair, up near the flames, and he continued to sip from Delia's flask.

  "Jonas—"

  Jonas tilted the flask to Aart and drank.

  "I don't understand," Aart said.

  "Don't feel too bad about Jonas," Mackay said. "He's a tricky bastard."

  "Thanks, boss," Jonas said.

  "But you helped me escape," Aart said. "You wanted to get away from the plantation. You wanted—"

  Jonas rolled his eyes and gestured to Mackay. "See what I've had to put up with?"

  "It's very simple, Aart," Mackay said. "You've done the job I asked you to; you found Delia."

  "I was trying to reunite her with her father."

  Mackay shrugged. "Means to an end, boy. Here's your money, and your ship is parked east of here." He tossed a cred-stick at Aart, who caught it by reflex.

  Thoughts collided in Aart's head. Jonas, Mackay, Delia; nothing was what it seemed.

  "You took money to find us?" Delia said. "Do you have any idea what they'll do to us? We'll be lucky if they kill us!"

  "What? No! No, I didn't get paid for that. I thought you were in trouble. He told me he was your father, worried about you. I never knew… and I had nothing to do with leading them here!"

  "I may have helped with that." Jonas dug into his pocket and pulled out a chip.

  "But I removed it… I threw it away."

  "That was a fake; sorry, buddy. If it's any consolation, it hurt like hell when you pulled it out."

  "I trusted you!" Nausea rolled through Aart's stomach. It was his fault. These people, and Delia, had been days from freedom and he'd led the enforcers straight to them. He spun in a tight circle but enforcers surrounded him, interspersed with the desperate faces of the workers. He felt like an animal caught in a trap.

  "Go on then," Mackay said.

  "But—" Aart said. "I didn't do this for the enforcers! I wanted to reunite Delia with her father."

  "The why of it doesn't really matter, does it?"

  "It matters to me!"

  "Look, boy, you did your job. Now go."

  Aart's hands clenched into fists. He couldn't just leave, it was his fault these people were trapped again; they would have been free without him. "What you're doing is wrong! The shed, you force them to fight, you illegally extend their contracts."

  Mackay's expression darkened. "I didn't pay you to tell me what was right. I paid you to find Delia. Now go on."

  "Why target me?" Delia said. "People have escaped before. Why me?"

  "You're valuable. When you're in the shed there is a waiting list! Do you know what that's worth?"

  Delia's hands clenched into fists and she shook her head. "You bastard. Take me then, leave the rest of them alone."

  "Oh, I don't think so. Too many people have escaped over the years. It's time to put a stop to it, once and for all."

  "What are you going to do?" Aart said. "These are good people."

  "They're fugitives who didn't stick to their contracts. They'll be taken to the plantation to serve out their time, plus penalty."

  Aart shook his head. He wasn't a complete idiot, there was no way Mackay and his enforcers would let these workers get away from Raster—no matter what their contracts said.

  "No." Aart stepped toward Mackay and three enforcers leveled their guns at him.

  "Listen very carefully," Mackay said. "You've caused me more trouble than you're worth. I've had to step in to stop you from getting killed a handful of times; now that you've done what I wanted, I won't do it again."

  "You're the one, the boss, you stopped them from shooting me when I tried to get over the fence the first time." It couldn't be true… Aart couldn't owe his life to this monster. And yet, it was 'the boss' who'd stopped him from getting killed in the shed as well, twice. It would have been better if he had died there, at least then he wouldn't have led the enforcers to these innocent people.

  "But I don't need you anymore," Mackay said. "If you don't get out of my way right now, I'll kill one of them, or you; I haven't decided."

  "What?" Aart's stomach turned and bile rose in his throat.

  "He's got a soft spot for that one," Jonas said and gestured at Gin with the flask.

  "Good." Mackay snatched Gin's collar and hauled him off the ground.

  Gin's legs kicked in the air and he stared at Aart with wide, begging eyes.

  "No!" Aart lifted a hand toward Gin.

  Mackay pressed the barrel of a handgun against Gin's temple. "Leave now, or I kill the boy."

  Aart gaped.

  "You have your money, now go."

  "But—"

  "Three."

  Aart glanced at Delia and then back at Gin. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

  Delia glared at him, her nostrils flared, and Aart suspected that if she'd had a gun she would have shot him herself.

  "Two."

  Aart back-stepped, tripped on a rock, and sprawled backward. He landed hard on his spine but he kept crawling across the clearing and into the trees.

  "You even think of coming back, and I'll make you regret it. You did the job, you got paid, now leave." Mackay's voice echoed through the trees.

  Aart kept crawling until the light from the clearing faded away, only then did he risk getting to his feet. The scent of blood trailed after him and he heard screams. A gunshot rang through the trees and Aart flinched.

  Who had the enforcers killed? Please, not Gin.

  Aart's throat closed over and tears blurred his vision. He hadn't brought a flashlight so he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of his face, but he stumbled on regardless. He couldn't go back, couldn't even risk Mackay catching a glimpse of him, in case he decided to take it out on the other workers.

  Aart staggered between the trees, his feet caught on roots every few steps and threw him to the ground. The impacts jarred his injured bones but he relished in the pain, it was no less than he deserved.

  Because of him, the workers would never get free of Raster. Because of him, Gin, Delia, and all the others would probably be killed.

  Idiot! What had he done?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Aart stumbled through the trees for what felt like hours. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. It was his fault; all those people would be sent back to the plantation because of him.

  His foot caught on a tree root and he sprawled forward through a thick bush whose branches left scrapes across his arms. He landed on his stomach on a patch of grass but couldn't bring himself to get up. What was he supposed to do now?

  He stared down at the cred-stick clutched in his fist. No amount of money would have made him betray those people. If he'd just known…

  He shoved himself up onto his knees and leaned back to hurl the cred-stick away. Instead of trees, he found himself looking out over a wide, open field. The forest lay behind him, and grass spread out before him, swaying beneath the moon's glow.

  He faltered and his arm dropped back to his side.

  A short distance away sat his ship. Its metal hull reflected the moonlight and stood out against the waving grass.

  Aart sighed and lurched to his feet then trudged toward his ship. The door clicked open when he got close, and he hauled himself up into the cramped interior.

  The familiar smell of mold with an undercurrent of burning plastic surrounded him. Lights flicked on as he entered, artificial and bright after the darkness outside.

  His shoulders scraped against the sides of the ship as he dragged himself into the command chair and sat. He pulled his knees up beneath his chin and stared out of the front screen.

  He should have been happy to be back inside his ship, his home. Now he could leave the wretched planet and
never look back. But he couldn't.

  "You have five new messages," the ship said.

  Aart jumped at the sudden voice. "Oh, play."

  "Aart? It's Tyra. I've just finished the job I mentioned and I'm ready for that drink. Call me."

  "Hey, Aart, you still haven't called me back. Have you lost yourself on Vix or something? Call me."

  "Aart, I'm starting to get worried. It's been two weeks and no one has heard from you."

  "Aart? Where the hell are you?"

  "Cosmic craphole, Aart! What have you got into?"

  "End messages," the ship said.

  Aart sagged into his chair. Tyra had been looking for him, but what was he supposed to say to her? She'd probably kill him for taking a risky job without backup.

  "Call Tyra," he said.

  The screen flashed and then Tyra's pale face filled it. "Aart!"

  "Hey, Tyra."

  "Do you know how worried I've been? I've left you a hundred messages, I asked everyone I know. I even went back to Ipheron! Where have you been?"

  "It's a long story."

  "Well thanks to you, I haven't taken on any new jobs so I've got the time."

  Aart sighed and tossed the cred-stick up onto the control panel. It rolled to a stop against the glass. "I took a job."

  "And?"

  "I made a mess of it, Tyra. I screwed up."

  Some of the rage left Tyra's face, and she leaned back in her chair. "Tell me."

  Aart told her everything, from seeing the job, to going to Snoth, to the shed, and how he'd led the enforcers straight to Delia and the others.

  "I'm an idiot," he said.

  "Yes, you are. I can't believe you took a job like that when you knew I wasn't around! You didn't even tell anyone."

  "I thought it would be easy! But now I can't believe I was so stupid. It was all right there in front of me. If Jaron was so poor that Delia had to go to Raster to make money, how would he have enough to pay a bounty like that? I'm so stupid."

  Tyra sighed. "It's okay. We all make rookie errors near the start. That's why it's always good to have a buddy to talk things through."

  "You're probably right." Aart rubbed his face. He was so tired, physically and mentally. "But I still should have seen it."

  "Why don't you come to Tabryn? I'll save a seat for you and we can talk it out over a few Blue Saturns."

  Aart glared at the cred-stick. Tyra's offer was tempting, just an hour or so and he could be with friends, drowning his sorrows. "I can't," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I can't. It's my fault they're all trapped back there. I can't just fly away and pretend it never happened."

  "Aart, this is a Confederacy run resource planet. You can't change things, you can't fight them. You'd have just as much luck going back to Goldson."

  Aart's stomach clenched. That was exactly why he couldn't leave. He'd already fled one planet and left all his friends behind; he wouldn't do it a second time. "I'm sorry, Tyra, I have to do this."

  "Dammit, Aart! At least let me come and help."

  "No, if things go badly I can't have you getting hurt."

  Tyra rolled her eyes. "Please, I've been doing this a lot longer than you. I won't be the one getting hurt."

  Aart sighed. She was right, compared to her he was still a rookie, even after three years on the job. "Okay. Clearly I need backup. I'm sending you the coordinates."

  "Good. Don't do anything until I get there."

  "Are you kidding? I'm having a nap." Aart tried to engage his usual banter, but it fell flat and his smile died before it reached his face.

  "See you soon."

  The screen went black.

  Aart drummed his fingers on the control panel. Tyra always made him feel better, and at least now he had a plan. He'd go in and he'd rescue Delia, Gin, and the others. He had to.

  He squeezed through the tight ship and pulled his bed out of the wall. His sheets lay twisted across it, just as he'd left them. It felt like a lifetime ago. He peeled off his overalls and hurled them to the floor; he'd burn them the first chance he got.

  He lay down on the hard bunk, which was still more comfortable than the filthy mattress he'd had back in the worker's hut, and fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

  ***

  Heavy thumps echoed through the ship and made it shake. Aart lurched upright, heart in his throat. If he'd missed wakeup he'd be behind on his quota and then he'd have to spend another—

  His memory caught up with him. He wasn't on the plantation anymore. He'd escaped, but it had cost the freedom of many good people.

  "Aart!" More thudding.

  Aart dragged himself to the door and threw it open. He squinted in the bright morning sun.

  "Wow," Tyra said. "You look awful."

  Aart caught a glimpse of his reflection in the metal panel beside the door and grimaced. Dark splotches surrounded his eyes and his sunken skin hugged his bones.

  "I've had a rough few weeks." He gestured for her to come inside.

  "I really don't think there's enough room for two people in there. Make yourself decent and come to my ship, it's a little roomier."

  Aart glanced at her ship, parked beside his. "Okay. Be right there."

  He staggered back inside and did his best to wash his face and pull on a clean set of clothes. By the time he stood outside he felt almost human, though his stomach rumbled.

  "You sound hungry," Tyra said.

  "Starving. You don't even want to know what I've been eating for the past weeks."

  "You're right, I don't. Food generator is there."

  Aart couldn't help a pang of jealousy. He could actually stand up straight without banging his head on the roof and Tyra had a separate room for her bunk, rather than it folding out into the hallway like his.

  "Maybe I should just steal your ship and leave you stranded here." He trudged to the food generator and pressed some buttons.

  "I'd like to see you try."

  Aart glanced up to see Tyra with an explosive clutched in her hand.

  "Ah, Tyra! Put that away."

  She grinned. "There are many more where that came from. No one would get away with stealing my ship."

  "Okay, okay, just a joke."

  The food generator dinged and Aart pulled out a steaming plate of bacon and eggs. His mouth watered and he wolfed it down without bothering to sit.

  "I hope you have some kind of plan?" Tyra said. "Because we're not going if your idea is to fly in with guns blazing."

  "No," Aart said. "I have an idea."

  "Do share."

  "The man who owns the plantation—"

  "The Confederacy man?"

  "Yes, General Haige, but he's not like most Confederacy bastards. He actually seemed to care about how the plantation is run. He doesn't know about the shed, or the enforcers changing contracts. If he knew—"

  "You really think he'd do anything to stop it?"

  "He might."

  "So what? You're going to try to find this guy and tell him?"

  "I need evidence, I need a plan. He trusts the enforcers. We need to go to the shed; people there might know where he is."

  "It's a flimsy plan."

  "I don't have anything better. Do you still want to help?"

  "As long as you don't do anything stupid. We just go in, ask some questions. We don't make ourselves stand out, and we don't start fights we can't finish."

  "Got it."

  "Good."

  "Where were you anyway?"

  Tyra frowned. "When?"

  "The secret undercover mission you went on."

  "Oh." Tyra hung her head. "That."

  "Well?"

  "I was trying to get into the Jagged Maw."

  Aart's eyes bulged. Since he'd joined the ranks of bounty hunters he'd heard legends of the Jagged Maw; a bounty hunter guild so elite, so brilliant, that only the best of the best got accepted. Most people didn't even know where it was, rumor said it was a giant spa
ce station that constantly changed location so no one could find it. "Did you get in?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Maybe they don't know what you did?"

  "They know. There's a message board; the admins are all anonymous, but everyone knows it's run by the Maw. They said I didn't do anything special."

  "What did you do?"

  "Broke a human trafficking ring."

  "But that's amazing!"

  Tyra shrugged and stared down at the floor. "Not amazing enough apparently. It's the fifth time I've tried to get in."

  Aart frowned. If someone like Tyra couldn't get into the Maw, what chance did he have?

  "They're probably right though. I heard a story about one of their recruits. She got in after just five years of being a bounty hunter! It's the current record."

  "Five years?"

  "Yep. Nova or something her name is. What a legend."

  Aart whistled. He'd been bounty hunting for almost four years and yet he felt like he'd barely started. The stories he'd heard about the Jagged Maw… he didn't think he'd be ready even after ten years of hunting.

  "Some people just have a talent, I guess," Tyra said.

  "Lucky bastards," Aart said. "But don't worry. I'm sure you'll get accepted next time."

  A smile tugged at the corners of Tyra's mouth. "Yeah, next time."

  "Who knows? Once you and I free all these people, they might accept us both!"

  Tyra chuckled. "Keep dreaming. Let's get moving; I want to be done with this job as soon as possible, especially since we're not getting paid for it."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "Hail, Blackhawk-3S, state your business."

  Tyra looked to Aart and raised an eyebrow. They'd taken her ship toward the center of the plantation and left his back in the field.

  "Um." Aart cleared his throat. "We're here for the shed."

  "How many?"

  "Two."

  "Entry fee fifty credits each."

  Tyra glared at Aart.

  "Yep, no problem," Aart said. "Transferring now."

  The credits came out of Tyra's account and she punched him in the arm.