It’s Mohinari.
I’m still staring open-mouthed at the holo display long after the holovid is over.
He’s gone too far now.
Chirr?
I glance at Bry while the clipper drone finishes with my new haircut. He’s probably hungry.
My stomach growls with the thought of food. Getting something to eat might help clear my thoughts.
I spend the next two minutes stewing over Mohinari’s message, wondering how to kill the guy and take back my ship despite my current situation. I have credits, so I could buy some gear and passage back to Terra Novus.
But Mohinari will be expecting that. He’s goading me, trying to lure me out and get me to make a mistake by coming after him too soon and from the wrong angle.
I’m going to need a much more subtle method to deal with this asshole.
One idea pops into my head, and for love of credits it won’t pop back out.
Aurora. She was trying to get me to help her with that job of hers. And it just so happens that the job was for Mohinari.
If I take it, I won’t be able to touch him. But it might give me the credits I need to find a way to kill him that won’t get me killed in the process.
And the irony of killing the man with his own credits makes me feel slightly better about him pissing on my ship.
The clipper drone finishes with my new haircut and drops down to vacuum up the hairs. While it does that, I access the Syndicate job board and check for one with a six million-credit payout. There is only one—no surprise there. Bounties are usually in the five and six figure range. Almost never seven.
Rama Drakos. Former Syndicate. Twenty-one chronological years of age. Wanted by Rajesh Mohinari—alive.
Interesting. The bounty on me is dead or alive. The fact that Mohinari doesn't want Rama dead is telling. It means he wants to make her suffer first. What the hell did she do to piss him off so badly that he’s willing to part with six million credits to get his revenge?
Very curious. The job doesn’t say, and it’s short on details. There isn’t even a face to go along with the name. Whoever Rama is, she’s a ghost. Just like me. I wonder if Aurora knows more about the target.
I don’t have to team up with her. This is an open contract, not exclusive. First one to bring her in gets the prize. I could go after Rama myself.
But I don’t have a ship anymore, and my supply of credits isn’t going to be enough to rent one.
Maybe Aurora has a ship.
Partnering with her seems like a risk, especially since her rating is so much lower than mine. But then again, maybe that’s a good thing. It means she’d have a hard time getting the upper hand against me if she’s secretly trying to collect the bounty on my head.
I pull up Aurora’s contact card and place the call.
The job listing was light on details, and I can’t risk contacting Mohinari myself to fill in the blanks. Hopefully Aurora already has.
“Who is this?” Aurora answers as her face pops up on my screen. She’s walking, striding down a covered pedway in a crowd of other pedestrians. It looks like Liberty City, but her location data is blocked, so it’s hard to be sure.
Rather than give her any details about me or my own location, I say, “We met at Rikard Spaceport about a week ago. You tried to get me to help you with that contract of yours.”
A light of understanding enters Aurora’s glowing orange eyes. She’s not wearing a holoband, so the image I’m seeing of her and her face must be relayed by a comm drone. Should be hovering about five feet in front of her by the look of it.
“You had a change of heart?” she asks.
“Maybe. Let’s meet up.”
“Where are you?”
I hesitate before giving her my actual location. She’s Syndicate, so she can’t go after me directly, but she could still send someone else, split the credits, and hope the Syndicate never finds out.
“Margrave Station,” I say. “You know the bar on level six?”
“I do,” Aurora replies.
“Meet me there in forty-eight standard hours.”
“That’s a long way to go for a maybe,” Aurora objects.
I take a breath. “Your target—does she deserve what’s coming?”
A wry grin twists Aurora’s pretty lips. “Oh yeah, she’s scum.”
“Then it’s not a maybe, and we both need the credits.”
“In that case, see you soon, stranger.”
Aurora ends the comms from her end, and I’m left staring at the mirror again. My once wavy black hair is now spiky and short. A quarter-inch on the sides, longer in the middle. A hairstyle for a much younger man. But it fits my new face.
Chirr?
I look away. Bry is standing on the edge of the bed, watching me curiously. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that my face has changed. But Captain Thorn mentioned the species bonds through scent, so he can probably see right through my disguise.
Good thing humans and bots are easier to fool.
“Come on, let’s go get some breakfast.”
Bry starts yipping excitedly and jumping up and down on the bed. Sometimes I swear he understands exactly what I’m saying.
A few minutes later I’m striding out of the cheap room that Captain Thorn rented for me. Bry is sitting on my shoulder and all of my worldly possessions are in the pack on my back.
After breakfast I’ll find a ship to take me to Margrave. And a weapons dealer who can sell me the kit that I’m going to need once I get there. A sidearm and some more exotic gear—including jacker boxes to take control of doors and computer systems.
The Neutral Zone is even more dangerous than the Alliance, and Margrave in particular is a nasty, lawless star system.
Chapter 28
Two Days Later...
Margrave Orbital Transfer Station,
The Neutral Zone
The bar on level six of Margrave Station is shit. Dim lights hide filthy floors covered in stains you could mistake for rust. Except the floors are made of an alloy that doesn’t rust. The bar itself is a shiny faux-marble slab of some printed composite. Illuminated panels of the same rise behind colorful bottles of alcohol. Booths with cracked cushions bleeding yellow stuffing are arrayed in a circle around the counter where I sit. Curved viewports surround the bar, giving a stunning view of stars and space, as well as the station itself arcing away below.
To one side, the sun-baked dayside of Margrave is a sandy desert, blurred blue, gray, and rust-red by the endless sandstorms. The planet is tidally locked around its sun, so one side is a desert, the other a frozen wasteland. A narrow band of twilight is carved with rivers and lakes of liquid water that are perpetually melting from the migrating glaciers on the night side as they flow toward the lower elevations on the day side. That terminator band is what Margrave’s miners, mercenaries, and raiders call home.
Bry starts slurping beside me, drawing my attention. He’s drinking some kind of nutrient water through a metal straw. I don’t know what the hell he needs to eat, or what nutrients are even useful to his metabolism, but the bartender said it’s basically just sugar water, and he seems to like it, so I’m calling that a win. Food and drink all rolled into one. Protein bars are expensive, and I don’t have time to go shopping.
I’m nursing a beer, the bitter, hoppy kind that forces me to drink it slow. A cold weight sits against my right thigh. A DX-12. It’s nothing compared to my modified DX-22s that I lost, but it was the best I could find on short notice. Everyone else in here is armed, most of them with illegally modified weapons. Mine is the toned-down street-legal kind. I paid about ten times its actual value back on Adagio Station, because gun ownership is illegal in the Coalition unless you work with private security or law enforcement. And then I had to find a smuggler and pay him more than twice the going rate for a private charter to bring me here with that gun hidden away on board.
I’m also wearing an energy shield on my belt, the kind that will stop a laser—or
two bullets—at point-blank range. Lasers tend to be less effective at killing targets than bolters, so personal shields are tuned to stop projectiles primarily, and lasers as an afterthought.
Picking up my beer, I take another sip. Bry reaches the bottom of his sugar water and starts slurping noisily to get the last drops. He puffs up with air as he inhales the remainder of the beverage without taking a break for air. I watch him with a curious frown. The slurping stops and he puts the glass back up on the bar. He lets out the air in a chittering sigh. Followed by a tremendous belch.
Eyes find us from all sides. A few gazes narrow, as if only noticing Bry for the first time. Maybe they didn’t see him peeking out of my backpack when I walked in. I can see wheels turning behind some of those eyes, as if trying to figure out how much a curiosity like Bry might fetch in a market in a more populous system. Rich people do love collecting unusual pets. Especially the kind that fit in a purse.
My hand drops to my gun and I stare at the lookers-on until they go back to their drinks. Smart move. My gun might be skies awful, but my aim isn’t, and there are plenty of ways to kill a person that don’t involve lasers or bullets.
I twist back to face the bar, but keep an eye on the PIP screen at the top of my holo display. You’ve got to have eyes in the back of your head in a place like this. Good thing I do.
And I can’t help but notice something. In one of the booths there is a bald, crusty-looking miner with glowing ink on his arms and his knuckles all out of place. He has a crooked nose and a few scars on his face. Marks from old fights that he didn’t pay to have properly fixed. His upper lip is partly lifted, and his brown eyes are as cold and dark as the icy side of Margrave. No name pops up above his head as I focus on him. But that’s not strange; everyone here is hiding their names and digital profiles.
I follow his gaze to a half-naked woman dancing around a pole on the stage. A nickname glows above her head as she dips down low. Violet. Golden hair glows purple in the neon lights beaming down on her, as if to add credence to her name. I’ve been studiously ignoring her until now. But from the way Violet’s moving I can tell that she’s a biological, not a bot, and that’s a rare sight. Most civilized worlds have outlawed her line of work for biologicals. But rare things are more valuable by default, and that makes her a commodity in a lawless place like Margrave.
I wouldn’t have given her a second glance if it weren’t for the way Crooked Nose is looking at her.
I can sense trouble a dozen klicks away. Have to in my line of work.
It’s none of your business, Cade, I tell myself.
Crooked Nose touches an old-fashioned pay-button on his table. Violet flashes a backward grin at him.
His sneer lifts slightly, looking even less friendly. But she doesn’t appear to notice. She starts paying him more attention, and he keeps tapping that pay button.
Soon she comes sauntering down off the stage. She takes him by the hand, and I watch as she leads him away, heading for one of the private booths that flank the exit. He stops her halfway there, shakes his head. She cocks an eyebrow. He nods to the exit. Says something that the amplifiers in my holo band barely pick up. “Level four. My place.”
“Naughty boy. That’s not allowed. I have to stay here,” Violet purs.
“I’ll pay triple.”
Violet hesitates. Looks to the cyborg bartender who also has a nickname glowing above his head—Thor. One blue eye blinks. The glowing red one doesn’t. He gives her the nod, and a look of fear flickers briefly across Violet’s face. She hesitates some more. Crooked Nose gives her arm a sharp tug, and she goes tottering after him on six-inch stilettos.
Another girl comes out on the stage to replace her, but I’m still watching Violet leave.
It’s none of my business. The bartender gave her the go-ahead, and he’ll make sure nothing gets out of hand. He probably has her neuralink monitored.
But what qualifies as out of hand in a place like this? And why the look of fear on that girl’s face? It’s easy enough for me to work out. Crooked Nose secretly hates women. That’s what the sneer was about. He’s got plans, and triple the going rate will cover a lot of damage. Downtime won’t even be that bad with bone-knitters and nanite gels.
So they’ll allow it and happily rake in the difference between income and expenses.
Chirr...
Bry is looking where I’m looking. And his fur is all puffed up, making him look twice his usual size. He’s sensed my mood, and he’s getting ready for a fight.
I drum my fingers on the grip of my gun, hesitating, giving them time to get a good head start. If I go too soon, she might not thank me.
Why do I care?
It all comes down to the code. My code. Just two rules to live by. One, don’t kill anyone unless they deserve it. And two, never turn a blind eye to injustice.
And Crooked Nose qualifies for the first, and he’s about to make me break the second if I don’t get off this barstool.
I signal to the bartender. “Yola, ombay.”
An unblinking red eye finds me. The blue one narrows. “Yea, what?”
“He a regular?”
“Who?”
“That guy with the crooked nose.”
“Bramos?” A snort. “Hardly. He spends most of his credits planet-side. Comes up here once a year to visit his family in Nomra.”
“Kids?”
The cyborg bartender shakes his head. “None that care to see him.”
I nod once, signaling an end to the conversation. Cyborg turns away, goes whirring off to serve another customer. But he told me what I need to know. No one will miss Bramos.
Chirr?
I look down at Bry as I climb off the stool, grab my bag from beside it, and zip it open for him to climb in. He does.
And then we’re off, striding out the exit, headed for level four.
Chapter 29
Strolling down the corridor between rooms in the habitat module on level four, I come to room 457, the one that the private security officer at the entrance told me is being rented to Bramos Riggs. The officer warned me he doesn’t want any trouble, so I paid him double the initial bribe to look the other way.
Security cameras are watching from the ceiling, recording my face. Some of them might even be working. Hard to say, but it doesn’t matter. There aren’t any real laws in the neutral zone, and no cops, only private security. And they don’t get paid to look after nobodies like Bramos.
Even from outside, I can hear the sounds of a struggle. A loud slap. A scream. My eyes narrow, and I rap loudly on the door with my knuckles. The sounds of struggle stop. There comes a grunt, followed by a gunbelt jangling, then heavy footsteps approaching the door.
Bramos’s face appears, filling on the holoscreen on my side.
“Yes?” he asks, not opening the door.
Smart. But only half smart.
My pistol is already drawn at the waist and angled up. Before he realizes the danger he’s in, I shoot a crimson bolt through the door, straight into his heart. He falls with a heavy thud, and I hear Violet scream again.
The intercomm is still open, so I ask. “Did he pay you in advance?”
“N-no! You’re in big trouble, whoever you are! Thor will make you cover the bill.”
“I know,” I say. “How much?”
A telltale hesitation follows. The preamble before a lie.
“Two thousand.”
Triple the usual rate in a place like this would be more like five hundred.
“Wrong,” I say. “You get one more try.” I didn’t come here to go on a killing spree, but she doesn’t know that, and she has plenty of reason not to call my bluff.
“S-seven hundred! And that’s the truth!”
This time I believe her. It’s in the ballpark. And what the hell do I know, anyway? I’m not a John.
“Okay.” I locate her neuralink through the door and initiate a credit transfer.
The door slides open with a grinding rasp. Vio
let is standing there, leaning on the jamb. I blink in surprise. I didn’t hear her approaching. She’s light on her feet. The cheap blue carpets in this place probably helped.
She’s still wearing what passes for a uniform in her business. I hope that means I arrived in time to spare her from the likes of Bramos.
She smiles crookedly up at me. It’s actually a nice smile, and I can see a glimmer of warmth in her blue eyes that might be gratitude. Bramos’s corpse lies cooling on the stained carpets behind her, right between her and the bed.
“You want what you paid for?” she asks, and bites her bottom lip to make the offer more enticing.
My eyes dart to Bramos, then back to her. The corpse is a bit of a mood killer. And I’m not a John. But a simple “No” is all that passes my lips.
Chirr? Bry’s voice comes out like a squeak. He must have gotten scared when he heard my gun go off.
“What was that?” Violet asks, relaxing from her sultry pose and somehow morphing into a young girl with a bubbly personality. My best guess is she’s about twenty chronological years old, but it’s impossible to say with any certainty. Her voice is bright with curiosity, her eyebrows raised. She might actually have been a nice girl at some point. So what the hell is she doing in a place like Margrave?
I half turn so she can see my friend. “That’s Brighten,” I say.
Chirr-up! He chirps, as if to explain his name.
Violet laughs prettily and covers her mouth like a preppy school girl from the Coalition.
“Does he bite?” she asks with a flicker of a familiar accent bleeding through to my ears.
“Not yet,” I say, frowning at that lapse. She’s learned to hide where she’s from, but she dropped her guard for a second.
Violet decides to risk it and reaches out a slender hand for Bry. She scratches him behind one of the small triangular black ears peeking out from the fur on top of his head. He nuzzles her hand and chirrs like some exotic kitten.
“He’s cute,” Violet says through a smile.
“How much time does seven hundred buy me?”
The Bounty Hunter (Cade Korbin Chronicles Book 1) Page 12