by Jack Archer
“Through there.” One pointed to a large door at the other side of the foyer.
“Can’t wait,” she said, grinning and pulling her coat tighter, “see you guys later.”
In a startlingly human gesture, the Horoth rolled their eyes and stood to the side, becoming still as a statue against the wall.
The foyer was a lot bigger than it looked, most likely because the Horoths averaged seven to eight feet tall. She pushed the dark wooden door open to another exaggeratedly large hall festooned with stained glass windows, carved wooden tables set beneath them. Silver candlesticks and goblets sat upon them, glowing faintly in the soft light filtering through the windows.
These served as accouterments to the real centerpiece, sitting in the far center of the room surrounded by bright curtains and pillows. Rystar hesitated to call it a nest, but it was most certainly a nest.
“These guys sure do live in style,” Shea muttered under his breath to her, and Rystar couldn’t help but agree.
The Ruler themselves must have been over twelve feet tall but sat cross-legged in the middle of the pillow nest, their large, pinkish-black wings curling around them effortlessly. Soft, black eyes flicked their way up as Rystar approached, and the Ruler sat up some in anticipation.
“Your Majesty?” Rystar hadn’t meant for it to come out as a question as she kneeled down in front of the nest, patting the ground next to her for Shea to follow suit. The Ruler waved her gesture away and sat up in full now, their feathery face staring right through Rystar’s soul.
“Please, there is no need for such formalities here,” they said in the same clipped accent, though it wasn’t nearly as choppy as the guards’ outside.
“We weren’t too sure what to call you,” Rystar said sheepishly as she got up and shifted her weight. In front of the Ruler’s ornate robes and wings, Rystar felt mighty underdressed. She could have at least worn a fresh pair of khakis. Shea stood up next to her in about the same attire.
“I am the It’fasoad of Tavantis,” they said and jutted a sharp chin out, “or in human tongue, Jurat Prime. You may call me Fo’oal.”
“Alright.” Rystar bounced on her toes, supremely indifferent about the Horoths and their customs. “So what’s this about a kidnapping I hear?”
“My child has been taken,” the Jurat Prime said in a voice so indifferent Rystar wondered for a moment if they cared, “and my world has shattered.”
“When did this happen?” Rystar asked, pulling out a comms tablet and swiping around. Next to her, Shea had brought his own out and was scribbling notes down.
“Half a cycle ago,” the Jurat answered.
She took a moment to count on her fingers. A cycle was six and a half days. Two of those were night, so…
Rystar nodded and punched in the correct time. “Two days ago. Any ideas at all about who might have taken them?”
“My partner might have more information than I,” the Jurat said and swept a large, feathered arm towards a door to their left, “please, we would appreciate your discretion from here on out.”
Rystar narrowed her eyes and stood for a moment in stunned silence before exchanging confused glances with Shea. She muttered an ‘okay’ and strode towards the smaller door, Shea close behind her. The Jurat’s kin’s kidnapping was sure to make the news. Why the secrecy?
Shea shut the door behind them and turned to face a human-sized room, and Rystar gasped when she saw the human-sized human gazing out of the window on a black sea. He turned to face her and gave her a tight-lipped smile.
“Wasn’t expecting someone like me, eh?” he chuckled and crossed the room, holding out a hand. “I assume you’re here about my son.”
“Uh, yes.” Rystar hardly paid attention to politics but knew that a human King on Chantakor could only be frowned upon. “Are you…?”
“The King of Tavantis, yes.” He sounded melancholic as he gestured for Rystar and Shea to sit across from him at his desk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mx. Umara. I assume my partner asked you to be discreet about these details?” He took a seat in his own chair and sighed heavily.
Rystar fiddled about with the comms tablet sitting in her lap. “I’m not here to play politics, Your Majesty. I’m just supposed to get as much information as I can and—” Suddenly, she remembered what Jorge had told her about getting in and out quickly, and she cursed him. He knew all about this.
“Are you familiar with the history of the Horoths at all?” the King started, unaware of Rystar’s plight.
“Not too much,” she responded.
“When we first found them almost a hundred years ago,” he said and rolled a pen across his table, “there was a power struggle. Some Horoths sided with humans and took advantage of our ships. Some stayed true to their Chantakorian roots and remained here. When the pissing contest was over, we began to live in harmony, even if it was a bit strained at times.”
Most of this had been covered in Rystar’s mediocre history class, but it was still interesting to a certain degree. Then something clicked.
“Your Majesty,” Rystar mumbled and leaned forward, trying to keep her voice even, “is your son an angel?”
“No,” the King said and shook his head, “but nor is he a human. He is a hybrid, a Ya’ados, as the Horoths so kindly put it.” He gave her a strained smile.
“Ya’ados?”
“Burden-of-our-society’s-culture,” he grimaced and scratched his chin. “Anyway, he and thousands like him were trying to create a movement to accept them into society proper. He had to keep hidden, see? It is not a well-known fact that a human is ruling with the Jurat Prime of Tavantis, much less that they have a child together.”
“Who do you think has taken your son?” Rystar asked and shook her head as she scribbled some notes on her comms tablet.
“The Terran government on Bufefu have begun to take interest in Na’gya’s little protest,” the King sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I believe it is them who have taken him.”
“The Terran Bureaucracy?” Rystar clarified, her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “I can’t go toe to toe with them. That’s suicide.”
“Hence the handsome reward,” the King pointed out.
“Shea never told me how much,” she said, though she knew full well nothing would be enough to convince her to be on the wrong side of the Terran Government.
“Six million credits.”
“God damn,” Rystar blurted out, forgetting for a moment that she was in the presence of real live royalty. Beside her, she saw Shea bring a hand to his mouth. The King grinned and let out a chuckle.
“It is my understanding that your community and agency needs them,” he went on, unperturbed by Rystar’s outburst, “and I intend on rewarding whoever challenges the strong arm of the Terran Bureaucracy for what they’ve done to my son.”
Earth’s tired vortexes, swirling down from the poles and freezing everything it touched, wandered into Rystar’s head. Her small, bunched-up community on the outskirts of Montgomery, struggling to survive in the scorching heat, the blistering cold. She thought of the lush gardens in Aurum, one jump away from Earth but several million credits away from being able to visit.
All those wars, and they still hadn’t been able to squash the rich.
She clicked a button, and her comms tablet screen went black. “So, where can I find these people?”
“The higher-ups won’t have gotten their hands dirty with this,” the King said, standing up and sighing but some of the tension melting from his shoulders, “they’ll have sent their dogs to do it for them, probably took him to a high-security prison. You might have some luck at the courts on the day side. That’s all the information I can give you now. I’m sorry.”
Rystar and Shea stood up with him, following the King to the door.
“That’s more than enough, your Majesty,” Rystar held out a hand to shake his. “I’ll get right on it.”
“And Mx. Umara,” the King said, holding her han
d in place for a moment, “I’m sorry to hear about the Department of Defense Services. They have done good work for us in the past, and I am distraught to see them go.”
“Yeah, me too,” Rystar grumbled and tried to not be angry about it as well.
Chapter 4
Shea Hendi : Tavantis, Chantakor, Lalande System
The dark side of Chantakor housed many alien plants and animals in its youth. Black-leaved trees swayed in the forever midnight breeze next to silver shored-oceans, full of enormous sea life. Two silver-gray moons loomed overhead and shone their bright light on the ocean, where it was cast into scattered reflections on the surface. Rystar gazed out at these things and huffed out the last of her Cortijet before she blew her nose into a tissue and tossed it in a bin.
The flora and fauna of Chantakor’s youth were still alive and well, but visitors now came to the eternal nightclubs on its surface. Tavantis was one of the only places in the Bubble where all alien species could mix.
They stood near the entrance of a club on the south side of Tavantis, the music’s beat pulsing through Shea as the burly alien next to the door looked at their IDs. Shea’s heart pounded in his chest. Clearly, Rystar had been around these places more often than he had, and a sense of safety wrapped around him as he followed her into the crowd of people.
Red lights pulsed at him, aliens dancing seductively in cages beckoned with long fingers. Rystar’s hand pushed into his, and his shoulders relaxed as they headed deeper into the club. Shoving her way into the bar, Shea marveled at the ease in which Rystar carried herself, straightening his back out in a subconscious attempt to mimic her bravado.
At the bar, Rystar held up two fingers and yelled, “Charlom, bottle and two glasses!” to the busy bartender, who threw Rystar a coy smile before nodding and ducking to retrieve the items.
“What’s Charlom?” Shea leaned down close to Rystar’s ear and shuddered as she pushed her body closer to his. Rystar let out a bark of a laugh as the bartender passed them the bottle and two glasses and scanned Rystar’s comms tablet. They headed away from the bar, and Shea looped a finger through a loop in Rystar’s jacket, following her through the crowd of people and towards an empty booth in the back.
“Lucky everyone’s dancing tonight,” Rystar said, coughing and bringing out her Cortijet pack, lighting it up and sighing at the first exhale. She scooted in further to make room for Shea and his mile-long legs before opening the bottle of Charlom and pouring them two drinks.
“Why lucky?” Shea asked. He didn’t have to yell this time, the walls of the booth partially hiding them from the dance floor and pulsing music.
“Usually booths are hard to come by,” Rystar answered, knocking her head back with the drink and pulling a face. “Fuck, that’s potent.”
Shea eyed his cup of Charlom, small but intimidating. He shuddered.
“Come on, kid,” Rystar laughed, taking another puff of her Cortijet and clapping him on the shoulder, “you’re a real bounty hunter now.”
“You never actually told me what this is,” Shea said and scrunched his face up as he pulled the cup to his lips, smelling the unfortunate substance.
“My mother told me it was created from agave plants back on Earth before the Storm,” Rystar answered, sobering a little. “It’s supposed to strengthen your sense of bravery.”
“Why do I need to be brave right now?” Shea asked, still looking at his drink. When Rystar didn’t say anything, he looked up to see a blush gracing her cheeks, and he felt his own get warm. With a lopsided grin, he took the entire glass of Charlom, letting it hit the back of his throat. If he had never drunk before, the Charlom might have ended back up on the table, but fortunately, Shea knew how to hold it back.
It seared his organs the entire way down, and suddenly he felt very brave, the alcohol coursing through his veins and making him lightheaded. He looked at Rystar, whose eyebrows were up in her hairline.
He had to stop and admire the rest of her hair for a moment, a raggedy mess of brown and blonde, hanging in wavy strands past her chin on one side and buzzed on the other. ‘The duality of my nature,’ she had joked on their first ride together.
“Shea,” she began, “I watched you pop out of cover like an asshole to shoot at the biggest Aktrex I’ve ever seen. On your second ride” —she poured another drink and downed it in one go, jabbing a finger at him— “you damn near stole control of my LASSO from me. You’re one of the bravest, if not stupidest, men I’ve met so far.”
“So then why—”
“Because you don’t seem brave enough to talk to me about what’s really on your mind,” Rystar said with a soft smile, tilting her head. She pushed a full glass of Charlom to him. Shea pursed his lips, accepting his call out, and took another drink.
“It’s always been hard opening up to anyone, not just you,” he admitted, sinking back in his seat and pushing the empty glass away.
“Oh, so I’m not special?” Rystar put a hand across her chest, and her eyes went wide.
“That’s not what I meant,” Shea blurted out and stopped stammering when Rystar reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Relax, Shea,” she said, squeezing her hand for a second before moving it back to the bottle. “Maybe I should go a little easier on you.”
“No,” Shea said, shaking his head, “I need to learn how to not take things so seriously all the time.”
“Probably.” Rystar gave him a sly grin and took out her Cortijet again to smoke.
“How long have you been on Cortijet?” Shea asked, feeling the braveness finally start to sink in.
“About a year now,” Rystar replied, looking down at the thin canister she was smoking and blew a puff out. “Seems to have helped the pain some. It’s definitely stopped the spread in my lungs.”
“I’ve got a friend looking to get on it.” Shea nodded his head. “But she’s kind of worried since it’s so new.”
“I’d recommend it,” Rystar said and looked back up at him, bright teeth flashing red in the club’s light.
“Does it hurt a lot?” Shea asked as Rystar poured herself another drink.
“I’m sure the insane amounts of drinking I do doesn’t help,” Rystar chuckled before downing another drink and passing the bottle to Shea. “But the damage to my lungs won’t ever heal. And unless someone figures out a way to regrow the tissue there, I’m shit out of luck.”
“I’m sorry,” Shea offered.
“Not your fault.” Rystar waved his apology away. “I blame my ancestors for catching Covid back in the day.”
Shea nodded, vaguely remembering the plague from the early 2000s that had wreaked havoc on the planet, becoming the first domino to fall in the great collapse of Earth. Many things caused the Fall, all of which were long lost to time now. All that mattered were their tiny bands of humans on Earth’s dead surface and the great space beyond their home planet where most humans weren’t welcome.
“Well, at least we finally found a way to slow the spread,” Shea said and gave her a smile, happy she would be able to stick around for a while longer.
“So what made you decide to join our merry band of hunters here at the Federal Department of Defence Services?” Rystar sucked her teeth after another drink, her eyes becoming a little more out of focus as the night wore on. Shea’s head was swimming pleasantly, and he slid down in the booth a little more, eyeing the flashing ceiling above him. He shrugged.
“Wanted to do something different,” he said. “Dad said I was a good shot, and I’ve always wanted to help my community.”
“Did you think you’d be assigned to the bounty hunters?” Rystar let out a snort.
“I really didn’t,” Shea laughed and shook his head. “Didn’t think I was good enough. Or that you all were hiring.”
Rystar tilted her head, and Shea noticed the way her eyes glazed over and her brow furrowed. “We’re never hiring. They keep closing our offices left and right. Dumb bastards.”
“Why do th
ey keep closing?” Shea asked.
“Because up in the Capitol they don’t think they need us.” Rystar rolled her eyes but said nothing more, instead grabbing the bottle of Charlom and taking another drink. “Not a big deal. We saw your resume and thought you could do some good for us. You really stuck out, impressed Jorge. And he’s a hard man to impress.”
“Who impressed him last?” Shea asked, knowing what the answer was. Rystar tilted her head at him and gave him a lopsided smile.
“Me.”
Shea smirked and puffed his chest out, proud of himself for once in his life. Although that may have been the Charlom talking.
His eyes flicked around the club as Rystar took another drink and rested on a figure across the room, sitting at a booth like they were. He narrowed his eyes at the man waving at him, hair bright red in the club lights, sunglasses far too big for his face, and the most delicate of smirks.
“Hey, check this guy out,” Shea muttered, and Rystar hiccupped, focusing her eyes across the room.
“Who?” she asked.
Shea turned back to the man, but he was gone. He shook his head and rubbed at an eye with the heel of his hand. Must be getting late.
“Want to get back to the room?” Rystar asked, and suddenly she was far too close, the Charlom and stars on her breath washing over him, and Shea gulped. Sure, she was one of the most attractive people he had ever met in his life, but even if she was into him, which she most certainly couldn’t be, he wouldn’t know what to do with her.
“Sure, I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on,” Shea said, rubbing the back of his neck and scooting out of the booth when Rystar pushed him.
“Paperwork,” Rystar huffed and blew a raspberry, downing the rest of the bottle of Charlom before following him out of the booth after him. Together, they ducked through the club, but this time Rystar kept her arm around Shea’s waist as they meandered through the crowd of dancers and revelers.
“You can do paperwork when you’re dead,” Rystar finished, taking her Cortijet out for a few puffs as they walked down the hallways towards their shared hotel room. It was cheaper to just book one, and Shea couldn’t find it in his heart to complain.