Galactic Outlaws (Galaxy's Edge Book 2) Page 8

  “That not even! That worse! Hools expensive!” Lao Pak folded his arms across his chest. “You lucky everybody else shot down or have shore leave in Tannespa.”

  “Fine.” Keel looked back at his ship. “I’ll give you the princess to turn in for whatever the Republic gives you for her.” He looked to General Parrish, expecting an objection. But if the general had any, he was keeping them to himself.

  “That nothing,” said Lao Pak. “They give nothing. I sell her to Gomarii slavers.”

  Keel shrugged. “Fine. But first you need to tell me who put a bounty on my head.”

  “Oh, you need your friend Lao Pak’s help?” The pirate looked around, taking in the destruction. “Maybe you pay for help? Cost me so much money.”

  “Lao Pak…”

  “Okay, okay. Like you don’t know.” Lao Pak reached into his coat, then paused with his hand inside. “I just grab datapad. Don’t shoot me, okay?”

  The pirate pulled a rugged datapad skinned in a thick protective case. He tapped the screen a few times and held it up for Keel to see. It was a bounty notice, featuring a picture of the Indelible VI and a male silhouette with Captain Keel’s name beneath it. No photo. That was good. The enormous, flashing words—“100,000 credits”—were not as good.

  Keel shook his head. How did this happen?

  He strained to think of some unhappy crime lord who would be angry enough to hang that many credits over his head. Sure, there were plenty of individuals in the galaxy who were less than fond of him, but with Wraith in the picture… they wouldn’t dare put something like this out. Would they?

  A separate black silhouette sat in the upper corner of the bounty notice—a holovid. Usually these were heavily encrypted and distorted recordings; black channel bounties were illegal, and those putting them out were well advised to remain anonymous. But sometimes, if you squinted hard enough, you could pick up some details.

  “Bring that up,” Keel ordered. “I wanna see if I can piece this together.”

  Lao Pak gave Keel a crooked smile. “You want see the decrypted holovid?”

  Keel raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got someone who decrypted black channel encoding?”

  “Oh, yeah. He real good.” Lao Pak tapped his dirty fingernails across the screen, shielding it from the sun with his other hand. Keel and Parrish came around and looked over his shoulder to watch.

  An image of Lieutenant Pratell appeared on the datapad. Her red hair was let down, contrasting with her formal military bearing. However, her black uniform—a dead giveaway with the encryption broken—was clearly visible. “This contract is open to all bounty hunters and privateers located in the Pellek system,” she said. “It is my belief that one Captain Keel is arriving shortly in a heavily modified Naseen light freighter. I did not make visual contact, but am transmitting holos of the ship, designated Loose Dutchman, though this is probably a false identification. Captain Keel, a seasoned liar, is responsible for a number of deaths and should be considered highly dangerous. Again, the bounty is one hundred thousand credits. Dead or alive. Expiration: thirty-six standard hours.”

  “Is that a Republic officer?” Parrish asked in wonder. “This needs to get to the MCR. It would be a major communications victory if we could prove that the Republic has gotten so crooked that they’re using black channel bounties to wipe out enemies. I mean, we’ve known this for years, but with proof…”

  “She not bad-looking,” observed Lao Pak. “What you do to her? Marry her and run away with all the money?”

  Keel frowned. The lieutenant must’ve figured out what he was up to. Still, the fact that she had come after him on the black channel meant that the Republic didn’t deem it worth investigating; truth and justice ceased to matter once a government became invested only in itself. And with only a thirty-six-hour window, he’d be fine. If she pressed beyond that, he’d leak the transmission and ruin her career.

  “This new kid you’ve got decrypting black channel files. Is he here?” Keel hoped he hadn’t blown him up when the Preyhunter flew into the pirate compound.

  “No. He at Tannespa. I tell him find cheap girl, get drunk. But guess what he do instead? He alone building new bot when I tell him to decrypt message. He smart but boring.”

  “Where in Tannespa?”

  Lao Pak’s eyes shifted from left to right. “So what you do to that girl, huh? Why she hate you so much? You easy to hate, but she really hate you. You break her heart? Cold feet and leave at wedding altar?”

  “Lao Pak,” Keel said evenly, “you’re changing the subject.”

  “This better subject! What she see in you anyway? You not that handsome.”

  “What’s the kid’s name?”

  “I forget.”

  “Lao Pak…”

  The pirate grimaced. “I tell you, you steal him for your crew. Cost me even more money.”

  Keel held up his hands. “Relax. I’m not gonna steal him, I just want to see if he can modify some TT-3 bots for Ravi.”

  “You promise?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Ha! You lie too much for promise to work.” Lao Pak’s dirty fingers tapped furiously across the datapad, leaving a greasy smear. He entered passkey after passkey, digging further and further into the system. Keel couldn’t hope to keep up.

  “You good buddy with Wraith.” Lao Pak winked at Keel. “I send you to kid for TT-3 bot, but you do this job for me, split sixty-forty. You get big portion.”

  “What’s the job?” Keel tried to look at the screen, but Lao Pak hid it against his chest.

  “Not in front of boy general.”

  “Go wait in the ship,” Keel ordered.

  Parrish looked as though he wanted to object, but quietly walked back toward the landing pad.

  “So what’s the job?”

  Lao Pak spoke in a hushed voice, though the only beings around them were two dead Hools. “Big, big, big job. I tell you money first.”

  Keel nodded. Starting out with the money had a way of cutting to the chase. “How much?”

  “Two hundred and fifty…” Lao Pak let the number settle on Keel’s mind before adding the game changer: “… million.”

  “Million?” Keel looked instinctively for the absent Ravi, to confirm that his ears did indeed hear such a staggering sum. “For what?”

  “Spot and report. Some big shot warlord who just return from beyond galaxy’s edge.”

  “Spot and report? You're telling me I get two hundred and fifty million, and I don't even have to apprehend the guy?”

  “You no get two hundred fifty,” Lao Pak snapped. “You get half. We partners. And you just find him. Big Republican admiral want to meet with big shot, so no apprehend, no kill. Think you can keep gun in holster?” He laughed. “There is first time for everything.”

  Keel made a face. “Republic? Is this another black channel job?”

  “No. This big. Big, big, big. This come from contact of contact of contact. Straight from admiral. No one know. I not supposed to know. But pirate kings, we know lots. They want to find Wraith for this job, but won’t risk open contact. He hard to find in person. But I know you. That the other reason I not tell pilots to kill you. I trade your bounty if you convince Wraith to capture whoever the admiral is after.”

  Keel was only half-listening to Lao Pak’s rambling. Two hundred fifty million… That many credits were always worth investigating. Besides, it wasn’t like he and Ravi had anything lined up now that the raid was finished. And he didn’t even have to catch the guy, just locate him. Although he did kind of enjoy the catching part.

  He was about to ask for details when his comm chimed, and Ravi’s voice buzzed. “Captain Keel, I am wondering why the general was just telling me that you are to be letting the Princess Leenah be sold by Lao Pak?”

  “I may have overdone it a bit down here,” Keel said, looking back at the smoke rising from the pirate’s compound. “Besides, she’s not a real princess. And you knew it!”

&nb
sp; “Yes, but she has already repaired Six’s shields.”

  Keel shook his head. That couldn’t be right. “What?”

  “Yes. It is unlike anything I have ever been seeing. I am thinking they are stronger now.”

  A mechanic like that might be useful. And she wasn’t bad on the eyes. Better-looking than Ravi, anyway.

  “Okay, Ravi. We’ll keep her on board. Send the general back out. Tell him I need his help.” Keel looked to Lao Pak. “Looks like you get to add a general to your pirate crew. I’m sure he’ll fit in fine.”

  Lao Pak shook his head. “No! I want mechanic girl. You cause lot of damage. Cost me too much money.”

  “Shut up, Lao Pak.”

  The pirate kicked the blaster rifle of one of the dead Hools at his feet and crossed his arms in a pouting scowl. “Okay, fine. I take little boy general. Teach him to be man. But this make us friends again.”

  Keel gave a lopsided smile. “Best friends. Now, supposing I can get Wraith to join me on this, who is this warlord we’re after? I need a name at least. And where do we start looking? It’s a big galaxy. I need more information.”

  “That not my fault. You talk too much. Interrupt me before I finish. I send you name. Goth Sullus. I never heard of him. He not so big shot, huh? Pirate king not even know his name, how tough can he be? But he disappear, so admiral say you find some dead family, dead family lead you to target. Family name…” The pirate checked his datapad. “Maydoon. I—”

  Keel cut in. “How will finding a dead family—”

  “You listen, you get answer! You flap gums, you hear only Keel mouth smacking. No, maybe I not tell you. You bad listener. Lao Pak have better idea. I send info to Ravi. He smarter than you. Also I tell Ravi where to find Garret. He the coder.” Lao Pak raised a finger. “But you no steal him!”

  “Lao Pak,” Keel said, turning toward the Indelible VI, “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

  09

  The legionnaires scrambled for cover and started to return fire.

  Tyrus Rechs ducked behind the cover of a large servitor bot diligently trundling its master’s goods across the city’s main concourse. The thing was hulky and slow, beeping and burbling in its arcane servitor code language. Blaster fire tore it to pieces in seconds.

  Rechs sighed. “Why’d they have to be such good shots?” he mumbled as the servitor bot exploded in a hot shower of sparks. But of course he knew the answer.

  He released a shock grenade from his belt, squeezed it, then tossed it over his shoulder.

  “Five,” he counted as he dropped and rolled left.

  Blaster fire followed him, ricocheting off the undercity concourse. One shot glanced off his chest plate and reflected skyward.

  “Four.”

  He came up firing on full auto. There were six of them. He took down two with direct hits. Smoke rose from the holes burned into their newly issued armor by the high-intensity blasts.

  Rechs triggered his jump jet and bounced back the way he’d come. A short hop, but away from them. He fired as he rocketed to the side and backward, hitting another and continuing his countdown through “three” and “two” as they tried to track and fire on him.

  Then the grenade went off and fritzed out their armor’s defensive capabilities.

  Rechs knew their HUDs were now down, as were their pneumatic and gyro-assist subsystems. These kids hadn’t learned to move in unpowered armor on a dust-red world for six months without supplies. Or fought a battle inside the crushing gravity well of a super gas giant. Even with powered armor, that had felt like breathing heavy water. But all that had been years ago.

  Tyrus cursed himself for counting badly. Time and age were conspiring against him. Gaining ground. Winning a little more, every day.

  And maybe they didn’t make grenades, or anything for that matter, the way they used to.

  He landed in a fury of grit and dust as he cut the rockets and shot the rest of the stunned legionnaires down.

  There was a long moment of silence.

  A moment where one should feel something about the corpses at one’s feet.

  You should feel… something, a voice reminded him.

  I don’t.

  And…

  And I haven’t for a long time.

  Then he was off and closing in on the Jaris Cantina as more evacuees rapidly became refugees. As more and more Republican corvettes filled the storm-tossed skies above Ackabar. He needed answers. Taking out Junga shouldn’t have been this hard. But who could’ve guessed the Republic was going to pull a tax interdiction raid? Things were getting more difficult with each passing moment.

  ***

  Of course the cantina hadn’t gone smoothly. He’d had to kill almost everyone to get the location of Junga’s hideout from the one guy he managed to leave alive. And the info from Tels Aracnic—the info that had started this whole job—wasn’t holding up. The rhino-lizard called Junga was supposed to have been at the cantina. Was supposed to be holding a macrocore that contained information the client needed. Needed badly. The client also needed Junga dead.

  This contract was going from bad to worse.

  Other bounty hunters would’ve walked.

  Rechs had pursued the target straight to a fortified lair in the Breakers. He knew better than to approach head-on. But that was exactly what he was doing now. Because time was running out.

  The four Gomarii guards at the front were tough.

  Two died in a firefight so fast it was like sudden heat lighting. The other two deployed directional personal energy barriers and locked shields. The bounty hunter rushed them behind a stream of concentrated blaster fire. He hadn’t been able to punch through their barriers in the least, but his barrage kept them from shooting back. The energy barrier shields prevented all blaster fire from passing through for as long as they were active.

  One Gomarii stepped back and deployed a spear from a weapons baton. The charged tip was a mass of seething energy.

  He’d faced these before, way back in the Savage Wars. If it struck Rechs’s armor, that would be all she wrote. Game over, man.

  So don’t let it hit ya, he told himself as he squared off for hand-to-hand combat.

  He raised the heavy blaster rifle in both hands and slammed the shaft of the incoming spear into the other Gomarii.

  A sudden and savage bang indicated contact; the struck slaver was flung off the walkway, spinning into the canyons and alleys of the dead starships below. Sparks from the energy spear’s tip rained down on the bounty hunter and the surviving slaver.

  The Gomarii stepped back and slammed the energy spear’s butt into the ground, loading a new charge, then crouched behind his force shield, close to the edge of the platform. Too close. Rechs leapt forward, pushed both feet against the shield, and kicked off from the butt of the blaster he’d planted in the dirt. The slaver tumbled backward, off the lip of the platform, out into open air, and down onto the rusty ruin of a gutted Class IV hauler that was nothing more than spars and rusting iron bones. A small explosion sounded from the dead ruin.

  Rechs scanned the makeshift catwalks leading up into the old skeletal ship where Junga and his gang had made their lair. A Republican first-era battleship—Ohio class. Behind the bounty hunter, over the city, the Republican corvettes were still hovering, and more and more assault troop transports shuttled down to the surface.

  Rechs knew his window for getting out of here was closing. Getting back to the ship would be tough. Running the orbital blockade would be insane. But what other choice did he have?

  The Republic had made it clear long ago that he was a dead man walking.

  He ran, pounding up the narrow steel that had once been part of ancient ships that flung themselves between the stars. The catwalks moaned and sang in the early evening winds that plagued this stormy and unforgiving world. Ahead, Junga waited for him—of that the bounty hunter was sure. And the reception would not be polite.

  The first guards he met were dug in, with a clea
r kill zone for anyone coming up the ramshackle walkway. A small bunker had been established near the main entrance to the old life hab of the colony ship. But the thugs who guarded Junga weren’t legionnaires. They hadn’t lived and breathed with a blaster in their hands. They hadn’t fought for the Republic in countless unremembered actions on worlds far and wide. Instead they were drifters, and assassins, and the occasional merc who’d gotten by on just waving a blaster around to intimidate the peaceful folk of the galaxy.

  Which was why the Legion had always needed hard men to do hard things. They were the line that protected the galaxy, the Republic, from the lawless chaos that was always waiting out near the edges.

  Or at least, they had been, once. A long time ago. Not anymore.

  These guards of a minor criminal overlord had no idea how fast a trained legionnaire could move and shoot on the fly—even if the armor he was wearing didn’t have target assist. Legionnaires had to learn to do all that before they were equipped with that fancy little gimmick, or all the other toys they became masters of.

  Rechs shot all three guards, then turned just in time to see a sniper from atop another gate watching, silhouetted against the purple of Ackabar’s darkening sky. The lone red eye of the sniper’s scope drew the bounty hunter’s aim from across the ramshackle courtyard. Rechs pivoted and fired. Three shots smashed into the wall around the sniper, and the fourth hit the scope in a shower of sparks. The guard was gone. Most likely dead, or at least dying.

  “Entrance,” mumbled Rechs as he searched the junk wall for the secret door that would lead into a labyrinth where the Minotaur named Junga was waiting to be slain. Just like some old forgotten myth from near the beginning of all things.

  Rechs was talking himself through the op, where once he’d talked to squads, and companies, and armies, and legions. Was it somehow a comfort? Talking to oneself when one was all alone? Did it give him a sense of not being alone and outnumbered? And outgunned, too?

  He dismissed those wonderings. He’d always been alone. Even when he’d led troops into battle for the Republic, even then, he’d been alone. He preferred it that way, for reasons he didn’t think about anymore.