Preview: Bloodhunters v1: Bad Blood

 Here are the first two chapters of Bloodhunters v1: Bad Blood.

ED.02499.12.31

Trasa was called the City of A Trillion Lights, but A’Tral currently fled through the darkest part. Pushing through crowds of diverse beings, he scanned for any source of refuge. He suddenly turned and dashed across the street, causing a beat-up hovercar to swerve into the wrong lane. The purple-skinned driver yelled out some very colorful insults, but A’Tral kept running. He vaulted over a floating garbage truck, barely straining his cybernetically-enhanced legs, and barreled into an alley between two restaurants. It was dark here, and his eye implants took a few seconds to adjust. He knew darkness alone couldn’t hide him, as his pursuer was no doubt similarly equipped with expensive enhancements. He spotted a sewer grate at the far end of the alley and ran over to it. He set the grate aside and started to climb in. Then he paused for a moment, legs dangling in the shaft.

It was a gamble no matter what he did. What would the hunter be expecting? Was it safer to blend into the crowd, or hide in the tunnels below? His pursuer was a master at predicting the behavior of his prey, and A’Tral didn’t want to go back to prison. Especially not now that he was so close to freedom. He patted his left thigh, where the stolen gem rested securely in a secret compartment. All he had to do was make it across town, then he could meet his buyer and leave this planet for good. 

He heard the whine of a drone echoing through the alley. He turned his head, his visual software zooming in on it. The small disc hovered at the alley entrance, most likely scanning for movement. It was no bigger than one of A’Tral’s pocket grenades, and colored in the hunter’s signature shade of red. There was no more time for debate. He dropped into the sewer, ignoring the ladder and letting his cyberlegs absorb the impact of the lengthy fall. He was reasonably sure the drone hadn’t detected him, but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out. There was very little light in the tunnel, and once again he was thankful for his ocular upgrades. He picked a direction and ran, hoping to find a junction where he could orient himself.

He didn’t get far. He spotted the device on the wall a split second after it was too late to avoid it. A red metal tube – the same shade as the drone had been – flipped out from the wall, firing a cylindrical projectile at A’Tral. It separated into four smaller discs as it soared through the air, and a thin net unfurled between them. Before A’Tral had time to react, the net pinned him to the wall, each disc magnetizing itself to the metal girders lining the sewer wall. He struggled to reach one of his many pockets. The netting was incredibly strong for something that thin, but it was elastic enough to keep from cutting him. He couldn’t move much, but fortunately he had stowed a tiny AON blade in one of his cuffs. With a bit of effort he managed to retrieve it.

He pressed a button on the handle and the finger-length metal blade burst forth. The blade quickly heated up, glowing a bright orange. “I wouldn’t do that,” he heard a voice say. A’Tral stopped for a second, his eyes darting back and forth. His attention finally fell on the wall-mounted micro-cannon that had fired the net at him. There was a blinking red light on it, and most likely a camera as well. He also noticed something strange.

It’s not the kind of detail most people would pick up on, but being a cybernetics enthusiast, A’Tral had an eye for new hardware. And the micro-cannon... well, it wasn’t clean. It was covered in the same level of grime as the rest of the sewer walls, which meant the cannon had been here for a while. How long, he couldn’t say, but probably longer than he’d been on the run. Why had it been installed here, if not for A’Tral?

Whatever, he thought. He could ponder the bounty hunter’s methods some other day. For now, he had to get loose before the hunter showed up in person. He moved the blade to one of the thin strands of netting. As soon as the blade touched the strand, A’Tral cried out in pain as the net sent electric shocks through his body. The AON blade fell from his hands and clattered away. Then he heard footsteps echoing from down the tunnel.

“I did warn you,” a voice said. It was deep and sounded electronically amplified. A humanoid shape approached, casually strolling toward the criminal. A’Tral easily recognized the famous bounty hunter. Every criminal feared that black-and-red armored jumpsuit. A drone zoomed into view, and docked onto one of the hunter’s wrists. Then the hunter stepped closer, fiddling with a wrist-mounted control panel. “I’m going to release the net now,” he said. “If you try to run, you’ll regret it.” The net fell off the wall, and A’Tral collapsed to the floor. The hunter pulled out a pair of wrist restraints. “Hold out your hands,” he said.

A’Tral didn’t like his chances, but his fear of returning to prison was greater than his fear of a single bounty hunter. From his crouched position, he jumped forward with the maximum power his cyberlegs would allow. His head caught the hunter in the stomach, where the hunter’s armor was more of a flexible mesh, as opposed to the heavy red plates covering his chest. The impact hurt A’Tral’s head - a lot - but he felt great satisfaction at hearing the supposedly untouchable bounty hunter say “Oof.” Then he sprang past the hunter, sparing a second to drop a pocket grenade behind him. As he turned the next corner, he stumbled and skidded to a stop. His attention now focused on a shiny red cannon sitting on a tripod, tracking his every move. Still a bit dizzy from the head impact, he stepped backwards a few paces. 

Would it fire if he ran? Would it fire if he stayed still? What if he slowly inched back around the corner? And... shouldn’t he have heard an explosion by now? He had now backed up enough to turn towards the previous tunnel. 

“Not. Wise.” The bounty hunter stood just a few meters away, holding the now-deactivated pocket grenade. His body language was like that of a disappointed teacher, and though the hunter’s blood-red visor was opaque, A’Tral imagined a stern expression on his face. A’Tral pulled out another AON blade, brandishing it menacingly, but the hunter just shook his head, unimpressed. A’Tral realized he wasn’t going to win this, and made a snap decision. Better death than prison. 

He moved to thrust the blade into his own throat, but the bounty hunter was quicker. He tapped an icon on his wrist pad, and the tripod-mounted cannon fired. A white ball of electricity hit A’Tral in the side, knocking him to the ground, once again causing him to drop his knife. 

Straining to stay conscious, A’Tral watched the bounty hunter step closer. “At least,” A’Tral said with exhausted resignation, “tell me how you knew where to set up the cannons.”

“Trade secret,” the hunter replied, in that electronically-enhanced voice. A’Tral flinched as the infamous bounty hunter reached toward him. But then something curious happened. A light flashed on the hunter’s gauntlet, and he stopped to stare at the readout. He pressed a couple of keys on his wrist computer, his attention completely focused on the tiny screen.

Still concentrating on the screen, he absently reached for A’Tral’s left thigh, retrieving the stolen gem. “It’s your lucky day,” the hunter said, pocketing the gem. “I have bigger fish to fry. Now get lost.”

ED.02499.12.31

InterGalactic Police Sergeant Daniel Malis had a knack for finding himself in crisis situations. When terrorists had taken hostages at the Galactic Nations Embassy six months ago, it had been during his shift. Two months before that he had been on vacation on a luxury starship when it was hijacked. And, even though he lived hundreds of kilometers away, he just happened to be in Los Angeles when the big one hit. The infamous “Malice Luck” was legendary at the IGP training camps. Most officers would chalk it up to coincidence, but that didn’t stop them from avoiding the sergeant whenever they could. 

As a large, intimidating, bear of a man, Malis would have had trouble making friends even without his bad luck. Not that he considered his luck bad. He actually felt very fortunate for these chance events. He always managed to turn these tragedies into opportunities for heroism. Once, he was making a deposit at the bank when it was held up by two robbers. In less than five minutes he had them tied up and on their way to prison. It was opportunities like this that had earned him his rank as a sergeant. 

Today was different. Today he was not on top of the situation. Today he was thousands of kilometers away from the danger zone, and he had never felt more vulnerable. 

He viewed the transmission again. First it showed the outside of IGP EarthStation 1. Orbiting the Earth at a slightly greater distance than the moon, it was nearly as large as a moon itself. As this solar system’s primary police headquarters, it was home to over fourteen thousand IGP officers. With its powerful shields and formidable weapons systems, as well as its sheer size, it was completely invulnerable to attack. But then, the designers had never expected an attack of this nature. 

The scene suddenly changed to show the face of a woman. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with short black hair, pale skin, and crystal blue eyes. She announced without emotion, “This is Alterra Sarr. Your station is under my control. Unless you submit to my demands, this station will be destroyed, along with everyone in it. You have two hours to decide.” The transmission ended there. The computers had downloaded a list of demands which included large sums of money as well as the release of several prisoners. 

“Can she do it, Esh?” asked Malis. The “Esh” in question was Doctor G’Heesh Eshton, a tall, gray-skinned humanoid with large, black eyes. The doctor was every bit as anxious as Malis, though possibly a bit less bothered about being “stuck” on Earth during the crisis. 

“I have connected to the station’s computers,” Eshton said in his stilted accent. “I am locked out as far as actually being able to take any kind of control, but I managed to sneak a peek at what she’s been doing. Somehow she has reprogrammed the propulsion systems to backwash into the ventilation systems. In addition, the gasses used in the power core would be released. Apparently she knows which gas combinations will cause a massive explosion.” 

“And there’s no way we can get in?” 

For a second Eshton looked offended. “I helped design the station myself, sergeant. If there were any way past the weapons systems, I would know it. She has somehow even locked out our own security override codes.” 

“How did she do this? Where did she get these authorization codes? I thought our system was unbreakable. Alterra Sarr is just a patrol officer. She shouldn’t have had access to any of these systems!” Malis was beginning to lose his temper. 

“I do not know how she could have done it. She must have been setting this up for a long time. She could have had help from one of the station’s engineers...” Eshton broke off, frowning. “...but, to accomplish all of this, she would have to have known passcodes that only a select few of us possessed, possibly even codes that only I know.” 

“We’ll worry about security problems later. Right now we need to stop her. Have you read her file? Maybe we can talk her out of this.” 

“I have read her file, sergeant, but this takeover does not match her profile. She has always been an exemplary officer. She was even in line for a promotion. In fact, some of the prisoners she wants freed are ones that she captured herself. It does not make sense.” 

The video screen flickered on again. This time it was a split screen. On the left was Alterra Sarr, broadcast from the IGP station. On the right was the face of IGP Captain Trent Dellwood, broadcast from the IGP Earth Headquarters in Greenland. 

“We can’t submit to your demands, Alterra, you know this. We don’t give in to terrorists. There is no way you can get away with this. If you destroy the station your life won’t be worth spit anywhere in the galaxy. Start releasing the officers and maybe we can talk. If you give up now I’ll look into reducing your sentence.” Captain Dellwood had conducted terrorist negotiations before, but never one of this magnitude. He was visibly nervous. 

Alterra Sarr still showed no emotion. “It was worth a try,” she said, and that was all. Her transmission ended, and the left side of the screen now showed the outside of the station. Dellwood, still on the right half of the screen, had a look of confusion on his face. Then, at the stroke of midnight, the station exploded. 

It was a spectacular sight as the station’s exterior panels suddenly blew outward, one after another, while the burning gas and the vacuum of space caused some areas of the station to explode while others imploded. Huge metal segments blew out in every direction, while other parts of the station caved in. Bright flames flared out from the center for a few seconds and then vanished as the station’s atmosphere dissipated into space. In less than fifteen seconds the entire station became a cloud of debris. 

Sergeant Malis just stared, unable to speak. 

Several solar systems away, in a squalid bar on Chirminon, the entire crowd became silent as the news came on. This was significant for two reasons. It was not the type of crowd that watched the news, and it was not the type of crowd that became silent. All eyes turned toward the large video screen as the reporter spoke. 

“Tonight’s top story: Over fourteen thousand InterGalactic Police officers were killed today when a terrorist destroyed the Earth IGP space station. The terrorist has been identified as former IGP officer Alterra Sarr. Officer Sarr, shown here, reportedly took control of the computer systems and used pirated codes to create a systems malfunction which destroyed the station. She is still at large.

“Due to the sudden extreme shortage of IGP officers, the United Galaxy Organization is encouraging all bounty hunters to participate in the search for this dangerous woman. A collection is being crowdfunded, and the governments of several planets have contributed large sums towards the reward for her capture. So far the total is up to seven million credits. Money is still rolling in, but one thing is clear. Whoever brings in Alterra Sarr is going to be very wealthy. 

“If you have any information, or would like to make a contribution, please report to your nearest IGP terminal. For more information on this case, and complete files on Alterra Sarr, download file SarrAlt382 from our site.” 

Then it cut to commercial. At once the bar was no longer quiet. Boasts of “I’ll be rich!” and “She’s mine!” were heard as a room full of cutthroats all ran toward the computer terminals. There was one who did not run, however. This single figure stood in the back of the room, not speaking a word. Watching the crowd through a blood-red domed helmet, the figure contemplated this turn of events. When the bounty hunter finally spoke, it was just one word. 

“Fools.” 

The few who heard him knew that he was correct. No one stood a better chance of finding her than Bloodstone.

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