by Rachel Aukes
“Wow. Mom told me that she couldn’t go outside when she was just a kid, but I didn’t really believe her. The way she tells it, everything was harder for her than for me. Like I have things so easy now.” He rolled his eyes.
Joe smirked. “I know you’ve got it tough, but she had it tough, too. Take it easy on her. She works hard to make things nice for the two of you.”
Nick shrugged. “I guess.”
They sat there. Nick looked up and shaded his eyes against the hot sun. “You know what I learned yesterday?”
“What’s that?”
“That the sun is a star,” the boy answered.
“Oh yeah?” Joe said, his lips curling upward.
“Yeah, and you want to know why it’s so bright?”
“Why’s that?” Joe went along with him.
“Because it’s a whole lot closer to us than other stars. The other stars are this far away from us”—he held his hands as far apart as he could manage—“and the sun is this far away.” He brought his hands so close they were nearly touching. “So, all the stars would be bright like the sun if they were closer.”
“Interesting stuff,” Joe added.
“Yeah. Did you know that the stars are out there even during the day? You just can’t see them because the sun’s so bright.” Nick frowned. “The only thing I don’t get is why we call it ‘the Sun’ instead of ‘the Star.’”
“That’s because we like to name things that are a part of our world. Just like how you named your dog Champ rather than calling her Dog all the time.”
The dog looked up at the mention of her name.
Nick laughed. “Dog is a stupid name.”
The door behind them opened, and Sara stood above them. “Come in. Nick, I want you to meet Romy.”
Nick was to his feet in a split-second, followed by Champ, who never let the boy stray out of sight; Joe entered last.
Sara stood next to Romy, who was hugging herself, looking timid. “Romy, this is my son Nick. Nick, Romy will be staying with us for a little while.”
Nick stepped up to the girl. Romy’s skin was paler than Nick’s brown skin. It was hard to believe they were the same age. Nick was at least three inches taller and twenty pounds heavier.
“Want to see my room?” he asked.
Her brow furrowed. “Wasn’t I just in there?”
“Yeah, but did you see my pellet gun?”
She shook her head.
He grinned and grabbed her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
The kids went back to Nick’s room, and Champ followed, happily wagging her tail.
“Looks like they’ll get along just fine,” Joe said.
“Let’s hope. But your sheriff friend better be working on finding a home for her.”
“Don’t worry, she is.” He didn’t mention that Val currently had her hands full trying to find hiding places and escape routes for a hundred-plus runaway slaves while avoiding Roderick Sloan’s murcs. He inhaled and raised his helmet. Before putting it on, he said, “I have to get to Haft’s to check in with Reuben. If he hasn’t heard about what happened in Clearwater yet, he’ll hear soon.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Val stood next to a small concrete shed that seemed to exist out of nowhere in the rocky landscape. A single metal door broke the smooth concrete lines. Her contact was late, over an hour late, and she began to worry that he wasn’t going to show.
“Commander Vane,” a voice called out from the dark.
She turned, startled that he had managed to sneak up on her, even though she knew he’d always been sneaky. “Step out where I can see you,” she said, holding a blaster in her hand.
A single shape walked toward her. He wore a long, black cape that seemed to melt into the night. “The years have been good to you,” he said.
“And I can’t see your face,” she said.
He reached up and lowered the hood. His smile glistened in the dark, as did the metal orb in one of his eye sockets. A scar ran down his pale skin, beginning an inch above his eyebrow, cutting it in two, skipping over his false eye, and running down his cheek to end at his chin. The skin puckered around it. When she looked at him, she focused on his metal eye rather than on his real one, knowing he saw far more through his artificial implant.
“You haven’t changed a bit, Commander Renzo. You’re as pretty as ever,” she said.
“And you’re as disrespectful as ever. But I understand why. You’ve been in these lawless lands for so long, you’ve become more like them.”
She bit her tongue. Talking back had never done her any good when it came to her commanding officer. She inhaled deeply to remain calm. “Do you have the keycard?”
He reached into his cape and pulled out a single gray card.
She reached for it, but he pulled it back.
“You understand how much we’re helping you in giving you access to an unmapped silo?” he said.
She nearly laughed. You’re only helping because somehow this benefits you. “Yes.”
He handed her the keycard. “Your refugees will be safe here.”
“Thank you,” she gritted out as she took the card. Renzo made his actions sound so generous, yet he asked for nothing less than her soul in exchange for a safe place for all the refugees. She swiped the card over the surface of the door, and a red light nearly covered by sand turned green.
Renzo smiled, though his scar only allowed half of his face to move. “No. Thank you. Zenith State welcomes your return.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Joe did not want to go to Harry Haft’s—quite the contrary—but he had to speak to Reuben before Roderick Sloan talked. When he entered the bar, he knew he was too late. Everyone went silent and turned to look at him. Well, everyone except for the drunk passed out at the bar.
Tumbler and Bolt walked toward him, both with their rifles in their grips.
“Reuben doesn’t want to talk to you,” Bolt said.
“Too bad. I need to talk to him,” Joe said.
“A hunter who turns on the client. You’re screwed, Havoc. No one will work with you again, not that you’ll live long enough to go broke. You should be running while you still have the chance,” Tumbler growled.
“Nah,” Joe said. “You would’ve shot me the moment I walked through that door if you were getting paid for it.”
Tumbler glared. “I’m looking forward to putting you down when it does.”
“Don’t try to bite off more than you can chew.” Joe cocked his head. “Then again, you do have a pretty big mouth.”
Tumbler rushed him. Joe grabbed the other man’s arm, spun around, and used his body to flip the guy over him. Tumbler landed on his back. When he moved to get up, Joe put a foot on the man’s chest and aimed his rifle at him.
“I’d stay down if I were you,” Joe cautioned.
“Let him be, Havoc,” Bolt said, his rifle pointed at the square of Joe’s back.
Joe held Tumbler down for another long second, then stepped back.
“Havoc.”
Joe turned to see Reuben standing in the doorway. The man glowered, motioned for him to come, and turned around and walked back into his office. Joe followed, and the door closed behind him, the room hushed.
“That Tumbler sure doesn’t have much of anything under his helmet except hair,” Joe said.
“That’s why he has a partner. If it wasn’t for Bolt, I’d guarantee Tumbler would have multiple tickets out on him by now. Speaking of, what the hell were you thinking in Clearwater? Based on your recent lack of judgment, I think I should’ve assigned you a partner a long time ago.”
Reuben sat behind his desk, closed his eyes, and rubbed his face. When he looked up, Joe could read the exhaustion in the young man’s features.
“I take it that Roderick Sloan already spoke with you,” Joe said.
“Surprisingly, no. Gabriel Sloan left here about an hour ago.” Reuben’s gaze hardened. “Sloan’s pulling Haft Agency’s guild ap
proval if I don’t turn you over to him by sunset today.”
“He can’t do that.”
“As the MRC administrator, he can do any damn thing he wants.”
“His brother’s running a slave farm up there in Clearwater,” Joe protested.
“That’s not our problem.”
Joe’s lips thinned. “He also has a couple hundred murcs, all armed and up to something. That is our problem.”
Reuben eyed him for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it’s not. We’re bounty hunters, and unless we have a ticket, it’s not our business. Whatever the murcs do is murc business.”
Joe gritted his teeth. “If we don’t do anything to stop them, then who will?”
“My guess is that sheriff, who you had a knockout ticket, on was doing her bit.” Reuben sighed. “Damn it, Havoc. Why couldn’t you have just done your job?”
“It got complicated.”
“There’s nothing complicated about being a bounty hunter. You get a ticket, you carry out the ticket, and then you collect. Simple as that. After they take you, I’m going to be down one more hunter, and I’m already running too thin.” He motioned to the wall.
Joe looked at the names of hunters killed in duty or missing, presumed dead. The newest name made Joe do a double-take: T-REX.
He frowned. “Why’s Rex’s name on the wall?”
“Because he hasn’t been answering his comms since he went out to Copper Gulch to send a message to the Iron Guild.”
Joe was genuinely shocked. Even though many people he’d known had died throughout his life, Rex was one of those larger-than-life characters. While Joe wouldn’t call Rex a friend, he still felt the loss of a brother. He frowned. “I told you that was a bad idea.”
Reuben glared. “I don’t need to hear that. What I need to hear is a solution that doesn’t involve having my agency becoming nothing more than a bunch of back-alley bounty hunters. And sunset is less than an hour away.”
Joe swallowed as ideas flashed through his mind. Everything he could think of involved him running like hell out of Cavil and leaving Reuben in the lurch. He knew that no apology would satiate the Sloan brothers—Joe had tried to kill one of them, after all. The only way to stop the Sloan brothers was to kill them, and Joe couldn’t do that without an army of his own—along with a lot more time than one hour.
He sighed after a length. “The only way to save the agency is to turn me over to them.”
Reuben grimaced. “I wish there was another way.”
“Believe me, I do too.”
An alarm beeped on Reuben’s display, followed by the sounds of blaster shots and yells in the bar behind them.
Reuben’s eyes widened with fear. “They’re early.”
Joe shook his head and unholstered both blasters. “They’re not here just for me.”
He’d been through enough wars to know the sounds of a battle when he heard them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“How do you know they’re not here for only you?” Reuben asked as he cowered behind his desk.
“If they were here for just me, they’d come to your office rather than start a firefight. And I doubt you ordered the folks out there to protect me,” Joe grumbled.
“I didn’t.”
“Exactly.” Joe went to stand next to the door and nodded toward the screen in Reuben’s desk. “Check the videos. What are we up against?”
Reuben raised his head just far enough to peek over the edge of his desk. He brought up one hand and tapped along the screen. “It looks like we’re being attacked from the front.”
“Have they gotten into the bar yet?” Joe asked.
“No. The shields are holding. But, my God, the street’s full of cutters.” His jaw slackened as he looked up at Joe. “They’re all Iron Guild.” His brow furrowed, and he hit the desk with his fist. “Damn it, Cat. It’s one thing to try to steal my clients. It’s something else to attack me outright.”
Joe frowned. “She’s never been one for a frontal assault. That’s not her style.”
Reuben pointed at his screen. “She’s out there. I see her. And it looks like the entire Iron Guild’s with her. There are only six hunters here right now. We don’t stand a chance against her.” He gulped. “I should use my tunnel.”
Joe held up a hand. “Not yet. You’re safe in here until they breach the bar. If they do that, then you can run. Until then, stay here. I’ll send in the customers. Lock the door behind them. We don’t know what the Iron Guild’s up to.”
“You’re leaving me?” Reuben’s voice practically squeaked.
“Like you said, there’s only six of us here, and the shields won’t hold them off forever.” Joe inhaled, opened the door, then stepped through the private room into the bar. He scanned the place in a quick second: The patrons cowered behind tables and the bar, except for the drunk who was still passed out at the bar top. The four other hunters in the bar were lined up on their stomachs below the shielded front window, each of them shooting out through small, round sniper’s holes that were the only unshielded spots on Harry Haft’s.
“Everyone not with the agency, into the back with Reuben, now!” Joe shouted. The customers remained frozen until Arthur Law jumped to his feet and sprinted to Reuben’s office. The remaining dozen or so patrons and the bartender followed. Joe strode over to the drunk, holstered his blasters to grab the man by the shoulders, and dragged him into the office. As soon as the man’s feet were through the door, Joe returned to the bar.
This time, he unslung his rifle and slid into place alongside the other hunters shooting at the Iron Guild forces, who’d parked their vehicles tight together and in two parallel rows. Their attackers hid behind their rigs for cover, firing at the building while remaining protected.
Joe pressed a control near the floor in front of him, and a sniper’s hole opened. He leveled the tip of his rifle just behind it.
“Glad you could join us,” Bolt said dryly to his left.
“I had nothing better to do,” Joe said as he picked a group and fired a series of shots, sending two hunters ducking behind a blue cutter.
Bolt fired at a nearby group as well. He not only missed the hunter, he missed the entire vehicle.
“Wow, you’re a lousy shot.”
“I make up for it with my many other talents.”
“I don’t want to know,” Joe griped as he continued firing.
“Besides,” Bolt went on, “it’s not like we can hit any of them behind those cutters, and their blasters can’t penetrate our shields. We’re in a stand-off.”
“You think they’re here as a diversion?”
Bolt shrugged. “I have no idea why they’re here.”
Joe frowned as he analyzed the positions of the cutters. “The lineup doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, it does. They set up a barrier to hide behind.”
Joe stopped firing to motion outside. “The first row does that, but the second row should have gaps in case they need to fall back. Otherwise, they could get trapped between the two rows.”
“They probably assume they won’t have to fall back. It’s obvious they outnumber us.”
“I don’t like it,” Joe muttered.
“Is there anything you like?”
“Sure. A big red steak. And lemons.”
“What are lemons?”
“They’re a small roundish fruit that’s yellow. Very tart in the best way. I had one once from the silo’s gardens when I was a kid. That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”
Joe caught a glimpse of dark metal when the back of a cutter in the second row began opening. He paused his shots. “A photon cannon.”
“You like photon cannons?” Bolt asked.
“I do, but not the one they’re pointing at us.”
Bolt scanned the area. “I don’t see—oh. I can’t believe they’d use that with me in here.”
“They must not have gotten the memo that your armor is too pretty to scuff
,” Joe said sarcastically.
The photon cannon lifted from the back of the cutter’s bed and started cranking around to point directly at the window.
“Incoming!” Joe yelled.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Joe jumped to his feet and dove behind the bar. Bolt landed on him, and Tumbler landed next to them. The other two hunters came rushing toward them next. One was still on his feet when a thunderous boom shook the building and rattled Joe’s teeth. He knew his eardrums would’ve ruptured if not for his helmet, but vertigo still twirled him around. In time, he rolled Bolt off him, who, in turn, leaned against the back of the bar, clutching his rifle.
Tumbler recovered first and took a position near the edge of the bar. Of the two remaining hunters, only one moved, and he saw it was Flash. The other guy, who lay on the floor, had a shield so badly dented Joe knew he’d taken a direct hit. He was likely dead before he’d hit the floor.
Joe crawled toward Tumbler’s position to gauge the damage. The cannon blast had disintegrated the entire front wall of Harry Haft’s. The heat must’ve melted the power shields when the blast struck, like soup ration bars when warmed. His world still spun, but he could make out the Iron Guildsmen lined up behind the first row of cutters, now standing with their rifles aimed at the bar.
Cat stood out from the rest since she wore no suit and carried no gun. Instead, she held a speaker card in front of her mouth, which nearly covered the three black, horizontal lines tattooed on each cheek. “This message is for Reuben Tally and all employees and clients of the Haft Agency. As of now, the Haft Agency is hereby terminated.”
Joe’s ears still rang, which meant that Cat’s voice must’ve been projected at a near-shout for him to make out the words.
