This short story takes place before Bloodhunters v1: Bad Blood. If you enjoy it, please consider purchasing my other books here.
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IGP Officer Zhari Ze-Rastt was sick of EarthStation 1. For every four hours she spent on the streets, she spent another four filing paperwork at the station. It was also where she slept, ran her training exercises, and ate most of her meals. And while the station was beautiful, a true testament to the power of engineering, she wished she could spend more time in the sun, breathing non-manufactured oxygen. She was getting married in a few months, and was greatly anticipating her honeymoon. She wasn’t sure where they were going yet, as it was supposed to be a surprise. The important thing was, she’d be spending a couple of weeks planetside.
But which planet? Earth was nice, but she was hoping she’d get to visit her homeworld of Galea. She hadn’t been there in years, and she looked forward to showing Vik her favorite landmarks. She’d been dropping hints for a while; had Vik picked up on them? She wasn’t sure. He was keeping it close to the vest, but she could tell he had something big planned. Even if it wasn’t Galea, it was going to be a spectacular trip.
She glanced at the picture of Vik on her desk. They couldn’t be more different. He was human, square-jawed and duty-driven. Zhari, meanwhile, had cat-like facial features and a more relaxed attitude. Not that she didn’t take her job seriously, but it seemed like Vik stayed in officer mode even when he was off the clock. Nevertheless, she loved him. She wanted to talk to him, right now. She didn’t have anything to say, really, she just had to hear his voice. She grabbed her comm, and her thumb was hovering over the call button when a message flashed.
Duty assignment. But not just any work detail. This one would keep her off the station for a couple of days, at least. She grabbed her things and headed for the landing bay, practically skipping with glee.
“You’ve all read the briefing,” Officer Tannish lectured. “And you know why they picked us for this assignment. Each of us has dealt with this fugitive before, and our unique insights give us the edge in recapturing him. Time is of the essence here. We believe he’s headed to Cytrine Delta to get black-market facial reconstruction. If he succeeds, we might never get our hands on him again. It is vitally important we get to him before he goes under the knife.”
Zhari looked around the cockpit. In addition to Zhari and Tannish, there were two other officers on board. Officer Blake had close-cropped red hair, and always looked like she was bored. She’d been the one to process the crime scene after the murder. Agent Renn was bald, with olive-brown skin. He was a profiler, and he’d interviewed Hezler in prison. Zhari was the only non-human. She’d been the one to recapture Hezler after his first escape two months earlier.
“But there’s something else you should know,” Tannish said. “Something that wasn’t in the briefing. Against my recommendation, they’ve posted a bounty on Hezler.” Blake and Renn sighed with disgust. “I know, I know,” Tannish continued. “As if Hezler wasn’t enough, we also have to deal with bounty hunters getting in the way. But with such a tight time limit, they didn’t want to take any chances.”
Zhari understood the reasoning. As long as Hezler was a danger to society, it didn’t matter who brought him in. But she also understood the reactions of her fellow officers. If the bounty hunters got to Hezler first, it would make the IGP look bad. And there was always the chance the bounty would attract carrion hunters – unscrupulous mercenaries who would have no compunctions about killing an officer if it meant they got the reward.
“I know what you’re all thinking,” Tannish said. “But don’t worry. We know more about Hezler than any bounty hunter, and I’m confident that we can bring him in without incident. We land in two hours, be ready.”
The IGP shuttle sped toward the warp gate that would take it to Cytrine Delta. No one in the galaxy stood a better chance of apprehending Hezler than the ship’s five passengers. The real question was whether Hezler would be caught by one of the four officers, or the stowaway.
The sun was sinking on the horizon when the ship landed in Silicon Bay. Most of Cytrine Delta’s major cities had science-themed names, because the planet was known for its high-tech research centers. The local scientists were annoyed by this sort of pandering, but the tourists ate it up. Unfortunately, there were fewer tourists every year, as more and more cities became slums. The tech-themed names of the world’s cities and streets seemed increasingly incongruous as the years went on.
With an entire planet to pick from, choosing a landing site could have been a major decision. Fortunately, someone matching Hezler’s description had been spotted in Silicon Bay. Their informant swore that they’d only notified the IGP and no one else, so hopefully they’d be in and out before any bounty hunters got wind of Hezler’s presence.
The officers disembarked from their shuttle and headed for the local police headquarters. A few minutes after they left, the shuttle’s door opened again. A shadowy figure slipped out the door and vanished into the dusk.
Reylund Hezler paced in his tiny motel room, wishing time would pass faster. He was supposed to meet his contact in three hours. He couldn’t be early, or his contact wouldn’t be there. He couldn’t kill time in town, or he might be recognized. His best bet was to stay put until time to go.
But this room… it was smaller than his cell had been. He could barely breathe in here. He’d only been here an hour, and he already felt like screaming. Three more hours seemed insurmountable. What was he going to do?
He sat down on the bed. It was old, and the mattress sagged in the middle, but it was much softer than the beds in prison had been. He briefly considered taking a nap, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get any sleep. And if he did, he might sleep through his alarm and miss the rendezvous. He stood up again, and thought about ordering some food.
But he was too nervous to eat. What if the surgery went badly? What if the doctor put him under, then turned him in to the IGP? What if the police found him mid-surgery, leaving the procedure half-finished? Scenario after scenario whirled through his mind, and he began to feel nauseous.
He wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. Hezler was no criminal. He’d taken the rap for his boyfriend, Vinz Kacy. It was a complicated set of circumstances, almost a comedy of errors, that had led to Hezler’s conviction. At least… that’s what he’d thought at the time.
A year earlier, on a Friday morning, Vinz gave Hezler a stuffed platypus as a surprise. Hezler took it to work to show his coworkers, and left it on his desk. But it turned out that inside the platypus was a second surprise, tickets to a play on Saturday night. The office was closed on weekends, but Hezler had keys, and offered to go get the platypus. But Vinz still wanted to keep the title of the play a surprise, and was afraid Hezler would peek, so he offered to go to Hezler’s office instead. It was against the office’s security rules, but Vinz convinced Hezler it would be fine.
While Vinz was in Hezler’s office, he found the body of Hezler’s boss, Virra Spinner. While trying to revive her, Vinz got Virra’s blood all over his clothing. Rather than call the police, Vinz panicked and returned home. When Hezler heard the story, he called the police. But he didn’t want to get in trouble at work, so he told the police that he’d been the one to go to the office, and that Vinz’s bloody clothes were his.
Things spiraled out of control from there. The killer had taken the office’s data drives, including the ones that held security camera footage. Hezler wasn’t fond of his boss, and his coworkers knew it, so there was motive. Even if he’d wanted to tell the police the truth, that Vinz had been the one to find the body, they wouldn’t have believed him at that point. There was simply too much evidence against Hezler.
At first, Hezler was content to bide his time in prison, sure that more evidence would come out, and the real killer would be revealed. After a few months, he realized no one was still looking for the truth. Vinz never came to see him in prison. When Hezler escaped the first time, he tried to pay Vinz a visit. But Vinz had moved on, and was dating someone else. He’d sold off all of Hezler’s possessions, and had somehow made it rich by buying stocks. Vinz had never shown any interest in finance before; how had he gotten so lucky?
Once Hezler was back in prison, he started putting the pieces together. And now he had a theory. It was Vinz who had suggested that he go to the office instead of Hezler. Once there, Vinz found data that gave him insider information on stock tips. But he was discovered by Virra, and he killed her. Finally, he convinced Hezler to take the blame for breaking into the office, assuring him that it looked less suspicious.
And I fell for it, Hezler thought angrily. That was the worst part about it. If he’d known he was being set up, he would have fought harder in court. He would have thrown Vinz under the bus, instead of protecting him with lies. But it was too late to do anything about that. If he were to bring it up now, he’d just be a twice-escaped convict desperate to stay free. No one was going to believe him without hard evidence.
But how was that going to happen? Hezler was having a hard enough keeping the cops off his trail. He didn’t have the time or resources to play detective, too.
He checked the time again. Damn. For all his brooding, only ten more minutes had gone by. He sat down on the bed again, pulled his knees up to his chest, and tried to calm his breathing.
Whisper was practically invisible from her vantage point. Her species had the ability to manipulate shadow, allowing her to blend into the dark recess of the building. She crouched on a ledge on the second floor, in one of the building’s many exterior alcoves. From a bystander’s point of view, the alcove might have looked a bit darker than it should have, but they probably wouldn’t question it.
She was familiar with police procedures. The four IGP officers would be scattered across the city right now, first questioning known informants, then every local surgeon, starting with the ones who specialized in facial reconstruction. But Whisper knew better. Hezler wasn’t dumb enough to hire a surgeon listed online. No, he’d go for someone experienced, but no longer practicing. So while the cops and other bounty hunters were on a wild goose chase, Whisper had an actual lead to follow.
The guy’s name was Ryfush Weglan. He was a Vhelran, with dark orange scales, and a scar across his left cheek. He’d once been an expert in the field of body modification, but he’d abandoned the career after some malpractice suits. But he still had connections, and now made a living illegally procuring painkillers for people who didn’t qualify for a prescription.
He’d also gone to the same high school as Reylund Hezler. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but Whisper’s intuition told her that this was the guy she needed to watch. She’d headed to his place immediately after leaving the IGP shuttle, staked it out until he left, and followed him to this alley. Just a few minutes later, another man showed up. This newcomer wore a hood, but he was about the right build to be Hezler.
The two spoke for a few minutes, and Whisper strained to hear their conversation. Some bounty hunters could afford fancy tech that would have allowed them to hear them from a distance, but Whisper didn’t have that kind of money. But then, she wasn’t in it for the profit, she just wanted to keep violent criminals off the streets.
Whisper considered leaping down from the ledge and grabbing Hezler, but she couldn’t be sure it was him. If she was wrong, and Weglan was planning to meet Hezler at a later time, acting now would blow her whole plan. Weglan would cancel his meeting with Hezler, and Whisper would be back to square one.
After a few minutes, Weglan gestured farther down the alley, and the duo walked away. Whisper followed, keeping her distance, blending back into the shadows whenever one of them started looking around for witnesses. They ended up at a nearly abandoned office building, its doors closed for the night. Weglan unlocked the door and led Hezler inside.
“So, what do you want to look like?” Weglan asked. The office had originally been used by a talent agency, and some of their posters still hung on the wall. The room was poorly lit, illuminated by a single hanging lamp in the center of the room. The partially-open doorway also let in a strip of light from the hall, but it was still unusually dark for a doctor’s office.
“I don’t care,” Hezler answered softly. They were the only ones in the building, but Hezler still kept his voice low. “I’m only doing this so I don’t get caught.”
“Sure, but you’re going to have to live with this face,” Weglan said. “Might as well get one you like.”
“Can’t you just change it back once I prove I’m innocent?” Hezler asked.
Weglan laughed. “You make it sound like I’m going to store your old face in a freezer somewhere. Doesn’t work that way. Look, some time down the road, if you want to look like your old self again, I can recommend a surgeon who might be able to get you there. It’ll be expensive, though, and it won’t be perfect. And that’s only if you actually manage to catch the real killer, which is a big if. My advice is to accept reality, and pick a face you can live with.”
Hezler’s mind reeled. Before, facial reconstruction had seemed like a nebulous idea, something he’d seen fugitives do in the movies. It was just one of those things people do when they’re on the run. But now that he was sitting in Weglan’s eerily dark office, surrounded by medical equipment, the full weight of what he was about to do hit him. He was going to change his face, permanently. He was going to look in the mirror, and see a stranger staring back.
He liked his face. He’d never really thought about it before, but it was a decent face. Not super handsome, but clean, average, the kind of face you might see in commercials. He’d never looked in the mirror and thought, “I wish my nose was narrower” or “I wish I had fuller lips.” There were no celebrities he envied, nobody he wanted to emulate.
“Do you have a book or something I can look through?” he asked.
Weglan grunted in annoyance and handed Hezler a tablet. It contained thousands of pictures of noses, eyes, chins, and other facial features. As Hezler scrolled through the images, Weglan asked him a few questions, trying to narrow down what face would make him happiest. Weglan knew Hezler wasn’t getting this done out of vanity; he just needed to keep from being recognized, and to fool facial scanners. But they were friends, even if they hadn’t spoken much since high school, and Weglan wanted to do the best job he could.
Whisper watched them from a dark corner near the doorway. She could absorb sound as well as light, so sneaking in when their heads were turned had been easy enough. Fortunately there were plenty of shadows to hide in, the office’s hanging light leaving the edges of the room in darkness.
This was it. Whisper could easily subdue Hezler from here. With her skills, she’d have him tied up in seconds. Even if they fought back, she’d be able to take them without a scratch. She’d handled crowds of armed criminals before, so two average joes would be a cakewalk.
And yet, she still hesitated.
As Hezler thumbed through the tablet, their conversation drifted away from the surgery, and back to Hezler’s conviction, incarceration, and escapes. Weglan explained how he unjustly lost his medical license, due to false claims of incompetence. Whisper listened intently, studying Hezler’s posture. Aurorans were raised to read body language in addition to spoken words, a skill they used to predict their opponents’ moves during hand-to-hand combat.
Hezler was telling the truth. Whisper could tell by his shoulders, his breathing, his eyes, and even his speech patterns. Either he was innocent of his crimes, or at least he believed he was. Weglan, meanwhile, was embellishing his own story. The former surgeon believed some of what he was saying, but he was definitely keeping some significant details to himself. The contrast between the two was undeniable.
Most bounty hunters wouldn’t have cared. Money was money. Whisper was paid to bring them in, and the courts could work out the rest. But that just wasn’t how Whisper saw the universe. If this man was innocent, she wanted to help him, even if it meant giving up a reward.
But what if she walked away, only for Hezler to get caught by another bounty hunter? There was no way he could stay on the run forever, even with a new face.
Whisper was still debating when there was a loud crash from down the hall.
“This is the police! Come out with your hands above your head!” Zhari didn’t have a warrant, but police procedure was pretty lax on Cytrine Delta. Her team’s leads had been dead ends so far, until an informant gave her a hot tip that led her here.
Having just kicked open the outer door, she now stood in a long hallway, lined with numbered doors that led to long-abandoned offices. She jogged down the hall, gun drawn, looking for any indication of which office to investigate first. She reached a side hallway and peeked around the corner, wary of any potential danger. Halfway down the hall, she saw an open door. As soon as she spotted it, it slammed shut.
“What exactly is your plan, here?” Weglan asked bluntly, as Hezler pushed the operating table in front of the door.
“Shut up and help me,” Hezler said, in a panic. He turned around and grabbed a chair, and started pulling it towards the door as well.
“There are no other exits from this room,” Weglan said. “You don’t have any weapons, and I don’t think you’d use them if you did. You think that cop’s going to go away just because she couldn’t push the door open on her first try? No. She’s going to call for backup, they’re going to bring in the drones, and you’re just going to make things worse for yourself.”
“I can’t go back to prison,” Hezler said, wedging the chair under the operating table.
Weglan sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Hide behind this chair, and let me do the talking.”
There was a pounding on the office door. They heard a muffled voice shout, “Open up, this is the police!”
Hezler dragged the chair back to the far corner, and hid behind it. “One minute,” Weglan shouted, pulling the operating table back from the door.
The officer kicked the door open. She was Galean, with a catlike face. She had light gray fur, and her face was framed by a blue mane. She wore a navy blue IGP uniform with lightweight armor plating. She quickly looked around the room, then turned to Weglan. “Where’s Hezler?”
“Behind that chair,” Weglan said, pointing.
“Jerk!” Hezler shouted, emerging from his hiding spot.
“Realist,” Weglan countered.
The officer stepped forward, her right hand pointing the gun a Hezler, her left hand reaching for her bracers. She paused when she saw Hezler’s shocked expression. He wasn’t looking at the cop, but past her.
From the corner closest to the door, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was as if the darkness itself coalesced into a feminine, humanoid shape. Then the shadows dissipated, revealing a woman dressed in black and gray. She wore a tight-fitting jumpsuit, with a black vest and boots. Her helmet featured a mirrored faceplate.
The officer was about to turn around when this shadowy newcomer grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. “Run,” the shadow woman said. Hezler didn’t have to be told twice. He ran past the two women, past Weglan, out the door, and down the hallway. He didn’t stop running until he was back in his motel room.
What is this thing? Zhari wondered, trying to break free of the creature’s grasp. She couldn’t turn to get a good look, but it felt humanoid. Zhari had scanned the room upon entering, as per her training. Where had it been hiding? Zhari couldn’t move her arms enough to aim her pistol, no matter how hard she struggled. Instead, she lifted her right leg and stomped hard on her captor’s boot. The woman gasped, momentarily loosening her grip, enough for Zhari to break free.
Zhari turned, but only got a glimpse of her attacker before the lights went out. The dark woman had thrown something into the air, smashing the room’s only light. While the light from the hallway still illuminated the room enough to see Weglan and the furniture, the dark woman seemed to completely vanish in the dimness.
The officer raised her weapon, only for it be kicked out of her grasp. Then Zhari lunged forward at where she’d last seen the woman. Grabbing her foe around the waist, Zhari wrestled her to the ground. She still couldn’t see the woman, which was confusing. Galeans had excellent night vision, but all Zhari could see was blackness where she felt her opponent to be.
Weglan carefully stepped backward, away from the women, and out the door. He pulled the door shut as he left, leaving the two in total darkness.
“Whoever you are,” Zhari grunted, trying to get a better grip on her invisible opponent, “You’re under arrest for aiding and abetting a known fugitive…”
The dark woman didn’t answer, she just kept trying to hold Zhari still. Although Zhari couldn’t see her opponent, she could tell that it was a woman, probably human, stronger than average, with formal martial arts training. The woman seemed to sense every move Zhari planned to make before she made it. But as they wrestled and fought, another realization dawned on Zhari – this woman wasn’t trying to hurt her, only delay her. She had passed up several opportunities to deliver crippling blows, going for grabs and holds instead.
Zhari wrestled herself free again, and slowly stood up. Instead of attacking, this time she backed up until she felt the wall at her back. “You’re protecting a murderer, you know,” Zhari said, breathing heavily.
There was no response, but Zhari thought she heard a drawer open.
“He’ll kill again,” Zhari said. Her firearm was lost in the darkness, but she had a few other tools at her disposal. But what did she have that would affect this woman? She’d felt a helmet while they’d grappled, so that ruled out mace. She had gas grenades, but the woman’s helmet might have its own oxygen reserves. She had a stun baton, but her opponent might be wearing a shock-resistant flightsuit.
Finally she reached for her AON knife. She didn’t want to use lethal force, but it was the only weapon guaranteed to breach her attacker’s defenses. Plus it gave off light, which was what Zhari needed most right now. She held up the weapon and clicked the switch on the hilt. The blade immediately started to warm up, giving off a blue glow.
Zhari jumped, seeing her own blue-tinted face reflected in the woman’s visor. The shadowy woman was leaning towards her, mere centimeters away. Before Zhari could even register what the woman was doing, she felt a prick in her shoulder. She thrust her knife forward, but the woman jumped back and disappeared into the shadows once again. Zhari touched her shoulder, already starting to feel dizzy. What had she…
Of course. It was a doctor’s office. It had to be some sort of fast-acting sedative, taken from the drawer. Zhari knew she only had seconds of consciousness left. She sheathed her knife and pulled out her comm unit. “Tannish,” she said. “I need… need… baffllezerrrrm…”
As Zhari fell forward, the dark woman caught her and gently set her on the floor.
Someone spotted Hezler leaving the planet, but after that the trail went cold. The four officers returned to EarthStation 1 and filed their reports. They were given a stern lecture, but ultimately it was determined that they’d done all they could. A few days later, a surprise piece of evidence arrived at the station. It was the stolen data drives from Hezler’s office. An accompanying note apologized for the interference on Cytrine Delta, and claimed that the drive had been found in the possession of Vinz Kacy. While the drive had since been wiped, a data recovery team managed to restore most of the deleted files, including security logs.
It was all there, in full color, high definition, pixel-perfect video. Indisputable evidence that Kacy had entered the office, accessed restricted files, and killed Virra Spinner. Kacy was quickly arrested, and Hezler turned himself in. Hezler was still sentenced to probation for the minor crimes he’d committed while on the run, but he would soon be able to resume a normal life.
In Zhari’s report, she described her attacker as a “woman seemingly made of shadows.” For a couple of weeks, she took a fair amount of ribbing over it. Her fellow officers joked that she’d been attacked by the boogeyman, and one of them even gave her a night light as a gag gift. But then Agent Renn fell into a vat of relish while chasing a suspect, and Zhari’s story was immediately forgotten. “Agent Pickles” became a sensation, the most joked-about officer on the force, for the rest of the year.
Right up until the disaster. After that, nothing seemed funny anymore.
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