“You’re aiming too low,” Uncle Rykar said while he puffed on his zakon dart, lifting the barrel of the rifle with the tip of his talon. “You need to adjust for distance.”

  I continued staring through the scope. “I’m not aiming low. You just have me here to watch, like always.”

  “No, you’re here to take the shot if anything goes wrong.” Uncle Rykar leaned back, letting the rain fall on his greying plumage. He wore a hood. I didn’t. The ice cold water didn’t make a difference to me.

  I thought back to the child I had been seven years ago. It seemed a lifetime ago, even though I had changed so comparatively little—at least physically. At twenty-one, I was just entering the early stages of adolescence. I wouldn’t be as strong as Amon for another two decades, a fact that continued to annoy me in our incessant sparring matches. I was still very sore from the last beating.

  I glanced towards Rykar again. He was still enjoying his zakon dart.

  “If this was real, you wouldn’t be smoking. Anyone with thermals can see us from miles away,” I quietly said.

  Rykar laughed. It was a harsh sound. “You still don’t get it. There’s no such thing as hiding in this galaxy. Anyone from orbit can see us if they want to. The question is, are we security, or are we assassins?” The old bird lifted a pirated transponder. “I think I’d rather be the former.”

  I turned unamused. The cityscape rose around us like a thousand dark fingers, reaching towards the cloudy sky. Ignavus III was the kind of industrial world I was growing sick of. I had seen more than a hundred planets now, and it was surprising how many looked just the same. Naiad was an exception to a rule that pervaded this galaxy. It seemed nearly every species was determined to ruin their worlds with the same rusting horizon, the same spires reaching upwards toward a thousand colored skies.

  It was surprising to me that even the Mantza possessed that crudest grace which so many in this universe lacked. They soiled their planet because it was their nature, not some decision made out of cheap convenience. And so Ghiza VI possessed a certain virtue underneath all its ugliness. The memory of their hexagonal arcologies remained with me as I peered down the scope into the seedy drug den, watching the silhouettes of aliens indulge themselves in the basest of pleasures.

  War was coming to this world, and its inhabitants acted accordingly. Fleets of Tigris ships were slowly pushing in. Though the Pajjarn people were technologically superior, they were slowly being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and ferocity of the Tigris people. And like any world that was on the brink of siege, so too was there great opportunity for criminals to make their fortunes. And similarly, there was lucrative work for the likes of Amon Russ.

  Through the infrared scope, I saw the doors of an elevator open, and the man in the evo-suit stepped out. Most of the Pajjarns were too busy in their delights to take notice. Their red silhouettes barely moved from their activities. Two guards at the elevator entrance attempted to stop the bounty hunter, and I saw two quick flashes. Two shapes fell to the ground, and I winced as I heard the screaming, as impossible as it was for human ears from such a distance.

  On the club’s second floor, I saw the criminal boss jump to his feet in shock. The crowds parted and ran away in the chaos, Amon strolling down the center.

  The Pajjarn people all looked the same to me, with bulging eyes and flappy cheeks. Their faces were folds of hardened flesh. Their short, stout bodies had been made for working in hard gravity—designed quite literally for the task. But the Pajjarns had long worked off their debt for the gift of sapience, and now their species were free to do what they wished.

  The crime boss had a moment to reach for his gun and make a stand. Faster than him was the Ophidian Raptor, the real bodyguard. The giant lizard with the long tail had been licking its claws, and I saw it spring down to Amon faster than the blink of an eye. There was a crash as the lizard landed on the dance floor, and rising to its full height, it stood about twice the size of Amon. Its broad snout with many teeth twisted in a grin at this interesting prey.

  Amon aimed his pistol at the saurian, and I saw more flashes as the Raptor’s hot blood streaked against the blue walls. I found some irony in that. The reptilians we once reared as warriors—they were often more like us than the ancestors they worshipped. The Raptor’s head snapped back with a gunshot wound, and then the creature rebounded. Its flesh regenerated quicker than lightning, almost as good as a fully functioning Carapace Suit. The lizard swiped at Amon with its claws, the violent force gouging deep marks into Amon’s visor. The beast toyed with the bounty hunter, snarling and using its powerful limbs as its weapons. It had its own rifle shouldered on its back, but the creature felt no need to use it.

  The Pajjarn crime boss finally made his choice to run. He was already exiting out of the club, through a less than secret panel near the back. I snorted in disbelief as he huddled in a tiny freight box, being lowered to another floor. I didn’t take the shot, however. The whole point was to take him alive if we could.

  There were more flashes from Amon’s pistol before the Raptor knocked it away with a scaled arm. It swiped for Amon’s chest, hoping to tear right through the evo-suit. I aimed the rifle, but Amon was quicker. With a swing of a cryo-knife, the Ophidian Raptor found itself without a hand. This would’ve been only a temporary hindrance if not for sudden absolute loss of temperature. The stump was reverse cauterized as it froze over, and the frosting flesh did not stop, slowly consuming the Raptor alive.

  I would’ve preferred a zero-sword, as no intelligent being in the universe would’ve stood its ground against being sentenced with the Aberrants. But the cryo-knife was a close and much more discreet second. I watched as the red heat of the Ophidian Raptor bled away. Its viciousness turned to panic in a heartbeat, and in the flash of an eye, the lizard sunk its claws into its own arm, desperate to remove it entirely before its whole body was consumed.

  The creature arched its back and let out a guttural roar as it ripped its own limb off in an impressive display of defiance. The scaly appendage fell frozen to the floor, a black void on my scope. But the lizard’s victory over its fated death was tragically short-lived. In the time it took to hack off its arm, Amon had made half a dozen shallow cuts across its body.

  The Ophidian Raptor gasped as its claws scratched its neck, trying to tear out the growing ice. However, this only fused its remaining hand to the wilting flesh. The lizard stumbled, dying as its regeneration abilities were rendered completely useless. Staring through the scope, it was like the Raptor was being eaten alive by some exotic void that permitted no life. But even as it was dying, the hunter’s eyes rekindled with fury.

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  It still had one last move to play.

  With a quick flick of its tail, it lashed to Amon. The long appendage wrapped around him several times as the Ophidian Raptor used its weight to fall upon the man as it expired. If it was going to die, it was going to take Amon with it, using the same freezing tactic that had so treacherously murdered the lizard.

  I saw Amon disappear under this void, and there was a long second of stillness. The blackness in the shape of the marred Ophidian Raptor covered Amon, gradually turning to a dark blue. Within the cryo-knife was a highly advanced AI. Manipulating magnetic fields, it contained the exotic environment and allowed our universe’s natural laws to reassert themselves. Without this careful insulation, the absolute temperature drop would’ve resulted in an entropy cascade, likely killing the entire continent.

  Was it overkill? Yes. But that’s the kind of weapons we humans were so often accustomed to using. We once had to raise the greatest horrors of creation against nightmares which could not be killed. These hunts were child’s play in comparison, and the only reason Amon did not employ human technology more often was because they attracted unwanted attention. Brandishing such power made one a target. And also, after lifetimes of hunting, Amon didn’t find it sporting.

  A crimson fist punched through the frozen flesh of the Ophidian Raptor, and the newly made sculpture shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. The fatal miscalculation of the creature was thinking we dealt in armaments as the rest of the galaxy did. Weapons such as the cryo-knife would be no good if they could be turned against the user.

  The old man stepped over the fragments of the great lizard, as our kind had done ten thousand times before, and Amon rushed for the Pajjarn crime boss. His sensors indicated that the Pajjarn had fled to a landing ramp down below, a stretch of metal where a shuttle was prepared for his escape.

  Amon didn’t bother taking the secret passage, instead opting for a window. He unholstered another pistol and shot the glass. Jumping through, he plummeted twenty stories and slammed into the wet metal, just as the crime boss was about to enter the shuttle on the other side.

  Watching through the scope, I thought that was that, until a second figure stepped out from the small vessel. Clothed in a golden dress, I switched off the infrared, surprised by what I saw. In all my life, I had never seen another Bakke planetside before. None except Ingrish.

  But this Bakke woman was much younger than my mother. She strode forward on the landing ramp, ignoring the crime boss who seemed entirely shocked and confused at her presence. He tried to shove her aside, and in a blink of my eye, I saw a glimmer of an ornate dagger. The Pajjarn clutched his face as he cried out in pain, a horrible slash running along his face. He fell over on his side, huddled in a wet, flabby ball.

  The Bakke in the golden clothes continued approaching Amon, gracefully strolling in the rain.

  Amon already had his pistol out, and I saw three quick flashes on the ramp. The shots sparked off the Bakke’s personal shield, a technology far too powerful for the denizens of this planet. Glancing over to Rykar, I saw the old bird had gone entirely pale—or rather, the feathers tensed down against his frame. He had dropped his zakon dart and stared silently at the figure below. Lifting the guass cannon from the grated metal of the walkway, he flicked down the bipod and aimed the weapon as long as his body at the Bakke.

  I didn’t ask for context as I shouldered my rifle again, switching on my earpiece to listen in on Amon and whoever this was.

  I stared down the scope as the two faced off against each other. The Bakke had her hands gently clasped together. She gave a smile and a bow to Amon. The old hesitated, glancing in every which direction. I took his cue and began searching for hidden enemies, and I quietly radioed that I didn’t see any.

  In the dark rainfall, the Bakke spoke, “an ambush is not our way. We are servants of The Negentropic Principle. We practice death with only kindness.”

  “You think you can kill me with your mind poisons? Orotek the Aberrant couldn’t do that.”

  The Bakke’s smile darkly flickered, but she remained unmoving. “The Golden Court has not come for your life today. Ingrid Daro’Meer is summoned. She is to face trial for high treason.”

  Amon shot his pistol again, the round exploding into sparks an inch away from the Bakke’s forehead. The strange woman did not flinch. “I know others are listening. Is she among them? I speak the vulgar tongue for their benefit. Let all who have ears to hear, heed this pronouncement! The Golden Court marks Ingrid Daro-Meer for judgement!”

  “I don’t know anyone by that name!” Amon angrily yelled back.

  The Bakke’s head tilted, her smile widening. “Come now. You stole the prized daughter of the Shayk. The celestial dancers weep at this sin. Did you think you could escape justice forever? No, the stitched eyes of the Three see all.”

  “If they could, how come it took you this long to track me down?” Amon retorted through gritted teeth.

  “The Golden Court measures the ages in the startides. The appointed time is drawing near. That is all you need to know.”

  “And I tell you that I don’t know any Ingrid Daro’Meer!” Amon lied. “Look into my mind, if you dare!”

  The strange Bakke laughed, throwing her head up into the storm. “You think I fear the higher poisons, their melodies? They are the tools of our trade. By what other means shall we halt the end of all things? There is nothing more beautiful! Here! I shall imbibe the words of Orotek!” Raising her arms as if for an embrace, the Bakke suddenly seized.

  At once, a flash of that grime-ridden promenade appeared in my mind, the Anansi struggling for breath as it fought against its own body. But this time was different. The defiance in the Bakke’s posture looked entirely voluntary. She shuddered terribly. Through my scope, I saw blood stain her blindfold and drip from her nose. Ever smiling, the Bakke in the golden dress looked as if in ecstasy. And shaking with her final death tremors, she fell to her knees.

  Staring directly at Amon, she smiled, the blood turning her teeth red. The Bakke made one final pronouncement.

  “When the shadow falls upon the pearl-face moon three times, they shall come for her. Run to the ends of the galaxy if you wish. It makes no difference.”

  There was one last spine-chilling jolt and the emissary from the Golden Court fell over dead. Both Amon and Rykar was quiet, staring at the warm, dead corpse. Only I had the wherewithal to notice the Pajjarn crime boss, now in the cockpit of the shuttle. Pushing the dead pilot out of the seat, he didn’t bother buckling himself. He clutched his face with his left hand, and his fingers unsteadily tapped at the control console. He was taking off, and in a moment, the shields would be raised. I glanced at Rykar, expecting him to take the shot with his far more powerful weapon. However, the old bird was spellbound by the dead Bakke, shocked at whatever she was.

  I realized I was the only one who could act before we lost the crime boss forever.

  I quickly took aim with the thermal scope, and in a practiced motion I had done a thousand times before, I exhaled and pulled the trigger. The rifle had been set to its highest setting, the gravo-chamber accelerating the slug at speeds much faster than possible with mere chemical reactants. The round punched through the shuttle’s hull like paper, and through my scope, I saw the Pajjarm crime boss’ head disintegrate. His body slumped over the interface and the shuttle was sent spinning.

  Veering out of control, the ship slammed into a nearby building. Glass shattered and steel groaned hideously as the vessel tore through the side of the structure. An engine was crushed and exploded into a fireball. The burnt wreck fell and the flaming debris trailed far down below, crashing into a transportation crossway somewhere in the dark distance. I bit my tongue. Collateral damage was not approved for this job, and the mess was going to be deducted from our pay.

  I saw Amon turn to watch the miniature comet in its descent. I expected him to reprimand me angrily, but his mind was a million worlds away from the bonus lost in the blaze and scrap metal. I had known whatever happened down on that landing pad was serious, but I only then understood how bad the situation was.

  Amon slowly raised his gauntlet and tapped the comm. “Tell Kybit to start cycling the Aphelion’s engines. We’re leaving this planet.”