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  That was suspicious. Himples were an exported Tupran species that carried a high price tag and tended to be owned by nobility, not poor Torfs.

  I peered closer at the Torf. Though she used the himple to shield her cheeks as best she could, I spotted a yellow slave number tattoo peeking out from under a hasty makeup job. No doubt her other cheek showed her crimes, which were serious enough to get her life as a slave but still leave her some rights.

  I peered closer. She had a pistol holstered on her red belt. Other than that, she wore nothing.

  My gaze locked with Dad’s. He nodded once.

  Let the hunt begin.

  Dad stepped out of the alleyway and walked ahead of the target. I waited until she’d passed, then followed after her, careful to keep my walk loose and my gaze roving around the street. I touched the stun pistol at my hip, the same model as the one I’d lost in the tavern.

  What sort of criminal was she? Obviously a well-traveled one, judging by the himple. Her yellow tattoo meant she hadn’t been caught for murder, so she’d be a better target than pirates. Her feathers were well-groomed, not a spiky mess like some Lokostwan Torfs. The scales around her face didn’t have the sheen of a young Torf, but they hadn’t started to roughen yet.

  She darted off the main street, losing Dad, who had stayed ahead of her. I followed her into the side street. Dad followed me, staying far enough back she likely wouldn’t notice him, even if she spotted me.

  Now, with fewer locals, keeping out of the Torf’s sight became harder.

  She darted down an even narrower passage between two stone buildings. I jogged to the corner and turned in time to see her look back.

  The feathers on her head shot up. She reached for her pistol.

  I drew mine and fired.

  The Torf fell to the hard earth in a twitching heap of feathers.

  I ran to her and pointed the pistol at her. She lay still, other than her breaths, which came fast and ragged.

  Dad charged down the alleyway. He patted my shoulder. “Good work.” He knelt by the Torf and pulled my dart from her chest. A slight burn mark encircled the feathers around the dart where the electricity had shot into her before the paralysis serum took over.

  “Let’s see what you’re in for.” Dad turned the Torf’s head and wiped off the makeup, exposing the number tattoo. He pulled our ancient datsheet from his pocket and punched in the number. “Melsha of the Tri-peak Valley Clan. Age thirty-two. Wanted for escaping justice, Free Kin radicalism, and terrorism. Five thousand.” Her other cheek bore a slave tattoo, a spear and arrow fashioned into a cross, the symbol of a Free Kin radical.

  Dad cuffed her hands behind her back, then did the same with her legs. He wrapped a muzzle around her jaws. With her powerful legs and sharp teeth, we had to be careful.

  I holstered my pistol with shaking hands. “She was going to shoot me.”

  Dad picked up her pistol. “It’s a stunner.”

  Relief pulsed through me. If I’d missed, I wouldn’t have died. Still, I’d done well under pressure, much better than the encounter with Klate. Power surged through me. If we kept this up, we’d gain rank and come closer to being elites, though we still had a long ways to go. If Mom were alive, she’d be proud.

  The himple chirruped and looked up at me with wide eyes.

  “Krys, get the bag, I’ll carry Melsha.” Dad hefted our prisoner onto his shoulder. If she’d been any bigger, we’d have had to drag her.

  I grabbed her bag and slung it over my shoulder where my own pack already hung. What had Melsha been carrying? Rocks?

  The himple took a few steps toward me. I slowly reached out to it and ran my hand down its back. It hummed happily and lifted its tail, so I set it on my shoulder. It curled around my neck like a warm scarf.

  I hurried after Dad.

  The Torf’s gaze focused on me. Though her body was paralyzed, she could still move her eyes.

  I couldn’t meet her gaze, not when I’d condemned her to a life of slavery. No, with her crimes, she’d likely be pitbait. My shot had been meant to capture her, but I might as well have killed her.

  We walked through the good part of town, avoiding any places where we could be ambushed. A few Torfs glared at us, but I kept a hand on my pistol, which was enough warning they didn’t dare come near us. Finally, we made it to the spaceport.

  Guards stood around the edges. Gun turrets towered above them, meant for shooting down any pirates bold enough to attack while slaves loaded mined goods, mostly bendsteel. The valuable flexsteel mined here would only be moved in large space convoys with mercenary guards.

  Dad headed for a small boxy freighter that the slaves were leaving. They’d likely finished loading it, so it’d be taking off soon.

  A Torf slave stepped in front of Dad, his black hackles raised in a halo around his head. “Put her down, hunter.”

  I stepped next to Dad and drew my pistol. “Get out of the way.”

  The Torf glared but backed off. “I hope you die in the dark.” The curse hung in the air.

  We passed the Torf and made it to the ship. A few slaves darted away. They’re already caught, they shouldn’t be so spooked.

  A portly Skallan strode down the ramp. His golden eyes turned toward Dad. “Let me guess, you want passage to Saddat?”

  “We’ll pay.”

  The Skallan smiled, exposing yellowed teeth. “A thousand per passenger, unless you’re elites.”

  “I’ll give you fifteen hundred. You feed us for the entire voyage,” Dad said. “You’ll get reimbursed for the prisoner when we get to Saddat. You know how that works.”

  The Skallan smirked. “Fine, as long as you two hunters work security until we get there. No surrendering if pirates attack, you got that?”

  “Deal,” Dad said. “By the way, I’m Brok Karzil and this is my daughter, Krys.”

  “Wurrud,” the Skallan said. “What’s your rank?”

  “I’m a one point five and Krys is a point three.” Dad pulled out his license. Even combined, we were nowhere near the rank of five, what we needed to be elites.

  Wurrud glanced at the license. “There’s a storage room we can dump your scum in.” He pointed at the himple wrapped around my neck. “And that thing can stay in a box or the cell. It is not getting loose on my ship.”

  “I’ll lock it up,” I said.

  Dad walked up the ramp. I followed after him.

  A Chix child with dark gray fur swept dust from the top of the ramp. A blue thief tattoo adorned his cheek.

  The child’s dark blue eyes locked on Melsha.

  “Hirami, show them the way to the cell,” Wurrud snapped.

  “Yes, master.” Hirami glared at Dad. “Follow me.”

  He led us into the belly of the ship and past cells of nigotum fuel, then stacks of bendsteel. The few straps keeping it in place were frayed with age. Dust from various planets covered the floor. This place is a flying trash heap.

  We stepped through a hatch, then Hirami led us to a small room with a door made of bars and mesh. It was probably used to house animals more often than prisoners. A key hung next to the cell. It held no furnishing, only a hole in the floor for waste, and another in the door for food or water. We should get her a blanket.

  Dad stepped into the cell and lowered Melsha to the cold floor.

  I dumped the bag outside the cell, then pulled the himple off my shoulders and let it loose next to Melsha.

  By now, the paralysis serum would be wearing off. I drew my pistol, ready to fire if Melsha tried anything.

  Dad unlocked the cuffs on Melsha’s legs and hands, then removed the muzzle. He stepped out of the cell and closed the door.

  I holstered my pistol.

  Melsha shifted herself until she could sit like a broody bird. She ruffled her feathers and then stared at us. “You two have no idea what you’ve got yourselves into. I suggest you release me now.”

  A shiver shot down my spine. She spoke as if she was warning us. It’s got to be
a bluff.

  “I’ll take your threat seriously if I have reason to,” Dad said.

  The himple sprang onto Melsha’s shoulder and curled around her neck. She stroked it with one of her clawed hands. Her gaze focused on me. “If you do take me to the sales ring, keep Flame.”

  She wanted me to keep her himple? Well, it was kind of cute with its big dark eyes. “I can do that.”

  Melsha’s feathers relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “We’ll get you a blanket and some food.” Dad pocketed the keys. “Come on, Krys.”

  I glanced around. Hirami had vanished. I picked up Melsha’s bag and headed through the ship’s corridors with Dad behind me. There weren’t many rooms. After all, this was a freighter, not a ship meant to have a large crew.

  Wurrud stepped in front of us. “I’ll show you to the sleeping quarters.”

  He led us to the front of the ship, where the sleeping alcoves were. Four mattresses lay in the back of human-sized alcoves with sliding doors. Each had a small drawer under it for supplies. Judging by the dust on three of the mattresses, they weren’t used often. In the fourth, Hirami lay curled into a ball with his tail wrapped around his body.

  “We’ll be taking off in an hour.” Wurrud stepped through the door hatch and left us in the dusty room.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got.” Dad opened Melsha’s bag and began pulling contents out.

  Most of the contents were non-perishable rations, such as sarga roots and a bit of dried meat. None of it looked particularly appetizing. Lokostwa didn’t grow good food.

  In a front pocket, Dad pulled out the good stuff. Two hundred fifty in flexsteel coin lay in rolls of ten. A civilian datsheet lay next to the coin.

  Dad thumbed through the datsheet. “She kept this thing pretty clear. Nothing here we can use, but I’ll get this refurbished.”

  “She must have been planning on leaving the planet.” I stared at the roots. If she’d left a bit earlier, she wouldn’t have been traveling to her death.

  “You okay, Krys?” Dad asked.

  I poked at one of the roots. “It’s just that I know where she’ll end up.”

  Dad nodded, his green eyes downcast. “From her tattoo and crimes, I’m guessing she’s an escaped slave who went terrorist. She needs to be put away.”

  I kept my focus on the roots. “She won’t last long in the pits.”

  “Maybe she won’t go there, but that’s not up to us. We just get dangerous criminals off the street. It’s okay to leave thieves loose but not terrorists.”

  I nodded. Still, she didn’t have any bullets. That bothered me. If she’d had bullets in the pistol, it would have made it easier for me to think of her as evil. Sure, some people did use bullets for self-defense, but it was kind of silly when a dead body only brought in a quarter of the bounty.

  Dad pulled a blanket out of one of the three alcoves. He shook some of the dust off it. “You can take this down to Melsha. Give her some of the roots and water.”

  Hirami peered from his alcove. Tear stains darkened the fur around his eyes.

  I grabbed a bit of the dried meat. “Want some?” By the length of the strips, I guessed the meat came from some sort of snake.

  Hirami crawled out of his alcove and snatched the meat from my hand. “The hunter who caught me never fed me.” He darted back to his alcove and devoured the dried meat.

  “If you’re hungry, ask us. We’ll give you something to eat,” Dad said.

  Hirami’s tail twitched. “Yer not so bad, fer hunters.” Judging by the way his fur curled in on itself, I guessed he’d been underfed.

  I’d keep an eye on him over the next week. If he was being abused, maybe we could report that to the Ministry. They were supposed to oversee the slaves and make sure none with blue or yellow tattoos were abused. I doubted they’d care enough to investigate this, but it was all I could do.

  I grabbed a handful of roots and headed for Melsha’s cell.

  Melsha stood with her head held high.

  I slid the blanket and roots through the hatch in the bottom of the cell door. “I’ll get you some water too.”

  Melsha grabbed the blanket and roots. Unlike some of the other bounties we’d taken in the past, she met my gaze and held it, but not with the malice I’d seen from so many prisoners. “What made you come after me?” she asked.

  “We needed a bounty,” I said. “We weren’t after anything specific.” And you’re a terrorist who needs to be locked up.

  “If you survive, find a different job.” Melsha bit into one of the roots and turned away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Fire

  As I fell, I thrashed in the darkness. I slammed face-first into something and bounced back to the mattress of the alcove. The last remnants of the falling dream submerged themselves in my mind. I tried to roll over and bounced again. No gravity.

  I listened. The engine still ran so at least we weren’t dead in space.

  Careful not to send myself bouncing around again, I slid open the hatch to my alcove.

  Dull red light illuminated the quarters. Dad opened his alcove. “Krys, get your pistol.”

  I reached for the drawer under my alcove where my pistol lay.

  Hirami ricocheted off the walls of the room and shot to the hatch. He hit the lever beside the hatch. It slid open, and Hirami soared through it and out of sight.

  I grabbed my gun belt and buckled it. In zero-g, even that action sent me rolling, but I kept my orientation. My training at the hunter academy saved me from flailing around like an animal, something that had been the subject of many practical jokes.

  Dad grabbed our weapons bag and flew from his alcove, pistol in hand. He bounced off the walls, going hand over hand toward the hatch. I headed after him, but I kept my feet positioned downward. Dad flew down the hall like the air had turned to water. Without worrying about keeping his feet pointed down, he outpaced me.

  I began to move head first down the corridor to the cockpit. A memory of falling flat on my belly in training after a prankster turned the gravity on entered my mind. I shifted back so my feet pointed down.

  The gravity slammed on. I fell to the floor and landed on my hands and knees. I sprang back to my feet and ran after Dad.

  I slid around a corner in time to see Dad stumbling to his feet. He coughed.

  “I thought the academy gave you zero-g training,” I said.

  “No time for talking.” Dad took off.

  Wurrud stepped through the cockpit hatch. “Get ready for a fight.”

  Dad and I ran into the cockpit, which barely fit the three of us. “Pirates?” Dad asked.

  Wurrud’s scales had gone pale green. “The Deathhorn. They hit us with a hijacker. They’re docking now. I sent out a distress call, but it will be too late.”

  I peered through the cockpit window. Distant stars twinkled. We were in the middle of nowhere. The ship wasn’t moving, so the reverse thrusters had worked, but they’d pushed the engine to the breaking point to slow us to safe speeds, something not uncommon when a ship had to stop too quickly. That allowed the hijacker drone to attach to the ship and take over the computers, leaving us helpless, not that the unarmed freighter would be any match for a warship like the Deathhorn.

  The short-range communication system buzzed.

  Wurrud touched the control screen. An image of Klate took up the window. He glared at us, his ears flat against his head and his teeth showing. I took a step back. He was frightening enough in a good mood. Now, he looked like he wanted to gut us.

  “He can’t see us,” Wurrud whispered, his own eyes wide with terror.

  “Surrender now and I will spare your lives,” Klate growled. “Any attempt at resistance will be crushed.”

  Wurrud pushed a button so he could talk back. “Stay off the ship or we’ll take you in for dead price, pirate. I’ve hired mercenaries.”

  Klate growled, deep and menacing. “So be it.” His image vanished.

  “There’s a weapon
s locker to the left of the hatch,” Wurrud said.

  Dad stood frozen, his face pale.

  “You’re not thinking about surrendering, are you, hunter? We made a deal,” Wurrud snapped.

  Maybe surrender was a good idea. Three of us couldn’t take on a whole crew of pirates, could we?

  Dad shook himself. “I’m not letting pirates get their hands on my daughter. If they don’t kill us outright, they’ll sell us on Tupra.” He ran out the hatch and opened the weapons locker.

  I ran to his side.

  Fire grenades and rifles with armor piercing bullets filled the locker.

  Dad slung one of the rifles over his shoulder. He clipped five fire grenades to the back of his belt. He already had a half-dozen stunner grenades on the front. He pulled another fire grenade from the stash and held it out to me.

  I stared at it. “We don’t kill people.”

  “If those pirates know we’re willing to kill, they might back off. Pirates don’t attack things that aren’t profitable.” He pulled a magazine of stunner darts from his bag and handed it to me. “I want you to get to the sleeping quarters and wait there. We’ll try to hold them off.” He tossed me a mask, meant to stop the stunner grenade’s paralysis gasses from knocking us down.

  I clipped the magazine to my belt and put on the mask. “I can fight.” I’d hit Melsha easily. I could fight pirates.

  Dad shook his head. “No, Krys. I’d be trying to protect you instead of fighting. I’ll do better if I know you’re behind me.” He grabbed me in a hug. “I love you.”

  “Me too.” I released him and stepped away.

  “Remember, these guys are going to try to kill you. Don’t show mercy or surrender. There’s no telling what they do to prisoners.”

  A shudder passed through the ship. The pirates had docked.

  “Go, now!” Dad shouted.

  I ran to the dormitories and hit the panel by the hatch. It slammed shut.

  I waited in the red glow of the emergency lighting. God, please help us.

  Shots and screams echoed through the ship. I drew my pistol and pointed it at the door. The Torf slave’s words came back to me. “I hope you die in the dark.”