by Max Jager
Jameson was well aware of the physical therapy entailed with adjusting to implants. It was still long and painful, not to mention more emotionally draining than he could ever have anticipated. He tuned out the rest of the world, going through the basic motions of stretching, walking, and even playing with Grade as it too adjusted to its implants.
Then one evening Jameson awoke, startled by a presence sitting near his bed. There was a single room light on, and aside from Grade, only he and the stranger remained.
"Good evening, Commander Gray."
Jameson recognized the voice. He knew who the stranger was even before he leaned forward into the light, revealing his admiral stars.
"Admiral Nakamura," Jameson replied respectfully. He didn't bother saluting, though. He just didn't care at this point.
"I see the choppin'-block-doc has become the monster now," the Admiral replied jovially. Jameson tried to find some semblance of irritation at the slur, but again, he just didn't care.
Besides, the insult was true enough.
"I'm certain your friends in Eighth Flotilla brought you up to speed."
"Yes sir." That was, back when they had actually visited Jameson. Although Torik had also escaped the Station's destruction, he hadn't even visited once. Rappel sent him messages occasionally.
"I'm sorry they haven't been back," said the Admiral. "With so many officers killed in the attack, we had to reassign all personnel fit for duty. I had an army of medical staff fighting to keep me from reassigning you."
Jameson shrugged. He knew it would be some time before he was remotely fit for duty again; maybe never, depending on how injured he truly was and how well his body took to the new implants.
And then there was the fact that there was no more Fleet to command.
"It's over, Admiral," Jameson breathed. "Draconia won this time."
"Perhaps," Nakamura replied simply. "Perhaps. But Axus is still out there; him and the rest of the traitorous bastards who orchestrated this attack."
Jameson shrugged again. "They've done their damage. What more can be done?"
Something twinkled in the Admiral's eyes. Something that made Jameson want to shiver.
"We could bring them to justice."
Jameson wanted to roll his eyes, but he felt a fire flicker to life inside. He could see Axus again, laughing as he made to escape the Station exploding around him. Making to escape as Jameson's friends died left and right.
"What are you proposing, sir?" Jameson asked tentatively.
"Fleet Command is quite unsettled by Mr. Uniz and his group being on the loose. Not only do they deserve the utmost punishment for their crimes, but they also possess very dangerous and illegal tech. Not to mention their complete infiltration of Fleet ranks has security quivering. Fleet Command wants them eliminated from the equation before Draconia can contract them out for more operations like Peacemaker."
Jameson let the thought sink in. Axus was still out there; still a threat. And they had come to him to bring Axus in.
"Sir," Jameson began, "you know this represents a conflict of interest. You know what the bastard did to me."
Admiral Nakamura nodded, grim and homicidal. "Which is precisely why I singled you out, Commander Gray. As I mentioned before about your friends, the Fleet is reshuffling our echelons at this moment. Even your good friend, Torik Sharr, is being reassigned to serve on the High Command in the Capitol on Andorra. We lack the resources to form a task force to track them down."
Torik? In Gibraltar High Command? Things really were shaking up. Much worse than Jameson realized.
"And what makes you think I can?"
Grade suddenly wandered over to their group, settling his head down on Jameson's lap. As of late, he seemed to have sense when Jameson was particularly unsettled, always coming to be beside him. Jameson began scratching him behind his ears, waiting for the Admiral's response.
"Axus and his group will no doubt take refuge across the Mediterranean Expanse and even in parts of Draconia. While a task force could spend considerable time and resources sifting through Intel and following together their tracks, someone off the grid could follow them by any means necessary. Above the laws and welcome on any system outside Gibraltar."
Jameson raised his right eyebrow, wincing at the pain it caused in his new implant.
"What you're describing…is a mercenary."
"Actually, a bounty hunter," said Nakamura; "one without Gibraltar citizenship or ties to the Fleet. Someone who would accept a hefty bounty from a government in need of several high valued targets."
Jameson could see the logic of the Admiral's plan. Bounty Hunters were popular assets in the Expanse and even in Draconia space. They were a sort of law keeper unto themselves. They accepted hefty prices and brought people back to governments that wanted them punished.
The very kind of person that would go after Axus.
"Why are you coming to me?" Jameson finally asked. "Why not hire one of the countless bounty hunters already available to the Fleet? Surely you could have had someone on Axus's tail the moment he fled."
"Several of the other Admirals agree with that sentiment. But a few others and I want someone who worked alongside Axus. Someone who knows him. Someone who had the same kind of Fleet training as him. And, most importantly, someone with the drive to hunt him and his group down to the very ends of the galaxy."
The fire in Jameson's chest grew brighter. There was no one in the whole galaxy with as much drive as him right now.
The Admiral was right to come to him.
"I wouldn't be a spy," Jameson finally said.
"Certainly not. As I said, we'll delete all of your Gibraltar identification. You will be purely freelance, able to operate in any space, without threat of espionage. The only thing the Fleet will collect from you is the bounties you bring in."
"I'll also need a ship."
Nakamura pulled out a holo-pad. It lit up a single Orem-class scout ship. A relic of the old Republic, looking horribly out of date compared to the advanced warships Jameson had once seen in Peacemaker. "It's called the Crimson Night. We pulled her out of mothballs and gave it a retired MATHISON to run systems for you."
Jameson nodded, running over the specifications in his head. Then he glanced down at Grade.
"He comes, too."
The Admiral nodded. "Not many knew we kept him aboard the Station, but he is a trained military service dog. I doubt many people would want him now, but he'll certainly be useful to you, I imagine."
Grade perked up at the mention of his name. Jameson scratched behind his ears again, going over the inventory one more time. A lot of things he could find in the Expanse. As soon as he gained a simple enough reputation, he would have access to all sorts of hardware and equipment within bounty hunter circles.
It was only a matter of time then to begin hunting each of Axus's cronies. And ultimately plan for that final encounter when he and Axus met once more.
Then there would be vengeance.
Jameson looked the Admiral in the eye with his one good one.
"When do we begin?"
Alone
Chapter 15
Alone
* * *
Gibraltar space
Aquarius Star System, Planet Aquarius
Planetside Raft City Furrow
* * *
Present Day
The ocean looked like liquid gold as the sun hovered over the horizon.
From his wheelchair, Jameson stared out over the water, watching as the landscape bobbed slightly with the waves of the ocean. Although the Raft City, Furrow, was a monstrous structure, comfortably holding upwards of eighty thousand residents, it was still at the mercy of the sea and its buffetings. Not that it bothered Jameson; after years of living in space where there was no real concept of up or down, even inside spacecraft, it took a lot to get him dizzy. If anything, the gentle motion as the Raft City rocked with the waves was comforting.
Madeira sat nearby, dangling h
er legs out over the edge of the pier where she had pushed him. She splashed her feet in the water, the light sparkling as it washed against her turquoise seed-scales.
Jameson shook his head, remembering her lively description. The seed-scales were what made the Nereis able to grow a tailfin. It was about a twelve-hour process that could drain them of most of their strength. Apparently, the first colonists that arrived at Aquarius had developed the bioalterations from radiation in the nearby Cone Nebula. With nothing but a water world to greet them upon their arrival, the colonists had decided the only way to survive was to adapt to living in the endless ocean. Still, they had the foresight to allow them to shed the tails and walk upon dry land when the next wave of colonists arrived with materials to build the Raft Cities and Space Habitats. How the Nereis willed the tails to grow or fall off at command was still a bit fuzzy for Jameson, but he didn't try to think too hard about it.
Color was another big part of the tails. Jameson wasn't sure yet of all their cultural traditions—including the social hierarchy and disparity that existed between lower caste members like Madeira. But he knew tail color was an important aspect to family naming. And there was something off about it with Madeira, if he remembered correctly.
"What was your family name again?" Jameson asked, trying to be conversational.
"Skobeloff-eska," Madeira replied, still splashing in the water. "From my mother's side."
That's right. Mothers passed down tail color genetics, which meant children always inherited the last name from the females in their families. Jameson didn't know exactly what color skobeloff looked like, but he could tell Madeira's seed-scales were definitely turquoise.
"So why is your tail turquoise?" he voiced aloud.
Madeira stopped splashing, a sly smile crossing her face as she glanced down at her legs. "Not many people notice that." She glanced up at him. "You have an eye for details. It was in your job, wasn't it?"
Jameson shrugged. He still hadn't told her he was a bounty hunter. She didn't necessarily need to know. They had only just arrived at the Furrow in the last two days, after a brief third day at the terhsa suite before Kora had them evicted. And despite the drugs mending most of Jameson's injuries, they still left his body too weakened to do much else, leaving Madeira to be his caretaker.
All. The. Time.
While she was content mostly to chatter on about her people, the Nereis, leaving Jameson to quietly absorb the information and consider his next move against Axus, she occasionally got curious about his story. It was easy enough to explain why he was in the ocean in the first place; a violent altercation had put them there. No, there was no need to inform law authorities; Jameson was going to take care of it.
"Mason," Madeira muttered.
Jameson rolled his eyes. "I told you, I'm not a mercenary."
"Mason!" Madeira repeated loudly, laughing. "C'mon, it's obvious. Attention to details. Being above the law. Some thug throws you overboard. You are totally a Mason."
Jameson cleared his throat. "You were saying about your tail…"
Madeira chuckled. "Right. Well, sometimes—and this is really rare—the tail color gene is passed on by the father. Tradition states that the child still gets the mom's last name, but that doesn't change the fact that I have a turquoise tail, just like my dad."
Jameson nodded, the idea making sense. Though the idea of last names based off color seemed silly. Wouldn't they run out of last names eventually?
Then again, someone had invented a color called skobeloff, so maybe that wasn't the case…
"And eska," Jameson began. "What does that part mean?"
"It's my social class," Madeira replied coolly, turning her eyes down back to the water. "So my family is Skobeloff-eska, which is only one tier above fola. The lowest class."
"And tersha is the highest class," Jameson added, the rest falling into place. "That's why that girl, Kora, was treating you like dirt."
Madeira shrugged nonchalantly. "It's whatever."
There were some things about the Nereis Jameson didn't think he'd ever understand. But then again, mistreatment between social classes wasn't a difficult thing to comprehend. Now that he had a better understanding of Madeira's "vow," he had an even harder time forgiving the Kora girl for treating Madeira poorly…and then kicking them out.
The vow was essentially a Good Samaritan act. Whenever Nereis came across someone in need or injury, they took it upon themselves to vow complete care to that individual until they were recovered. It dated back to the first colonists that arrived at Aquarius, back when space travel was much more perilous and the distances not so easily traversed. With no one so far out from the old Earth systems to come to their aid, the Nereis had only each other to rely on. So they took up vows that bonded them to those in need—bonds stronger than family in some cases—so as to keep their struggling communities alive and prosperous out on the frontiers of explored space.
Kora was upset because someone as lowly as Madeira had taken the vow. Even though Kora wouldn't have been so enthusiastic about vowing to care about a human in her family's rich suite, it was infuriating to her that she had to make concessions to someone of lower station. Their whole society was bound to respect the vow, no matter how low your family ranking stood. She had the only pressurized suite in the city to offer care, and a stranger was in need.
A human stranger no less.
Jameson glanced up sharply, suddenly aware that Madeira was humming a little song to herself. Jameson didn't know the tune, but that hardly mattered. The notes Madeira produced, even if just for personal entertainment, were so beautiful that they were hard to ignore.
Madeira realized Jameson was watching her and went silent quickly. He almost wished she hadn't.
Stretching, Madeira stood up and hurried around to take control of his wheelchair.
"Time to call it a night."
"We should check in with Sergio," Jameson muttered as they started back down one of the streets of Furrow.
"It's late," said Madeira. "He's probably done for the day."
Jameson tried to keep his tone even. "I need my equipment."
"And you should be grateful he had a spare room to put us up in. Otherwise we'd be spending a lot more time down at the piers."
Sergio was Madeira's friend from the surface that she had mentioned as being able to repair Jameson's equipment. He worked as a tech specialist in Furrow, though he was more or less a glorified mechanic. When he wasn't assisting Furrow with general system upkeep, he ran a shop out of his two-story apartment and garage fixing things up for both human and Nereis clientele. Jameson doubted his qualifications to work with some of the more advanced gear in his suit. But considering that Jameson had no way to access any of his funds at present, Sergio had agreed to work on it as a favor for Madeira.
And there was the fact that he had an extra room where Jameson culd recoup. Jameson wasn't sure he wanted to know where Madeira was sleeping. He felt guilty enough as it was taking her away from her family just to tend to him.
Once he got his gear working, he would be back aboard the Crimson and out of these people's lives.
Of course, that was easier said than done.
As the next few days wound on, Jameson struggled with retraining his body through physical therapy while Sergio struggled with his gear.
"Where did you get half of this hardware?" the dark skinned techy asked him at one point.
"Most of it was custom made in the Expanse," Jameson murmured. He knew it wasn't the best answer to give, since Expanse tech was usually fairly specific to each system. That meant Sergio would either have to study extensively to find the right ways to repair it or modify it as he went.
"Oh geez," Sergio grunted. He hefted Jameson's faceplate, staring at the intricate Heads-Up-Display inside. "And I'm sure you have all sorts of tools to maintain this stuff aboard your ship."
Jameson did. But by now Sergio was just being sarcastic, knowing full well that any time he asked Jameso
n for specific parts or instructions that it was just out of reach, somewhere in orbit.
Jameson could already hear Mathison telling him "I told you so." Then again, even if they had derived some sort of backup plan, there was little Jameson could do with all of his gear smashed up and waterlogged. Being thrown overboard hadn't entered into his mind when planning the encounter with Axus.
Because I wasn't supposed to fail.
The train of thought soured Jameson's spirits further as the days wore on, his physical therapy slow and painful. It didn't help that most of his implants were still offline. That left him to lug around sore muscles as well as non-functional hardware stuck in various parts of his body. Seeing through only one eye was becoming quite annoying.