The Bounty Hunter (Cade Korbin Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  You’d think security would employ more invasive searches to find shapeshifters like me, but biomasks are extremely hard to detect, and pulling one off without properly deactivating it first would rip off the top layer of the wearer’s skin. So this is the best they can do: scan for weapons and check biometrics and faces against ID codes.

  It’s illegal to buy or sell fake identities, so that’s how security forces around the galaxy try to attack the problem.

  And like any other type of crime, they can’t stop it all.

  Just as I reach the end of the tunnel, a curtain of mist bursts out from all sides to kill whatever the pulsing lights didn’t.

  Then it’s over and I’m breezing down a broad corridor lined with stores and aggressive neon ads that keep popping into my holo display, trying to entice me to buy various local products and souvenirs. Last chance to buy something.

  But not stims, of course, which is what people really come to Terra Novus for. Laws aren’t this lax everywhere in the Alliance, and plenty of these flights are leaving for Coalition Space where things are far stricter still. People come here to get all the substance abuse out of their system. Then they take a pill or get an injection, or visit a behavioral center to break the habit when they get home.

  Ignoring all the ads for useless crap, I hurry to the gates. Omar had better be waiting for me at the Luxor gate. A quick look in my digital inventory gives me the gate number for the ship. Gate 12, flight LX-723, “Archibold’s Legacy.” I wonder idly who Archibold was to have a starliner named after him.

  My neuralink mistakes that for genuine curiosity and begins supplying the answer at the bottom of my mixed reality holo display. I have the audio muted, so thankfully no droning narration comes insipidly to my ears.

  I kill the scrolling text with a thought, and mentally dial down the sensitivity on the auto-search function. I don’t need any distractions right now.

  But then a distraction nearly bumps right into me. I leap out of the way before she can, my fists balled, knees bent.

  A crooked grin finds me along with glowing orange eyes. It’s that boy from the tram. She’s still wearing skimpy shimmersilk and boots with uncomfortably high heels, but she’s no longer towing a hovercart of expensive designer luggage. Must have checked her bags already.

  “You’re fast,” Aurora says. “I almost got you back for shoving me earlier.”

  I take another step back and regard her steadily. She arches a fire-red eyebrow at me.

  I discounted her as a threat earlier. Did I read her wrong? Maybe she is a bounty hunter.

  “Take it easy,” she says. “I’m not here for you. Not to kill you, anyway. Besides, how would I even manage that? We’re both on the safe side of security. All my weapons were either confiscated or disabled.”

  My eyes cinch down to slits. Rather than point out how many ways there are to kill a man with bare hands and the ordinary items for sale in any one of these stores, I say, “What do you want?”

  “I have a job for you,” Aurora replies.

  “Then go to one of the guilds. I already have a contract.”

  Her chin dips, as if I’ve just confirmed an assumption of hers.

  I shouldn’t be giving out intel for free. Now she knows that I’m also a hunter. That could scare her off my tail, or make her cautious enough to be a real threat. I frown at my own idiocy.

  “The Syndicate doesn’t have any rules against taking more than one contract, do they?”

  She’s fishing again. This time I don’t react, but ice crystallizes in my veins as she mentions the name of the guild that I’m a member of. I’m in disguise, and The Syndicate doesn’t make its members public. Only their alias and proficiency rating. So even if Aurora had met me in one of my other guises and she somehow saw through this one to connect the two, she still couldn’t know what guild I belong to. The only way that she could know I’m a member of The Syndicate is if she’s a member herself.

  That would also explain why she didn’t make a move on me. The third precept states that Syndicate members are forbidden from attacking, hunting, or hindering their fellow members in any way. We each have a bio-encrypted catalog of the IDs and current aliases of Syndicate hunters on our neuralinks, so there are never any excuses.

  It only takes me a second to run Aurora’s face, name, and ID number through that offline database, and another second to get a hit. I feel some of the tension bleed out of my shoulders as I read her dossier on my holoscreen.

  Syndicate Alias: “Scarlett”

  Working Aliases: “Aurora,” “Liara,” “Xia,” “Kara”

  Rating: 1012 / SGR1560

  Contracts Executed: 11

  I was right. She’s not a threat. Not to me, anyway.

  “Now you know who I am, too,” Aurora says, apparently having recognized her own dossier even though it’s printed backward on her side of my screen.

  I minimize the details to study her face and features. Those glowing copper eyes. Is this her actual face or a biomask like mine? I’ve never seen someone like her in any of the Syndicate’s Enclaves, but I suppose it is a big guild. And she must be new. Only eleven contracts executed. But she’s already 1012th in the most exclusive guild.

  The Syndicate has over twenty thousand members, and she’s rated as better than ninety-five percent of them. That makes me feel a sort of kinship with her that compels me to give her a few more minutes of my time.

  “What’s the job?” I ask.

  Chapter 9

  Aurora was probably surprised to see me step into that tram. Like any other guild-member, she would be alerted immediately of any bounties on my head by the recognition software in her neuralink. But as a member of the same guild as me, she would also be informed of that fact, and warned not to get involved.

  Which is why, after her initial umbrage at me shoving her aside, she looked away and studiously ignored me.

  Another hunter from another guild might have made a move right then and there.

  Aurora’s lips twist into a sly grin. “Credits talk, don’t they?”

  I shrug, and glance at my PIP displays to check for signs of any other hunters creeping up on me, but so far all I see are random travelers. “Get to the point.”

  “Female. Former Syndicate. Works for a different outfit now. She’s completed a hundred and six jobs. Two outstanding.” Aurora lowers her voice for what she says next. “She’s SGR198, and she’s only twenty-one, chronological.”

  Those facts rock me back on my heels. SGR198? I have a Standard Guild Rating of 127 myself, but I’ve been in this business for almost a decade already. Before this I was in ARCmax for ten years, and before that, the Paladins for seven. That gives me a hell of a lot of experience in killing and staying alive. What kind of twisted freak can compete with all that at just twenty-one? She’s a baby. I’m forty-seven chronological years old. I’m allowed to be this deadly.

  “Cyborg?” I ask.

  “No.”

  My left eyebrow skips up.

  “Bot?”

  Aurora shakes her head.

  That’s even more impressive. Not a lot of meatbags who can keep up in this business. And plenty who make the inevitable transition to cyborgs early as their original parts get blasted off.

  “What’s the pay?”

  “Six million.”

  Wheels spin in my head as that payday sinks in. My share would be enough to buy myself a whole new ship. Or maybe even a run-down station to call my home. The job to take out Mohinari is only for two hundred grand, and I thought that was a big payday. But six million?

  That might just be the highest price that anyone has ever had on their head. But with big paydays come big risks, and this target’s guild rating is a testament to that. Given a few more years, she might even surpass me. She’ll do it a whole lot faster if she gets a chance to kill me now, and working together with a novitiate like Aurora would only slow me down. Besides, I’ve already got my work cut out with Mohinari, and the clock’s
ticking on that contract.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Good luck.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I can’t do it on my own.”

  “So find someone else.”

  “Everyone else with a rating better than hers is unreachable. I don’t have contact with any of them. It was just a scrigg’s chance that I ran into you here. Or maybe fate.”

  “Scrigg being the operative word, not fate.” I’m shaking my head. “Find someone else with a death wish.” I take a long step sideways to get around her, but Aurora matches my stride, stepping in front of me.

  “Please,” she whispers. “I need that money.” Those coppery eyes pierce straight through me, making me believe that she probably does need it.

  “Who doesn’t?” I counter. “Get out of my way.”

  “Mohinari put an open contract out on you. Five hundred thousand credits for the first to bring him your head.”

  My eyebrows inch up with the revelation of how much Mohinari is willing to pay to have me killed. Standard fare for a hit is ten grand. Should I be flattered that I warrant fifty times that?

  “My head, huh? Sounds messy,” I say.

  “You’re missing the point. You could use your share of the six mil to buy protection.”

  “I don’t need protection.”

  “The client is Rajesh Mohinari.”

  That gives me pause. I lower my voice to a barely audible murmur. “You’re saying I’d be working for the guy who put a hit on me?”

  Aurora smiles prettily. “I thought you might appreciate the irony.”

  I do appreciate it, but it makes my current job impossible. The second precept of the Syndicate is that the client is off limits. I wouldn’t be able to kill Rajesh until long after I catch this other target for him. On the flip side, I’d be off limits to him as well. But I could lose my membership with the Syndicate if I don’t kill Rajesh for his wife within the specified time period.

  Decisions decisions.

  “You’re tempted,” Aurora says, somehow reading me through my blank expression.

  “No. And like I said, I’m in a hurry.”

  “Fine. At least take my comm number, in case you change your mind,” Aurora says.

  A contact card transfer pops up on my holoband. I accept it just to get it out of my field of view, and then I’m striding past her, moving as fast as I can without running. Aurora doesn’t try to intercept me, but I keep her in view with a PIP display. Force of habit. Never let a dangerous person out of your sight.

  This time Aurora is the one left staring after me like a lost puppy. She looks sad. Almost heart-broken. I can’t help but wonder: does she just love credits that much? Or is there some other reason that she’s so anxious to do this job?

  Curious.

  But it’s a puzzle I don’t have time to solve. For all I know, Omar has been intercepted. I’ve left him on his own for far too long.

  Striding quickly through the concourse to Gates 1-15 up ahead, I place a call to Omar through my holoband.

  “Hello?” a gruff male voice answers.

  It’s not Omar’s voice. Shit.

  “Who is this?” the person on the other end asks. My holoband blocks my comm ID.

  I end the call and check for Omar’s locator beacon on the minimap in the top right of my holoband. His beacon is right up ahead, to the left, down a long hall off the main concourse, on the wrong side to be one of the flight gates. That area of the public schematic is grayed-out, the door leading to it is marked as restricted access, for authorized personnel only.

  That means that Omar was picked up by spaceport security. Mohinari probably bought them off.

  That’s bad news for us. They’re the only ones who can get weapons past the security checkpoints, which puts me at a significant disadvantage.

  I check my peripheral holofeeds for the nearest security officer. At first I don’t see anything. Just milling crowds of travelers and their hovering carts of luggage.

  But then those crowds part and I see them. Not just one officer. It’s a team of four, all of them striding purposefully in my direction.

  Bad news indeed.

  Chapter 10

  I duck the four dirty cops chasing me by side-stepping into the nearest bathroom. My heart rate is up. Body shaking with adrenaline. I hurry down the line of stalls to the end and push through into the extra-wide one designated for families traveling with small kids. Then I step up on the toilet and peer over the tops of the stalls, checking for other occupants that I might be able to switch IDs and faces with. Biomasks like the one I’m wearing are great for swapping identities on the fly. Trouble is, there is no one in here to swap with. The bathroom is deserted.

  Fuck.

  I hear hurried footfalls approaching the door and duck down just before it bursts open. Four neutral yellow blips appear on the minimap in the top right of my holo display, they’re fanning out. Two to flank the door. Two to flush me out.

  What will be their excuse for bringing me in? The price on my head isn’t any of their business. Taking Kill Contracts is illegal, even in the Alliance. Then again, so is making evidence disappear from a criminal investigation, and everyone was perfectly happy to do that for Mohinari. Everyone except for Omar. And look where that got him.

  A frown creases my lips. I don’t have any weapons apart from the ones I was born with. But these four are definitely armed. They could shoot me through the stall if they wanted to. My energy shield would stop the first shot, or maybe the first two. It wasn’t confiscated at the checkpoint, because it’s disguised to look like an ordinary thermal shield.

  But these boys don’t know that. So why aren’t they opening fire?

  The contract Aurora mentioned was to take Mohinari my head. They don’t need to bring me in alive.

  But they’re still security officers. They can’t shoot an unarmed man without provocation. Not even in here where there aren’t any cameras to see it happen.

  A black DX-22 laser pistol comes skittering under the door to my stall. It takes me a second to recognize the custom scope and grip. That’s my gun. The one the bots confiscated and supposedly put on a conveyor belt to secure storage aboard the Archibold’s Legacy.

  Now they have all the reason in the galaxy to shoot me dead.

  Two sets of boots stop right outside my stall.

  There is no time for hesitation, and they’re expecting me to grab the gun they so nicely-provided. Being predictable is the same as being dead in my line of work, so I vault over the top of the stall instead.

  A bright red laser bolt flashes over my head from the two officers standing by the door as I sail down behind the two outside my stall. A hasty impulse shot. Should have waited.

  I land behind the two officers, grab the nearest, hooking my arms through his and using him as a shield just before a second laser bolt finds me from the entrance of the men’s room. The laser hits my meat shield with a hiss and roar of vaporizing flesh and blood. The man lets out an abbreviated scream and then goes limp in my arms. The second one by the stall is cursing and bringing his pistol into line with my ribs, but he’s too slow, still reeling with surprise that I vaulted over the stall instead of ducking down for my weapon. I spare a hand from holding the dead weight in front of me and grab the second officer’s pistol to push it out of line. He fights back, aiming a sloppy left hook at the side of my head. I duck the blow, twist the gun out of his hand, step back from my meat shield and shoot both the guards at the door.

  They fall over and land on top of each other in a heap, blocking the entrance of the men’s room. The final security guard is now disarmed, and staring into the barrel of his own gun.

  He holds up his hands and slowly shakes his head.

  “Please. I have a family.”

  I flick the pistol to stun and pull the trigger. A stun dart whistles out and buries itself in his neck. He grits his teeth, sinking to his knees as bright blue arcs of electricity flicker over him, completely disrupting his nervous system. A
puddle appears, piddling to the floor between his legs. Then the sedatives in the stun dart take hold, and his eyes roll up in his head. He falls over face-first in his own puddle of piss.

  But he’s not dead. He’ll live another day to disappoint himself and his family. Or maybe this near brush with death will be his wake-up call to stop being such a dick.

  Dropping to my haunches, I roll the guy over and grimace as my hands touch the damp parts of his uniform. I’m already scanning his face with my holoband and checking his name.

  Officer Richard Mason. A grin lifts one corner of my mouth. I guess he can’t stop being a Dick, after all.

  I use the audio logs in my neuralink to set my vocal modulator to sound like Richard, even as my biomask is squirming around on my face to do the same for my appearance. The facial bit is mostly done with holo-trickery, but the projector has to sit somewhere. Not to mention I need a realistic way to simulate this guy’s goatee. The mask does a good job of that by extruding a convincing pattern of fibers to match the ones on his face. He’s a couple inches shorter than me, but there is nothing I can do about that.

  I drag Richard and his dead buddy into my stall to complete the transformation, stripping down to my simple black underclothes and taking bits and pieces of each of the two policemen’s uniforms—in particular, I take the dry pants from the dead guy. They’re a bit snug compared to what Richard’s would be, but better that than piss-soaked.

  It’s barely been a minute by the time I’m done, but it feels like half an hour has passed. I grab my belt and hurriedly remove the thumbnail-sized neural probe from the back of the thermal shield. I place it over the back of Richard’s skull, and the probe attaches there, shoots a hair-thin wire through his skull to his neuralink, and steals his access credentials and public ID data. It’s not the kind of thing that can be bio-encrypted, and my probe makes short work of the traditional asymmetrical encryption system.