Excerpts: The Chauffeur

The following is an excerpt from Bloodhunters v1: Bad Blood, Chapter 02.01. A portion of the ending has been excluded to avoid potential spoilers.

ED.02500.02.10

Sigran “Siggy” Trihannen leaned against the inside wall of the trash bin, trying to catch his breath. Had he lost his pursuer? He thought so. He hadn’t seen any sign of him for three blocks. Still, this wasn’t just any old bounty hunter he was fleeing. Siggy put his ear up to the side of the bin, listening for footsteps. Nothing. He waited another five minutes before daring to push up on the lid for a peek at his surroundings.

The lid wouldn’t open. That was interesting. He pushed a bit harder, but it didn’t give. Siggy hadn’t always been claustrophobic, but the past few months in prison had changed him. Now that he might be trapped, the oxygen seemed thinner in a way it hadn’t just a minute ago. Were these things airtight? He didn’t think so, but that was the type of trivia he’d rather look up online than test in person. Slogging through trash juice, he pushed his way to the other side of the bin and tried the lid there. It didn’t give a bit.

“Not good,” he murmured. He pushed harder and harder, until finally he banged on the inside of the lid, his fear of suffocation drowning out his desire to stay hidden. “Hey!” he shouted. Something on top of the lid shifted, then slid off onto the ground. Siggy gave one final push, throwing the lid back, only to find an energy blaster pointed at his face.

“Don’t try anything,” an electronically-enhanced voice said. Siggy saw his own horrified face reflected in the blood-red domed helmet of his captor. Oh well, at least there was no shame in getting caught by Bloodstone.

It was a long drive back to the prison. Siggy sat in the back of a sleek black hovercar. There were no buttons or switches back here, no way to open the doors. A sheet of unbreakable glass separated him from his captor-slash-chauffer. Siggy looked out the windows. It was the mother of all traffic jams. The freeway was four lanes wide and three lanes high, and every lane was at a standstill. Siggy wondered if his escape had had anything to do with the traffic. He’d caused a few explosions earlier to distract the police; that kind of thing tended to affect the local traffic. 

Well, this is it, he thought. The last car ride I’ll ever get. His escape hadn’t been planned. He actually took advantage of another prisoner’s attempt to escape, running off while the cops were busy catching the first guy. The other prisoner had been planning his escape for three months, but it took Siggy less than a second to plot his own. Not that his escape had been successful, but he sure made it farther than the other guy. Siggy had a knack for making the most of an opportunity, and he started to wonder if this traffic jam might be another one.

“Look, can we talk?” Siggy said to the driver.

“No,” the bounty hunter said.

Siggy sighed. “Any chance you could stop by a restroom? I really need to go.”

“I doubt that,” Bloodstone answered. “You already wet yourself when I caught you.”

Siggy looked down and realized the bounty hunter was correct. With all the trash juice on his legs, he hadn’t even noticed. The combination of smells in the backseat was starting to make his eyes water. “I just want to clean up a little. Can you at least crack a window back here?”

“No.” But Bloodstone did press a button on the dashboard, increasing the air circulation in the back seat. Clean air blew in, stale air was sucked out, and the stench became a bit more bearable.

Hmmm, Siggy thought. So the bounty hunter did have a heart after all. Or maybe he just didn’t want his captive getting sick all over this nice car. Siggy went back to studying his surroundings. He knew better than to try smashing the windows. Not only would they be unbreakable, but he wanted to stay on Bloodstone’s good side, such as it was. There were no other potential exits – double-sealing doors, no control panels, no hatches in the roof or floor, no behind-the-seat passage to the trunk. It was a custom-built vehicle, and the backseat was specifically designed to be a mobile prison cell.

But there was always psychology. Siggy believed things happened for a reason. His execution was supposed to be tomorrow; why would he be presented with an opportunity to escape, if he wasn’t meant to take it? And this traffic jam was obviously another gift from fate, he just had to figure out how he was meant to use it. Maybe he could talk his captor into helping him. It was a long shot, but he’d always been good at long shots.

“You know I’m sentenced to death, right? And that my execution is tomorrow?”

“Yes.” It was like talking to a computer.

“So by turning me back in, you’re basically killing me.”

No response. Siggy was pretty good at reading body language, but Bloodstone just kept both hands on the wheel with no change in posture.

“I was framed, you know. You’re killing an innocent person.”

Bloodstone appeared to take a deep breath before answering. “That’s for the courts to decide. And they did. You are guilty of murder, and you will be punished by the authorities. My only job is to bring you in.”

Siggy hadn’t expected to get so many words out of the stoic bounty hunter. This was good. Maybe he could coax out a few more. Get him talking, get a dialogue going, and he would see Siggy as more than just a job. Maybe even see him as a victim.

“I understand,” Siggy said. “We all have our roles in life, why try to break the mold?”

No answer, not even a twitch.

“But the truth will come out after I’m gone. And you’ll have to live with that on your conscience forever.”

Bloodstone appeared to sigh at this. Siggy wasn’t sure if he was getting through, or just irritating his captor. Probably the latter.

“Well, I’m just going to talk, okay? After this, they’re going to push the execution through as quickly as possible, so this is my last chance to tell anyone the true story. If you don’t want to listen, that’s fine, but I have to get this off my chest.”

Bloodstone nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“I never wanted to be a criminal. I don’t like hurting people. But I had to steal to survive, living on the streets. I had to join a gang for the shelter and protection they offered. I was only a kid when my parents kicked me out.”

“Why?” Bloodstone’s head was cocked slightly.

What was this? Actual interest? Was this a shared experience? Siggy wasn’t going to waste it, though.

“Well, the first thing you have to know is that I was born a girl. I’m transgender.”

Bloodstone only nodded, but body language told Siggy that this was new information to the bounty hunter. The local judicial system had its flaws, but they were impeccable when it came to privacy. Siggy could tell Bloodstone was trying hard not to react. For whatever reason, he had the hunter’s full interest.

“I got lucky. Really lucky. It turns out my gang’s leader had a sister who was trans. The sister had killed herself. They were very understanding.” 

Bloodstone nodded slowly, and sat up a little straighter.

Siggy sensed a connection. He was good at that. Much like the mythical Aurorans, his species had a knack for body language. The Knarvans came from a planet with a thin atmosphere, where sound didn’t travel particularly well. His people used hand signals and body language for most communication. While Aurorans supposedly used this skill to develop their unique martial arts, the Knarvans mostly used their skill for socialization. They made great negotiators, politicians, and con artists. 

Siggy had gleaned more intel from the position of Bloodstone’s shoulders than from anything the bounty hunter had actually said. He didn’t know what the connection might be, but something was definitely there. Had Bloodstone also grown up on the streets? Or maybe he had a family member who was transgender? Siggy knew better than to ask. If he did, Bloodstone would retreat into his shell and become a brick wall for the rest of the ride.

“My parents came to this planet when I was just a baby,” Siggy continued. “They weren’t rich, but they made good money. They weren’t abusive, but they were strict. They weren’t ethical, but they had traditional values. I have eight identical sisters. That’s how my people are born – in litters, usually about eight to twelve. But I always knew I was different. I knew before I could even walk.”

Siggy intentionally paused a few seconds longer than he normally would have. When he finally saw Bloodstone’s head turn a bit to the side, he knew the bounty hunter was invested, waiting for Siggy to continue. Good.

“It was like... It was like I was wearing a costume. I was wearing a girl suit, and the zipper was stuck. And I didn’t hate the costume. It was a nice costume. But whenever I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see me, I saw the costume. And the older I got, the more uncomfortable the costume got. The worse it felt that I never saw my own face in the mirror. The more frustrating it was that everyone recognized me by my costume, but didn’t know the real me.”

Bloodstone nodded, and Siggy kept talking. “I confided in my sisters, hoping for a shared experience, hoping to find someone to talk to. But none of them felt the same way. Weird, isn’t it? All of us are identical, and yet...” he trailed off. “Anyway, one of my sisters outed me to our parents, and I was out on the street.” 

“That is unfortunate,” Bloodstone said.

“So yeah, I joined the gang to survive, and stole so I could eat and buy hormones. And to hopefully save up for my transition. This went on for years. I kept saving and saving, but crime just doesn’t pay much. With every big score there was a setback. At the rate I was going, I would be ancient by the time I could afford any operations. And then one day… an opportunity presented itself.”

“The Valmer Estate,” Bloodstone said.

Excellent, Siggy thought. We’ve gone from mild interest to full-on interaction. By the time we’re out of this traffic jam, Bloodstone will be begging to set me free.

“Yes,” the captive confirmed. “It was my sister Sephra who tipped me off. She’d been working for the Valmers as a maid. She knew all their security passwords, and when they’d be on vacation.”

“But I thought your family was estranged?” Bloodstone asked.

“She sought me out. She said she wanted to be a family again, despite our parents’ wishes. And of course, she knew I had thieving skills. I was so starved for family that I didn’t question it.”

“So she offered to give you all the information you needed to rob the place, in return for which you’d split the money,” Bloodstone said.

“Exactly! So, I waited until the Valmers were on vacation, wrote down all their security codes and procedures, and went to work. Only…”

“Only they weren’t on vacation after all.”

“Yeah… I thought the house was empty, but they were just asleep. I heard footsteps, saw Mr. Valmer, he shouted something, and I ran. That’s it. I didn’t kill them, I swear. I’ve never killed anyone.”

“Your hand was found at the crime scene,” Bloodstone said. “Sliced off by Mrs. Valmer’s AON knife.”

“I’ve never lost a hand in my life,” Siggy answered, holding up both hands in protest.

“Except your species can regenerate limbs,” Bloodstone said. “A fact you tried to hide at your trial.”

They were out of the traffic jam now, on the final stretch of road to the prison. Siggy didn’t have much time left. “Yeah, my lawyer’s an idiot,” he lamented. “He didn’t think the prosecutor would come across that bit of trivia. He said when I showed up with two hands, it was going to be an open-and-shut case. But when the prosecutor spouted that little fact, it just made me look that much guiltier. But that wasn’t my hand they found, I swear!”

Bloodstone sighed. “The hand was a one hundred percent match with your DNA.” The exasperated I’m-tired-of-your-lies tone said it all. The experienced hunter had probably had similar conversations with hundreds of captives over the years.

“I told you, I have identical sisters.”

The hovercar slowed down a little. 

“Sephra… betrayed me. Her plan, right from the start, was to kill her employers, steal what she could, and blame me. She chose me as her patsy because I had a criminal record, and because she hates trans people.”

The car pulled over to the side of the road. Siggy trembled with anticipation. Had he gotten through to the hunter?

“Why didn’t you mention this at the trial?” Bloodstone asked.

“At that point, I knew I was being framed, but I didn’t know it was by her,” Siggy answered. “I couldn’t believe she would do that to me, and I didn’t want to do anything that might place the blame on her. It wasn’t until later, when she visited me in prison, that she made her transphobic attitude clear.”

Bloodstone pushed a button on the car’s center console. Much to the captive’s disappointment, it wasn’t the button to open the back doors. A holo screen blinked on, hovering a few centimeters in front of the center console. “Computer,” Bloodstone said. “Hack into Sigran Trihannen’s case documents.”

A loading bar briefly crossed the screen, and a computer voice announced, “Documents found.”

Bloodstone tapped the air, swiping through several pieces of evidence on the holographic screen, finally enlarging one. It was a chemical breakdown of the hand that had been left at the crime scene. “Includes traces of artificial testosterone,” Bloodstone read aloud.

Uh oh. “Well, see, Sephra is also transgender...” 

“You just said she was transphobic. And you keep calling her ‘she.’ A trans person would never misgender someone that way.”

“Okay, maybe it wasn’t Sephra. I have seven identical sisters...”

“Eight.”

“Yes! I meant I’m one of eight. Look...” The story was falling apart. “Listen, I have money stashed away. Whatever they’re paying you to bring me in, I can double it. Triple it!”

Bloodstone made a disgusted sound, pulling the car back onto the road. “Are you even actually trans?”

“Yeah,” Siggy said. “That part was true.” They didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride.

The final stretch of road was a long bridge over the rough, choppy waters of Lake Maligna. It was an artificial lake created specifically for the island prison, full of sharp rocks, toxic water, and genetically-modified piranha. The lake’s rotten egg odor made Siggy’s stomach lurch, even from this height with the windows sealed. It made his own trash-and-urine-soaked pants smell mild by comparison. The bounty hunter in the front seat appeared to be unaffected, probably because of that fancy helmet’s filtering system.

Siggy grew more anxious the closer they got. “Look,” he said, panic raising his voice half an octave. “I’m sorry I lied before, but it’s death we’re talking about. You’d do the same if it was your neck.” No reaction. Time was short, so he started talking faster. “Just hear me out. Yes, I’m guilty. As per this planet’s privacy laws, they kept my gender out of the news during the trial. Court evidence remains encrypted for a hundred years, by which time I’ll be long forgotten. They sent me to a unisex prison with a private cell. Even the warden doesn’t know I was born female. As far as the world is concerned, I’ve always been a guy. But after my death, the coroner isn’t bound by the same laws as the judicial system. My birth sex will be made public, and I will become a joke. All I’m asking is for a chance to die with dignity, as a man. Don’t let them make me into a joke.”

They finished crossing the bridge, and parked the hovercar in the outer courtyard near the gatehouse. Bloodstone got out and took in the scenery. A stone monolith stood in the center of the courtyard, engraved with the words: JUSTICE IS RARELY KIN TO MERCY. – ZURA CHIPRYSS III. There was a picnic area here for who-knows-what reason, and a spectacular panoramic view of the planet’s ugliest lake. Beyond the gatehouse, an electrified fence, and a laser grid, the prison itself was a featureless black box that stretched way too far up in the sky. It reminded Bloodstone of a giant anvil, partially buried and abandoned by a long-extinct race of titans.

Two guards and a processing agent came out of the gatehouse to greet the bounty hunter. Bloodstone opened the back door and grabbed Siggy roughly by the wrist. As he was being pulled from the car, Siggy felt something being shoved into his hand. He clenched his fist, not knowing what he was holding but determined to keep whatever it was. Then he was handed off to the guards. Bloodstone spoke to the agent while the guards led Siggy away. As the officer marked the bounty complete on his datapad, authorizing the payment, there was a commotion in the distance. Bloodstone and the agent turned their heads just in time to see a flash of light and some smoke. 

The two guards were on the ground, looking confused and dizzy. Siggy ran towards the edge of the grounds. “Stop him!” the processing agent shouted, and Bloodstone patted an empty holster. It was too late to catch Siggy, who reached the outer guardrail and hurled himself over the side. Everyone ran to the edge and studied the waters far down below. There was already a foamy mass of activity as the mutant piranha skeletonized their victim. Within seconds, there would be nothing left to identify. 

Sirens blared overhead, and more guards appeared. Too little, too late. The prison’s reputation for being inescapable had made the staff arrogant, and their reflexes were slow. There would be a major inquiry after this, and a lot of retraining.

“I apologize,” Bloodstone said to the processing agent. “I left my sidearm in the car. Your guards should have done a better job of checking him for weapons. Good thing it was just a flash grenade, it could have been a lot worse.”

With the job completed and payment received, the bounty hunter got back into the hovercar. As the vehicle sped back over the bridge, the guards continued watching the bubbling waters down below, mouths wide open, wondering how they’d dropped the ball so badly.

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Short Story: Blood Ties (Blood Samples 4)

 

This short story takes place before Bloodhunters v1: Bad Blood. If you enjoy it, please consider purchasing my other books here.

ED02499.08.18

Zak stumbled through the alley, trying to find a dry spot in the downpour. He’d just been thrown out of a coffee shop for loitering. There weren’t a lot of places in town where he could just sit without buying anything. Sure, there was probably a homeless shelter somewhere, but he didn’t trust that idea. If his mom had the police looking for him, they’d probably start there.

He’d been on the streets for two days, and he hadn’t eaten or slept yet. He hadn’t been thrown out. Heck, he could go back any time he wanted to. But he’d have to follow his mom’s rules. Wear dresses, grow his hair back out… betray his entire identity. And he wasn’t willing to do that. Better to live on the streets than to live as someone else.

Of course, it had been easier to say that on a full stomach. He stopped at a trash can and pulled off the lid. Someone had thrown out some chili, but there were already maggots crawling in it. Zak quickly replaced the lid. He was hungry, but not that hungry. At least not yet. He’d been raised on foie gras and filet mignon, but he’d always preferred more common foods. Right now he’d kill for a bean burrito, or even an orange.

He found a set of stairs, leading up to the back door of a restaurant. It was beneath a slight overhang, so he sat on the steps, his back against the door. He was still getting wet, but it wasn’t quite as bad as being out in the open. He clutched his purse, which held the only possessions he still owned in this world. He must have looked pretty strange carrying a woman’s purse, but right now that was the least of his worries.

He closed his eyes, thinking about his nice bed at home. It was soft, maybe a bit too soft, with a thick pink comforter and tons of pillows with those ridiculous lacy frills around the sides. Dolls and stuffed animals were lined up on his dresser and bookshelves, staring at him, judging him, asking him why he didn’t appreciate the cushy life he’d been born into. Nothing in that room had been Zak’s style, and he hadn’t been allowed to redecorate. But at least he’d never had to sleep in the rain.

He was starting to snore when the door behind him opened, and he nearly fell backward through it. A man in a cook’s hat held a gun on him, a double-barreled energy rifle that probably wasn’t even legal in this city. “Get outta here,” the chef said. Zak immediately stood up and backed down the steps, then ran out of the alley without looking back.

A few hours later he sat on a park bench. Lisbon Pointe was one of the nicer cities on Cytrine Delta, which was a bit like saying that weight loss was one of the nicer symptoms of molecular disintegration. The city still had well-maintained parks, a few nice restaurants, and a slightly lower crime rate than the rest of the planet. A few billionaires lived on the edge of town, in secure, gated communities.

These wealthy citizens kept the factories open, which was great because it meant there were still jobs in town. But they also exploited every possible legal loophole, bribed government officials to keep the minimum wage low, and made it so people lived in poverty regardless of how many hours they worked per week. Zak had first-hand knowledge of this, as his mother owned a robotics company, and he’d witnessed some of her underhanded dealings first-hand.

But at least the park was nice. The rain had finally let up, and while the bench was still wet, Zak barely noticed. His clothing was soaked through anyway. Once again he tried to take a nap. He couldn’t lie sideways across the bench, because it had a couple of metal armrests dividing the bench into three sections. It looked pretty, but Zak knew the extra armrests were intentionally designed to prevent homeless people from sleeping in public. Nevertheless, Zak leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He heard a scream in the distance. What now? he thought, visions of dancing citrus fruit dissipating as he opened his eyes. A man ran down the sidewalk, clutching a briefcase under one arm. A woman ran after him, but couldn’t keep up in her heels. “Stop him!” she shouted. “That’s my valise!” She slowed down, rooting through the pockets of her oversized trench coat.

Leaving his purse behind, Zak leaped up and chased the thief. The man was bigger than Zak – most men were – but Zak was faster. He caught up to him and jumped on him from behind. The thief stumbled and dropped the briefcase, using both hands to pull Zak off of him. He turned and punched Zak in the face, then reached down to pick up the briefcase again. Now on the ground, Zak got to the briefcase first and grabbed the handle.

“Let go,” the thief said, trying to pull the briefcase out of Zak’s grasp. He was much stronger, but Zak was determined to hold on. The thief pulled so hard, he lifted Zak off the ground along with the briefcase. He was about to punch Zak again when the briefcase’s owner caught up to them. She now held a small energy pistol, and aimed it at the robber.

The thief let go of the briefcase and ran. Zak handed the briefcase back to the woman. “Thank you, young man,” she said. “Oh, your poor face. Here, let me give you something.” She once again searched her massive pockets, until she came up with a twenty-credit note, which she handed to Zak.

Zak smiled and started to thank her, but he felt sort of stunned, and the woman walked away before he could get any words out. The money was nice, it meant he could finally eat something. But what had really tied his tongue was being called “young man.” It was the first time a stranger had referred to him that way, and it felt amazing. For just a moment, all his problems went away. It no longer mattered that he was wet, hungry, and bruised. She could have given him a hundred credits, and the validation would have felt like the greater reward.

Still in a daze, Zak wandered back to the park bench. His purse was now gone. He looked around and saw a blue-haired teenage girl running away, Zak’s purse under her arm.

Vex couldn’t believe her luck. The purse had just been sitting there, out in the open, no owner in sight. It wasn’t even stealing, it was just a case of finders keepers. If somebody stopped her, she’d just act like it was hers. If somebody accused her of taking it, she’d just claim she was looking for the actual owner. Either way, she was free and clear.

So why was she running? Well, for one thing, she didn’t want a confrontation, regardless of how it turned out. The sooner she was out of the park, the sooner she could look through the purse for loose credits, without having to look over her shoulder the whole time. She felt like she could talk her way out of any situation, but she wasn’t about to push it.

But the main reason she was running? Because she was being chased. She could hear their footfalls behind her, too loud to be a jogger. And then she got a flash – a mild psychic premonition – showing her pursuer. Her flashes weren’t very common, and weren’t actually precognizant. She just saw the surface thoughts of nearby people, other park-goers who happened to be watching the chase.

It didn’t look like it was the purse’s owner. It was some guy, about Vex’s age, maybe fifteen or sixteen. He had a bloody nose and a really bad haircut. But he definitely wasn’t jogging; there was no doubt that he was after Vex. And he looked very angry. While Vex was pretty sure she could come up with a believable lie, this guy didn’t look like he was in the mood to listen.

Vex briefly considered just dropping the purse, in the hopes he would break off the chase. But what if that wasn’t why he was after her? She could be out the money and still have to deal with this guy. No, she wasn’t going to give up so easily. She had more mouths to feed than just her own. She had high hopes for the contents of this purse. She imagined finally getting a less threadbare outfit, not to mention a couple of hot meals for the gang.

She was out of the park now. She crossed the street without looking, causing a hovercar to swerve around her. The driver shouted some angry invectives at her before driving away. Vex ran into an alley, but she could still hear her pursuer behind her. She was starting to run out of breath, but the guy didn’t seem to be slowing down. She reached out with her free arm, and pointed at a trash can a few meters away. The lid flew off and into her hand. Then she turned around and threw the lid at the guy. He blocked it with one arm, shouting, “Hey!”

They were now face to face, about four meters apart. Vex reached into her pocket and pulled out a switchblade. “I will cut you, man,” she said, making a couple of threatening slashes in the air.

Zak wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “There’s not… any… money in there,” he said, pointing weakly at the purse.

“I’ll see about that,” Vex said, rooting through the purse. Damn, she thought. He was right. Still, it was an expensive-looking purse, and while it wasn’t in the best condition, it could probably fetch a few credits at a secondhand store. She looked up at the guy, who just stood with his shoulders slumped.

“Please?” Zak asked, looking like he was on the verge of tears.

Vex rolled her eyes. He really did look pathetic, with his banged-up face and puppy dog eyes. But how did she know he hadn’t stolen the purse himself? “Look,” she said. “If you can name me three things in the purse, you can have it. Not the lipstick or the tampons. Stuff that’s not in every purse.”

“A black book with a lock on it, a small rubber panda, and an ID card,” Zak said.

“Lots of purses have ID cards,” Vex said, looking through the purse. “What’s the name on the card?”

Zak exhaled in resignation. “Charlotte Lisbon,” he said.

“Lisbon? Like in ‘Lisbon Pointe?’ Is that who you stole the purse from?” Vex asked.

“Are you a cop?” Zak countered.

“No, but…” Vex began, but she got distracted. She looked at the ID card again, then back at Zak. Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she said finally. She took a couple of steps forward and tossed the purse to Zak. “Sorry,” she said.

“Thanks,” Zak mumbled, and started to turn away.

Vex watched him take a couple of steps, then called after him. “Wait… do you have someplace to go?”

Zak turned back around. He was quiet for a few seconds, and finally said, “I… have no idea.”

Vex hesitated, going back and forth in her mind. Another mouth to feed. Would the others even accept him? Zak was just about to turn back around when she said, “Come with me.”

She led him to an old pizza restaurant, long since closed and abandoned. She knocked on the back door, and after a few seconds they heard a lock unlatch and the door opened. “Who’s this?” asked a teenage boy. He had tan-colored skin, black hair, and looked about fourteen years old.

“He’s one of us,” Vex said, leading Zak down the stairs, into the restaurant’s basement. The room was poorly lit, with two ripped-up couches, and some wire shelves full of bottled water, old blankets, and random supplies. In addition to Zak and Vex, there were three other teens in the basement.

“Who are you guys?” Zak asked.

“We’re the East Side Daggers,” said the boy who’d let them in. “We’re a gang!”

“We’re not a gang,” Vex said, turning to Zak. “We’re just like you. We have nowhere to go, so we watch out for each other. Safety in numbers, or whatever. I’m Vex. And you are?”

“I’m Zak,” he answered. “It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.

Vex ignored it. “I’m guessing your parents threw you out for not looking enough like your ID card?”

“I snuck out, but yeah,” Zak said. “I couldn’t be who mom wanted me to be. She was about to send me to some sort of ‘finishing school,’ but I think that was code for ‘conversion camp.’ I’d rather starve.”

“Well, you probably will, living with us,” Vex said. “This is Hugo, Calix, and Keygan.” They all gave Zak a quick wave. “Hugo ran away because his dad kept touching him. Calix is non-binary, which was a dealbreaker with their parents for some reason. And Keygan’s dad used to beat him with a shock-stick every night.”

“Wow,” Zak said, then turned to Vex. “And you?”

Vex held out her hand, pointing it toward one of the shelves. “My parents freaked out ‘cause I could do this,” she said. A bottle of water flew off the shelf and into her open hand. She took a swig of water and offered the bottle to Zak.

“Weird reason to throw you out,” Zak said, taking a drink. Telekinesis was uncommon in humans, but it wasn’t unheard of.

“There’s more to it than that,” Vex said. “Some other time. You hungry?”

Zak opened his mouth to reply, but his stomach answered for him, groaning loud enough for the entire room to hear.

Vex laughed. “Well, we can’t offer you much but…”

“Oh wait,” Zak said, remembering something. He fished around in his pocket, pulling out the twenty credit note. “What can we get with this?”

The others stared at him like he’d just walked on water. “Welcome to the East Side Daggers,” Hugo said.

The gang had been living on the streets for a while, and knew how to stretch their money. Rather than blowing all the credits on fast food, they sent Calix to the grocery store, where they picked up enough ingredients to feed the five of them for a week. The meals wouldn’t exactly be nutritious, but at least they wouldn’t starve.

Zak took a nap on one of the couches. When Calix got back from shopping, Vex boiled up some noodles using an old hotplate. They woke Zak up when dinner was ready.

“So, Zak,” Vex asked, scooping the noodles onto five plates, “You cut your own hair?”

“I was… angry,” Zak said, touching his hair. He hadn’t looked in a mirror since he’d run out. Vex handed him a plate, and he started scarfing down food like it was the best meal he’d ever eaten.

“Dude, don’t make yourself sick,” Keygan said.

“Yeah, it’s just a waste of food if it comes right back up,” Calix added.

Zak paused, and forced himself to chew more slowly. “So, what do you do here?” he asked through a mouthful of noodles.

“We survive,” Hugo said.

“What else is there?” Keygan added.

“We work together,” Vex said. “We teach each other what we know. Calix here is good with tools. They managed to patch into the city’s power grid, which is why we’re not eating in the dark.” As if on cue, the lights flickered for a few seconds. “For now,” Vex added.

“My dad’s an electrician,” Calix said. “I guess he was hoping I would be too. He was always teaching me stuff. Then I came out to him, and he stopped talking to me at all.”

“And that’s when you ran away?” Zak asked.

“No, mom threw me out,” Calix said. “Told me not to come back until I was normal.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s so normal to throw your kids out onto the street,” Vex said. “Just ‘cause they want a different name or whatever.”

“At least you could go back if you really wanted,” Keygan said. “I had to get out of there. My dad hit me harder every time. He couldn’t control himself. Sooner or later he was going to kill me.”

“Did you ever call the police?” Zak asked, taking another bite of noodles.

“Dad is a cop,” Keygan said. “They stick up for each other in this town. Now I’m worried about my little brother. Without me there, Koy’s going to get hurt.”

“Well, we need to go get him,” Zak said. He looked around at his new friends, all of whom looked like he’d just suggested they go bungee jumping in a volcano. “…Don’t we?” Zak asked, embarrassed.

Vex smiled sadly, shaking her head softly. “It’s not that easy,” she said. “We can barely take care of us. We can’t fit more kids in this room. And Keygan’s dad is tough. He has guns and crap.”

“Yeah, but there’s five of us,” Zak said. “Surely we can—”

“Zak,” Vex interrupted. “It’s hard enough to get food every day. We can’t just—”

“You always say that!” Keygan wailed, his face filling with tears. “Koy’s going to die because of you!” Keygan stood up and ran out of the room.

Vex stood up. “See what you did?” she huffed, glaring at Zak. She turned and followed Keygan up the stairs.

“Sorry,” Zak said, though he wasn’t sure he’d done anything wrong.

A few minutes later, Vex and Keygan came back down the stairs together. “I have an announcement,” Vex said, as she came into view. Everyone gathered around so they could hear better. “We’re going on a supply raid,” she said. “For food, first aid stuff, maybe some weapons…”

“Great,” Hugo said. “What are we going to hit?”

Vex paused, biting her lower lip. “Keygan’s dad’s house,” she finally said.

From the outside, the house looked like a monument to paranoia. It was surrounded by a two-meter-high chain link fence, and featured barred windows, security cameras, and guard dogs. One might have thought it was a military base rather than a suburban home. But this was how Keygan had grown up, and he knew how to bypass the security.

First, they had Calix shut off the power to the street. Of course the house had an emergency backup generator, but it always took a couple of minutes to come online. Keygan no longer had his keys, so Vex picked the lock on the outer fence. As they crossed the yard, two Rottweilers ran up to Keygan and started licking his face. They’d always preferred Keygan to his father, and with good reason. And in the dogs’ eyes, Keygan’s friends were innocent by association.

The gang ran around to the back door, where Vex once again picked the lock. The kitchen light started to flicker on as the generator finally kicked in. Now came the hard part. There was no way they could grab Koy and the supplies without waking up Keygan’s father. Some of them would have to distract him, or subdue him, while the rest of the gang went to work.

Vex looked at her party. Everyone but Keygan wore makeshift masks made out of potato sacks they’d found in the pizzeria. Vex had suggested Keygan wear one as well, but he figured he had every right to be in his own home, and he didn’t want the mask to scare his brother.

Vex was the only one armed, and her pitiful switchblade surely paled in comparison to whatever gun Keygan’s dad kept on his nightstand. We’re here to save a life, she reminded herself. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Turk woke up when the power went out. He slept with a fan on, and the sudden silence put him on high alert. It could be nothing, but it could be the first signs of war. His father had always told him, “Assume the worst, and you’ll automatically be prepared for everything else.” Turk had tried his damndest to teach his own sons the same lesson. He demanded nothing less than perfection from them.

One of his children had already bailed on him. Keygan just hadn’t been strong enough to keep up with Turk’s daily regimen. But that was fine. He still had Koy. He’d been too soft on Keygan, he could see that now. Turk resolved to be extra tough on his remaining son, so that he wouldn’t wimp out on him like his brother had.

Turk climbed out of bed, grabbing his modified energy rifle off the nightstand. First he peeked out from between his window blinds, and saw nothing. Even the street lights were out, which was a good sign. It meant that The Enemy wasn’t targeting his house specifically. But that didn’t mean he was out of trouble. It might just be a random power outage, but it could still be an invasion, whether city-wide or even planet-wide. If it was a war, Turk didn’t intend to be a casualty.

He quickly pulled on a shirt and pants. As he slipped into his boots, he heard the thump of the backup generator coming on. From outside the bedroom door, he saw the kitchen light turn back on. He always kept that light on at night, so he wouldn’t be caught in the dark if there was an emergency. But then he heard a familiar sequence of beeps. Someone was turning off the alarm. Someone who knew the code.

The hallway was still dark, so Turk crouched down and poked his head out the bedroom doorway. It was a home invasion. It looked like four, maybe five intruders. But Turk had the element of surprise. Still hidden in the darkness, he raised the barrel of his gun, aimed for the closest intruder, and fired.

“Augh!” Calix went down, writhing in pain on the kitchen floor.

“Calix!” Vex shouted, but before she could reach them, a man came running down the hall, shouting something about victory. The man was about to fire again, but he stopped when he saw Keygan.

“My own son?” Turk asked, his face contorting with rage. “You’d betray your own family?”

“Dad,” Keygan said, holding up his hands. “Please put the gun down.”

“My own son?” Turk repeated, louder this time. He held up the gun again, this time aiming at Keegan’s head.

Vex threw her switchblade, and used her telekinesis to guide it through the air. It hit Turk in the upper torso, and he shrieked like a toddler.

Vex went back to checking on Calix, and the rest of the gang pressed their advantage. While Turk pulled the knife out of his chest, Hugo, Keygan, and Zak rushed him. Turk used his rifle like a club, swinging it at the approaching trio. The first swing hit Hugo in the head, knocking him down. Then Keygan tackled his father, or at least he tried to, but Turk was much heavier and shrugged off his son’s attack. Zak tried to help, but Turk hit him in the face with the butt of the rifle.

Keygan punched his father in the stomach, but once again Turk was more annoyed than injured. Turk grabbed Keygan by the neck, picked him up off the ground, and slammed him against the wall. Keygan’s face started to turn purple. He reached out, trying to grab his father’s throat, but his grip was too weak to hurt him.

Attracted by all the shouting, the two Rottweilers burst in through the open kitchen door. They saw their two masters, literally at each other’s throats. Two masters fighting. One master who always played with them, and pet them, and treated them with nothing but kindness. Another master who always beat them, and went out of his way to be intentionally cruel.

The dogs rushed forward, attacking Turk in a frenzy.

Calix woke up in a hospital bed. Their left arm was bandaged, from the shoulder all the way to the wrist. There was a huge patch of gauze taped to their ribs. It hurt to move anything on the left side of their body. They were still looking at the bandages when a nurse walked in.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” he said. “Your parents are out in the hallway, shall I send them in?”

Great, Calix thought. “I don’t…” they started to say, then they paused. What was Calix going to do, climb out the window? With one working arm? Might as well get it over with. “Sure,” they finally said. “Send them in.”

Keygan and Koy sat in a social services office. They were starting to get bored when their case worker finally arrived. A blond woman in her mid-thirties sat down at her desk, and read over their case file. “I’m Joyce,” she said, and got straight to the point. “I just got word from the hospital. You’re not going to see your father for a long time. He’ll recover, but his injuries were pretty severe.” She watched their faces, gauging their reaction.

The boys looked at each other. Koy smiled, a wide toothy grin that looked out of place on a face that currently sported a large, fist-shaped bruise. Keygan looked relieved, but also worried. The longer Turk took to heal, the angrier he’d be when he finally got out of the hospital.

Joyce leaned forward. “We have evidence that your father was abusive,” she said. “A lot of it, actually. He had cameras all over your house, and he never deleted any footage. Talk to me, tell me everything you can. I promise you, I’m on your side. I don’t care if he’s a cop, I’ll make sure he’s never in the same room with you again.”

“But what’s going to happen to us?” Keygan asked. He didn’t want his little brother begging on the streets for food like he’d had to.

“We’ll try and find some relatives to take care of you. In the meantime, you’ll be placed in a foster home. There’s a couple waiting outside right now who will take you to your temporary home.”

Keygan nodded. The thought of living with strangers made him nervous, but it was better than the streets. Another thought occurred to him. “What about the dogs?”

“We’ll find good homes for them, I promise,” Joyce said.

After getting their statements, she led them out of her office and introduced them to their temporary caregivers. It was two women, each in their mid-forties, with genuine smiles and a tendency to hug a lot. They seemed like nice people, the kind who wouldn’t use shock-sticks to dole out punishment, though it was impossible to know for sure.

Outside the glass doors of the social services office, Keygan saw Zak, Vex, and Hugo standing around, just talking and waiting. Zak kept holding his hands in front of his face, wary of the building’s security cameras. The caregivers were busy filling out paperwork, so Keygan asked if he could go talk to his friends for a minute. They told him it was fine as long as he stayed where they could see him. Keygan walked out the front door and approached his friends.

“How’s Calix?” Keygan asked, after hugging each of his friends.

“They’re doing much better,” Vex said. “They’re back with their family. We said goodbye to them this morning.”

“But I thought—” Keygan began.

“Calix’s mom was so happy to see them alive, she came around,” Vex said. “She said she’d respect their name and pronouns. ‘Anything to keep her child happy and healthy.’ That’s a direct quote.”

“And their dad?” Keygan asked.

“He didn’t seem as enthusiastic about it, but I think he’ll get used to it,” Vex said.

“I’m gonna miss you guys,” Keygan said.

“We’ll miss you too,” Zak replied. “But I’m also happy to see you go. Frankly, I’m a little jealous. Your new moms look nice.”

“They could probably find a home for you too,” Keygan said.

“Maybe later,” Zak said. “Right now, I can’t risk being in the system, my mom would find me.”

“But if your new moms don’t work out,” Hugo added, “you’re welcome back any time.”

  Everyone hugged, and Keygan went back inside.

A few weeks later, Zak was walking through an alley – the same one he’d once sought refuge in, before being threatened by an angry chef – when he saw a teenage girl sitting against the wall. She had auburn hair, a fair complexion, and was wearing a dirty school uniform. Her face was buried in her hands, and Zak could hear her sobbing.

Zak crouched down next to her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded for a second, then stopped and shook her head no.

“What’s wrong?” Zak asked. “Maybe I can help.”

The girl looked up at Zak, her eyes red from crying. “I ran away from home,” she said.

Zak nodded, his face full of concern. “What happened? Did they hit you?” he asked.

She shook her head. Through her sobs, she said, “They just don’t listen. Look at this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a brand new, state-of-the-art comm unit.

Zak practically salivated at the sight of it. He’d seen signs for this model in store windows; it cost enough to feed the East Side Daggers for an entire year. “Wow, that’s a beauty,” he said.

“But it’s the wrong color!” the girl wailed. “I wanted the purple one. I never wear black. It won’t match my ensemble!”

Zak was stunned. After a few seconds, he said, “So you ran away.”

“And I’m never going back,” the girl said, pouting.

Zak nodded slowly, an odd smirk forming on his face. “Good for you,” he finally said. “Stand your ground. You’re doing the right thing.”

“You really think so?” she asked.

“Sure,” Zak said. “You’ll love the freedom of being on your own. Sleep when you want, stay out all night…”

“Damn right,” the girl said, her face taking on a look of conviction.

“Never changing clothes, always bathing in the river, using old newspapers as toilet paper…”

The girl stared at him, her mouth open.

“Just this morning I had the best breakfast,” Zak said. “I found a half-eaten hot dog in a garbage can. I had to shake the bugs off of it, but it was still the best meal I’ve had all week. What did you have?”

“Eg… eggs Benedict,” she said.

“I’m sure that was good too,” Zak said. “And you’re going to love sleeping in the rain. It’s refreshing. And efficient. You get to sleep and shower at the same time. And with your looks, you’re going to love all the attention you get. Guys won’t be able to keep their hands off you, if you know what I mean. And these guys won’t take no for an answer.”

The girl had turned pale. She started to say something, but Zak was on a roll.

“And I hope you’re used to getting judged. Everyone who looks at you is going to assume that you’re an alcoholic. If you ask for money, they’ll accuse you of wanting to buy drugs with it. If they see you sleeping, they’ll ‘accidentally’ kick you on the way by. And it’s a good thing you don’t like that comm, since you’ll have to sell it anyway. It’s not like you can afford the monthly service charges. Say goodbye to texting your friends all night. But hey, it’s not like you’ll have time for friends, you’ll be too busy looking for food all day.”

“What… what do you think I should do?” the girl said.

Zak reached over and took the comm unit out of her hand. “Is this thing insured for theft?” he asked.

“I think so,” the girl said.

“Go home,” Zak said, tucking the comm into his pocket. “Tell your mother you were mugged. Apologize for how you reacted to her very thoughtful gift. Thank her for the privileged life she’s given you. Appreciate your warm bed, and the roof over your head. Tell your mother you love her every day. Remember that listening is a two-way street. Pay more attention to what she says, and she’ll probably listen to you more too. And if you have a problem, talk to her about it, don’t just run out the door.”

The girl nodded, and climbed to her feet.

“And just one more thing,” Zak said, standing up.

“What?” she asked.

“The next time she won’t let you go to a party, or buys you the wrong present, or yells at you for not making your bed or whatever, please try to remember that other people have it worse. Running away won’t solve any of your problems, but it will give you a whole bunch of new ones.”

“If that’s true, then why don’t you go back to your home?” the girl asked.

Zak smiled, shaking his head. “It was never my home, not really. It belonged to some girl.” He turned around and walked away, headed back to the abandoned pizzeria.

It wasn’t the life he would have chosen. Not for himself, and not for his gang. But it was what it was. Family wasn’t blood, it was love, and he loved his friends more than anything.

Short Story: Blood Hunt (Blood Samples 1)

This short story takes place before Bloodhunters v1: Bad Blood. If you enjoy it, please consider purchasing my other books here.

ED02499.08.02

The planet Cytrine Delta looked more advanced than it actually was. Once considered the technological center of the galaxy, now most of its citizens struggled to survive. State-of-the-art buildings, originally constructed to show off the latest breakthroughs, now served as homeless shelters and illegal drug dens. But despite the failed economy, the planet still had a thriving scientific community, mostly because the scientists couldn’t afford to move anywhere else.

The SportsDome’s flickering neon signage was the only thing illuminating Quantum Street, as the local gangs had stripped the solar cells off of the streetlights. The darkness and the frigid rain might have deterred a few customers on most worlds, but here, the line to the ticket booth stretched all the way down the block.

In a futile effort to boost the economy, the Cytrine government lobbied to hold major sports events at their stadiums. This drew in wealthy sports fans from all over the galaxy, whose off-world credits would trickle down to the local population. At least theoretically. So far it hadn’t made a difference to the average citizen’s wallet, but it did boost their morale. Locals were allowed to attend sporting events for free, to fill out the crowds for the cameras.

Across the street, in a run-down hotel, Detanna Taush got dressed. A successful bounty hunter like her could have afforded a nicer place to stay, but she wasn’t in town to relax. She’d chosen her lodgings based on location, and the room’s poor quality barely registered with her. Even when she saw a glyph-roach scurry across her mirror, she just ignored it and continued applying her makeup.

On most jobs, Detanna would have been more decked out, with weapons and body armor and dozens of hidden gadgets. But tonight she didn’t want to be recognized as a bounty hunter, and she was dressed to blend in with the crowd. Besides, she couldn’t have smuggled any weapons past the stadium’s security.

She gave herself a final check in the mirror. She wore a black shirt, pants, and boots. Her purple vest matched her hair and lipstick, a bright contrast to her dark brown complexion. She thought she looked pretty good. Maybe a bit more well-off than the average Cytrine citizen, but not so much that she’d look out of place. The locals were mostly human like Detanna, and while they were poor, they still often wore bright colors. She’d fit right in. But… did she pass?

Detanna scrutinized her reflection, judging it as objectively as possible. Yes, she was here on business, and nothing mattered but her target. But it was still important to her to be recognized as a woman. It wasn’t about vanity, it was about identity. Besides, she didn’t want to run into any violent transphobes. She was confident in her fighting skills, and knew she’d win any potential altercation, but getting into a fight at the stadium would endanger the mission.

Looking good, she thought. Yes, the reflection was tall and muscular, but beyond that, she saw a woman looking back at her. She wasn’t going to win any beauty contests, but no one was going to question her gender. Satisfied that she could complete her mission without being clocked, she locked up the hotel room and crossed the street.

The view wasn’t bad, and if Detanna had actually cared about the sport, she would have been pleased with how well she could see the action. Currently in the ring, a six-armed wrestler called “The Ahraknoid” grappled with a beefy, yellow-scaled Vhelran. Most of the crowd was captivated by the exciting match, but Detanna’s eyes were elsewhere. She knew her target would have the most expensive seats available, so she scanned the front row. She recognized several celebrities, but not the person she’d come here to find. Still, a few of the seats were empty, so maybe they were being fashionably late.

In the middle of the second match, she spotted her target. Arvanna Nethridge had just arrived, flanked by a pair of bodyguards. Nethridge was the founder and CEO of Aonic Industries, a company that mostly manufactured weapons and surgical equipment. But Detanna didn’t care about her. The actual target was Lyon Kreet, one of the Nethridge’s bodyguards.

Kreet was a Sethran, which was an offshoot of the human race. He looked human, but with pale skin and short, white hair. With his physique, he wouldn’t have looked out of place in the wrestling ring itself. Nethridge looked like a child next to him. No wonder Kreet made such a good bodyguard. For Nethridge, it had to be like having her own personal brick wall following her around.

In addition to being a bodyguard, Kreet was also a criminal. Or at least, Detanna believed so. There had been eight robberies in the past two months, across three different planets. There was video footage of the perpetrator, but he was always masked. The IGP, bless them, had done their best at sifting through data and had come up empty. But Detanna had software of her own, programmed to look for patterns the InterGalactic Police wouldn’t consider. And she’d discovered that each robbery had occurred while Nethridge was in town.

Nethridge had a sporadic schedule, hopping from planet to planet to visit her company’s factories. It was too much of a coincidence for the robberies to have matched her itinerary so closely. The suspect in the video obviously wasn’t Nethridge, but their musculature was certainly a potential match for Kreet.

The IGP had posted a reward of twelve hundred credits for the capture of the man in the video. Alternatively, they were offering two hundred credits for information that led to his arrest. The IGP had a sample of the thief’s blood, but it didn’t match any blood in their database. All it would take was one call, and Detanna could turn over her evidence and collect an easy two hundred credits. But that wasn’t her way. It was all or nothing for her.

Detanna watched her prey from the cheap seats, waiting patiently for an opportunity. She couldn’t just tackle him out in the open; she’d find herself fighting off all of the SportsDome’s security, and probably wind up in jail. Besides, she didn’t want to look like an idiot. She wanted to prove to herself that Kreet was guilty before she turned him in. 

She’d already hacked the IGP database and downloaded their blood analysis. Tonight she would get a sample of Kreet’s blood, take it back to her hotel, and analyze it. If her suspicions were correct, she would capture Kreet tomorrow. Nethridge was scheduled to deliver a speech at the Science Center while she was in town, so they wouldn’t be leaving until tomorrow evening. It was a tight schedule, but Detanna was sure she could pull it off.

As she watched Kreet, she wondered why he would turn to a life of crime. Surely he was well paid. Maybe he just didn’t want such a risky job anymore, and was trying to make enough credits to retire early. Detanna could relate. She enjoyed bounty hunting, but it had become a grind. She was saving up for multiple surgeries, and hadn’t been taking any time for herself. She no longer even knew what she’d do with an actual day off.

Early in the fourth match, one of the bodyguards – not Kreet – got up and left. Ten minutes later he returned with some popcorn and a beer for Nethridge. During the seventh match, Nethridge herself stood up and left, and both bodyguards went with her. Detanna stood and headed for the lobby.

In the circular outer hall that surrounded the arena, Detanna spotted the two bodyguards standing outside the women’s restroom, one on each side of the door. Detanna casually strolled towards the doorway, as if she were just another attendee who’d had one too many sodas. Before she could enter, the two bodyguards stepped sideways, blocking the restroom entrance. “Occupied,” Kreet said.

“There’s like, ten stalls,” Detanna protested, trying to sound like it was really urgent.

“You’ll have to wait,” the second bodyguard said.

“Is there like, a celebrity in there?” Detanna asked, pretending to take a peek past the bodyguards.

“None of your business,” Kreet said. “Step away from the door.”

Detanna tried to push her way past Kreet and he grabbed her. She fought back, scratching him with her fingernails and drawing blood. Just then, three SportsDome security officers ran up and asked if there was a problem. Detanna apologized, and the security officers escorted her out of the building. Then she rushed back to her hotel room to examine the blood sample under her fingernail.

It was a match. Kreet was definitely guilty, even if his motives didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Some of the objects that had been stolen had a niche market, the kind for which it would be difficult to find a buyer. Detanna wondered what Kreet’s plan was.

Now that she could prove Kreet was the culprit, the ethical thing to do would be to pass the information along to the IGP. Detanna laughed at the very thought of it. Not only would it mean giving up a larger reward, but the police would probably screw it up, and Kreet would go into hiding. No, Detanna would be the one to bring him in, no question.

She considered going back out tonight. After the match, Nethridge would return to Georgina Suites, the only luxury hotel in this armpit of a city. Her bodyguards would stay in her suite, sleeping in shifts. Detanna considered stealing a hotel employee uniform, or taking a shuttle and parachuting onto the penthouse balcony, or even scaling the outside of the building.

But this was a job that called for patience. It wouldn’t do to get herself arrested by acting too quickly. Security would be more relaxed at the Science Center tomorrow. She set out her clothing and equipment for the morning, in a meticulously organized pattern. Then she spent an hour exercising, while watching the news on the room’s old-fashioned, non-holographic video screen.

The following morning, Detanna dressed more conventionally than she had the night before. She wore dark slacks with a professional-looking gray blouse, and darker makeup that complemented, rather than contrasted her skin tone. She wore a shoulder-length black wig over her short, purple hair. She wondered if Kreet would still recognize her. With Detanna’s height and physique, she wouldn’t be surprised. She briefly considered dressing as a man, but at this point, that would have been more work than she had time for.

She still couldn’t wear her bounty hunter gear, at least not without attracting attention, but she was much more equipped than she had been the night before. While the SportsDome had prohibited all sorts of tech, the Science Center would only be checking for weapons. Detanna packed several high-tech gadgets, most of them disguised as other devices. Her comm unit was also a stungun, her wristwatch could fire miniature tracking devices, and even her boots had sound dampeners in case she needed to sneak around.

Convinced that she was ready for any situation that might arise, she locked up and headed for the Science Center.

It had once been a beautiful building, state-of-the-art in every way, with a retro-futuristic architectural style. But now it was covered in graffiti, its broken windows covered up with welded panels of sheet metal. Nine-year-old posters still advertised the 2490 Galaxy Expo, though the signs were now faded, torn, and defaced. A giant phallus was spray painted directly above the front door, and some rude words appeared on the doors themselves. There had been a few attempts to repaint and repair the building over the years, but the local youths always ruined it again within days, and the scientists didn’t have the budget for round-the-clock security.

Inside, however, was a different story. The hallways were clean and brightly lit, and the many labs and showrooms were packed with cutting-edge technological breakthroughs. 

Even though she’d already checked it online, Detanna looked over the lecture schedule to make sure there weren’t any changes. She was a couple of hours early, but she wanted to get a feel for the place in case she had to chase Kreet through the building.

She walked through the hallways, nodding at passing visitors and scientists, reading the posters next to each doorway. Each room had its own display, showing off the latest inventions. Detanna wasn’t a scientist, but she was into tech, and she didn’t see anything she found particularly impressive. Most of it was just new applications of existing technology. A faster hovercar. A more precise AON scalpel. More durable types of cloth. More powerful Levatech emitters. Skirts with pockets. Binoculars that could see fine details on other planets.

Then she turned a corner and saw a poster that gave her pause. What? she thought. She read the poster three times before entering the lab. There was a huge metal cylinder against one wall, connected to several pieces of monitoring equipment. Three scientists – one man and two women, all human – stood in front of the machine. They wore white lab coats and were engaged in an animated conversation. One woman turned when she saw Detanna walk in.

“Hello,” she said, with a big smile. “I’m Doctor Vartan. Would you like to take a look at our invention?” The scientist handed Detanna a flyer from a stack on a nearby desk.

“So, how does it work?” Detanna asked, almost unable to speak. She stared at the machine in awe.

“The True-U 3000 is the latest breakthrough in gender affirmation technology,” Doctor Vartan said. “It actually rewrites the patient’s DNA, changing their chromosomes from XX to XY or vice versa, altering every cell in their body. It’s almost like cloning a brand-new body over their skeleton. No more hormones. No additional surgeries. After a few weeks in this tank, the patient won’t even think of themselves as trans anymore. They’ll emerge as their authentic self, and never look back.”

“It changes… everything?” Detanna asked.

“Every cell,” the scientist replied. “Face, genitals, you name it. Plus the patient can tweak it for their personal tastes. No more unwanted body hair. It can remove their Adam’s apple, or give them one. The patient’s vocal cords are calibrated to give them their desired voice. The machine can’t change their height, and they won’t be able to bear or sire children, but believe me, the True-U is going to be a miracle for those who wish to transition.”

“Does… does it really work?” Detanna asked, her eyes transfixed on the tank.

“It worked on me,” the woman answered, winking.

Detanna looked at Doctor Vartan, really seeing her for the first time. She appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with short, brown hair. While she was a bit taller than the average woman, there was no way anyone would have mistaken her for a man. Her face, her voice, her entire body was perfect. Not a shred of masculinity remained. To be fair, Detanna had met other trans women who were just as beautiful, but they’d walked a hard road to get there, and some of them still weren’t satisfied with the results.

What this machine promised was difficult to believe. Detanna leaned against the desk, feeling slightly dizzy. “How… how much does it cost?”

“Well, there’s only one machine in existence so far,” the scientist said, “so it’s really not for sale yet…”

“The procedure, I mean,” Detanna clarified. She’d already been saving up for several surgeries, but this device may as well have been sent from heaven. All her current transition plans vanished from her mind. She had a new goal now. It was this machine or nothing.

“Currently?” The woman tapped a few keys on her comm unit, paused, and tapped a few more. “We estimate the procedure would cost… just over six million credits.”

Detanna felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “Six… million?” she asked, hoping she’d heard wrong.

“For now,” the woman confirmed. “Once we refine the process, we can probably get it down to half that. And eventually, who knows?”

Detanna took a few deep breaths, started to say something, then stopped. Her mind was reeling. Everything she’d ever dreamed of stood just a few meters away, and it might as well have been in a different galaxy.

“Are you okay?” the scientist asked, looking concerned.

Do you know a lot of transgender multi-millionaires? Detanna wanted to ask. Instead, she just said, “Thank you for your time,” and stumbled back out of the lab. She leaned against the wall in the hallway. Six million. She’d saved up nearly two hundred thousand credits so far, and that had taken her entire bounty hunting career. She already lived as cheaply as she could, only splurging on tech that would help her catch fugitives. She took the highest-paying jobs, regardless of how dangerous they might be, and never spent money on entertainment or frivolities.

She looked at the flyer one last time, then folded it neatly and tucked it into her pocket. Then she took a deep breath and cleared her head. She had a job to do, and there wasn’t any time for distractions.

Scientists, college students, and investors were starting to gather outside the auditorium. As they filed into the room, Detanna saw Nethridge and her two bodyguards come around the corner. Detanna turned her back to them as they approached, pretending to study a poster on the wall. Kreet didn’t even glance in her direction. As they walked past, Detanna turned and pressed her thumb to her wristwatch. Then she walked down the hallway in the opposite direction.

After turning right at the next hallway intersection, Detanna stood against the wall and loaded up an app on her comm unit. She wasn’t alone; several other visitors wandered the hall, killing time while waiting for various lectures to start. But while the others used their comms to play games or chat with friends, Detanna’s attention was focused on a map of the building, with a red dot indicating Kreet’s location.

She’d been right, the security wasn’t nearly as pervasive here. There was an officer at the main entrance, checking for weapons, and at least one other security guard wandering the halls, but there just wasn’t much call for police presence at a science convention. Detanna couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard of a crowd of drunk science fans getting rowdy and trashing a venue. Nethridge would be more relaxed as well, and wouldn’t require both bodyguards to stand by her side at all times.

The lecture was scheduled to start in ten minutes. The speech would take about thirty minutes, after which there would be another half hour of Q&A, and then Nethridge would tour the building to critique some of the projects. It was actually kind of funny; Nethridge was no scientist, just a trillionaire CEO who often invested in emerging tech. And yet, every scientist in the building would be swooning at her praise. Detanna felt it should be the other way around, with Nethridge bowing to the scientists’ expertise. But if there was one force more powerful than science, it was money.

Detanna hoped Kreet would take the opportunity for a restroom break before the speech began, so she could catch him alone. She doubted she’d get that lucky, but anything was possible. She studied the red dot on her screen, watching it move back and forth in the auditorium, most likely helping set up equipment for the lecture. Then, about five minutes before the lecture was to start, the dot left the auditorium and began walking down the hallway.

Was this her chance? Detanna stood up straighter and started moving towards the intersection. But no, the red dot walked right past the restrooms, and continued moving in Detanna’s direction. When Kreet reached the four-way junction, he looked left and right, until finally his eyes settled on Detanna. He stomped toward her, holding up the tracking device.

“Did you really think I didn’t recognize you from the stadium?” he growled. He struck an intimidating pose, clenching his fists in anger. He was a full head taller than Detanna, and probably twice her body weight.

Detanna was unfazed. “Lyon Kreet, I’m here to collect the bounty on your head. Please come with me.”

“You’ve got nothing on me,” Kreet said, throwing the tracking disc to the floor and stomping on it. “Now get out of here before I tear you apart.” Up and down the hall, visitors stopped looking at their comms and watched the drama unfold. Some of them started filming.

“Your blood was found at multiple crime scenes,” Detanna lied. Technically they’d only recovered a blood sample from one location, but Kreet didn’t know that. The crowd of onlookers grew, but stood at a respectful distance from the pair.

“Bull,” Kreet said, but a flash of worry crossed his face. His eyes darted across the crowd of visitors, not liking how many of them had their comm cameras up.

“Don’t make me use force,” Detanna said. “It’ll be so much easier to take you in if you can still walk, but I’ll drag you if I have to.”

Kreet laughed at her confidence. “Try it,” he said. “I’ll break you in half.”

Up and down the hallway, people started chanting “Fight! Fight!” A couple of the onlookers left to find a security guard.

Detanna knew a fight was inevitable, but she didn’t want to throw the first punch. “You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “Try it, and I’ll pound you into the ground, like the pathetic little worm you are.”

Kreet knew she was trying to goad him into a fight, but his anger overrode his common sense. Detanna easily sidestepped his fist, dropping to one knee and countering with a punch to his stomach. It was like hitting a wall, but Kreet still flinched at the impact. He tried to grab her, but she ducked between his legs, then kicked him in the back of the knee. By the time Kreet turned around to face her, it was just in time to get punched in the nose by the base of Detanna’s hand.

Detanna had him on speed, but Kreet knew it would only take one solid hit to take her down. He pulled his arm back, then paused. A security guard was coming around the corner, led by one of the visitors. Instead of following through with the punch, Kreet turned and bolted. He pushed his way through the crowd, tossing people aside like ragdolls as he ran. He burst through an emergency exit, setting off an alarm that rang throughout the building.

Once Kreet was outside, he kept going, looking for a place to hide so he could come up with a plan. He crossed the street, ran through an alley, crossed another street, entered a parking garage, and hid between two parked hovercars. He took a couple of slow breaths, regaining his composure. He just needed to think things through.

The police had his blood. Could he come up with a rational explanation? Probably not. He’d been ordered to commit those robberies. Nethridge often had him steal new technologies so her company could reverse-engineer them. Would his boss stand up for him in court? Of course not. In fact, she’d probably plant evidence of her own, just to keep her reputation clean. For that matter, Nethridge might have been the one who planted the blood at the crime scenes. Kreet didn’t specifically remember cutting himself during any of the robberies.

But if he was being used, he’d need to keep it to himself. He wasn’t about to mess with Nethridge. Any attempt to link his boss to the crime, and he’d meet with some sort of “accident.” If he were caught, he intended to plead guilty.

If he were caught. It wasn’t too late to run. Could he evade the IGP long enough to get off this planet? Or that bounty hunter? He wondered if she was still on his trail. He risked taking a look at the street. Peeking underneath the bumper of one car, he could see all the way to the alley he’d come through. He saw no sign of his pursuer. He did, however, see intermittent spatters of blood, leading from the alley to his location.

Kreet’s hand went to his nose, and came away bloody. It hadn’t hurt before, but now that he saw the blood, his nose started to throb. He knew he couldn’t stay here, not with the blood trail giving his location away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, and held it to his nose. Then he stuck his head out from between the cars, looked left and right, and stood up.

ZZZ-ZAP! Detanna’s comm/stungun caught him in the back of the head, sending wave after wave of electricity through his body. Kreet hit the ground, unconscious. Detanna hopped down from the roof of one of the hovercars, and looked him over. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to get his massive form back to her ship, but at least he wouldn’t resist.

Leaving a fugitive alone wasn’t the best idea, but there was no other way. Besides, she’d left him unconscious and cuffed to a metal pole, with a tracking device clipped to his clothing. She returned less than ten minutes later, driving her rented hovercar.

She knew there was a problem before she even entered the parking garage. A man in a blue uniform stood in front of Kreet, attempting to unlock Detanna’s bracers. For just a second, Detanna thought, Cop. But the uniform looked wrong; it fit too snug and held more weapons than IGP officers usually carried.

Detanna pulled into a space and got out of her vehicle. The interloper turned around, drawing his energy pistol. He wore modified police armor, but all the IGP logos had been painted over. He was a Canik, with Doberman-like facial features, pointed ears, and black fur. Detanna stayed informed about rival hunters, and she recognized him as an up-and-comer who called himself Darkhound.

He growled as he looked Detanna up and down. “Back off, he’s mine,” the dog-man said, holding his pistol on her.

“Carrion hunter,” Detanna said. It was a serious accusation. Carrion hunters were lowlifes who followed more successful bounty hunters around, stealing their prey out from under their noses. It was considered bad etiquette among bounty hunters, and if proven, such conduct could even get one barred from the Bounty Hunter Registry. “How long have you been following me?” she asked.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Darkhound said. “I smelled his blood from a kilometer away. Matches the sample the cops have. Now beat it.”

Of course. Detanna remembered reading that Darkhound had once been an IGP officer. The first Canik to join the IGP. But he’d been put on permanent leave for brutality. Apparently he still had access to IGP resources.

Detanna still didn’t have any weapons on her, and her comm was currently charging on the front seat of the hovercar. She considered arguing with Darkhound, but she knew she wouldn’t get anywhere. And if she reported him to the BHR, it would just be her word against his. But she wasn’t about to let him steal her captive, either. She’d put too much time into this hunt to leave empty-handed.

“Fine,” Detanna said, and turned to get back into her hovercar. As she did so, she pressed a button on her wristwatch. The tracking device on Kreet began to emit a high-pitched whine.

Darkhound’s hands went to his ears, and he turned towards Kreet, looking for the source of the sound. Detanna tackled Darkhound from behind, knocking him to the ground and sending his pistol flying. The two wrestled on the ground, rolling over each other, each trying to gain the upper hand. The Canik was stronger, but Detanna was more agile, and she managed to twist her way out of several attempted holds. Finally Darkhound rolled on top of her, nearly crushing her with his weight.

But she still had one free hand. Detanna reached up, her hand moving up and down his side, until she found a weapon dangling from Darkhound’s belt. Not caring what it was, she pulled it off of his belt and used it on him. The stun baton sent a powerful jolt of electricity through him, dazing him long enough for Detanna to wriggle herself free.

Darkhound started to stand up, but Detanna was already on her feet. She kicked him in the face, causing him to topple backward, and he landed on the cold concrete with a thud. Then she stood over him, holding the stun baton to his face. “I give, I give,” Darkhound finally said, holding up his hands in resignation. But as Detanna started to step away, he lurched forward and bit her on the leg.

Detanna whacked him with the baton. He released his grip, and she shocked him repeatedly until he was unconscious. “Bad dog,” she said, unsure if that was a racial slur in Canik culture. Leaving Darkhound on the floor of the parking garage, Detanna dragged Kreet into the backseat of the hovercar and drove away.

Detanna Taush turned in her captive and her evidence. Twelve hundred credits were transferred to her bank account. She left Cytrine Delta, took her shuttle through the nearest warp gate, and returned home. While eating her bland but nutritious dinner, she did some math. After expenses and taxes, she’d made a net profit of just over eight hundred credits. She averaged about three bounties a week, some paying more than others. At this rate, it would take her nearly fifty years to earn six million credits.

To be fair, by then the price of the procedure might be lower. Perhaps it would only take twenty-five years. She didn’t find that particularly comforting. Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d chosen the right career. Before becoming a bounty hunter, she’d mostly lived a life of crime, so she didn’t have much to put on her resume. With her computer skills, she knew she could earn a programming degree pretty quickly, but the thought of spending the next couple of decades behind a desk was almost as bad as the thought of living as a man. And she doubted it would pay more.

She needed a big score. She didn’t want to go back to crime, but she couldn’t imagine earning enough as a bounty hunter to reach her goal.

Detanna sat on her bed and slowly exhaled, looking at the flyer from the Science Center. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy, and that procedure on Cytrine Delta was just a pipe dream. It was time to be realistic. She folded the paper, and was about to tear it in half, but then she stopped herself. Instead, she stood up and attached the flyer to the wall, just above her computer screen. It didn’t hurt to have a goal, even an unrealistic one. 

Six million. She had a target number, and she’d take a day off when she reached it. Until then, a day idle was a day wasted.

She sat down at her computer and browsed the latest bounty listings.