Gunthix studied it and felt the instinctual notion to step on it like an insect. His face was long and ended in two mandibles. On the side of his head were two large black eyes with no noticeable pupils that were strafed by large antenna that reached down to the desk. It didn't wear any clothing, but was covered in a thick leathery skin. It's two long arms were typing rapidly at the console. One of the antenna reached down and pressed a small, silver device on his wrist, creating a short sentence, “Eight, you still owe me those debs.”
Eight laughed heartily and responded, “Oh, come on. That was a gentleman's wager. You don't actually expect me to pay you on it.”
Roc-Ha stopped typing for a moment and pressed the device again, “I do.” Gunthix felt uncomfortable as a witness to the debate on money. He looked at Eight to display his distaste. Eight understood it and responded, “Roc-Ha, Buddy here needs work. I was thinking about Redthroat.” Roc-Ha stood up and surprised Gunthix with his immense size.
He anticipated that he would have been short, or at least Gunthix's height. Roc-Ha extended his legs and proved to be twice Gunthix's height, obviously needing the tall room to move comfortably. The massive insectoid approached a console in the center of the room and retrieved a micro-pad.
“That'll help you out, Buddy,” chuckled Eight.
“Not so fast, Eight,” spoke the monotone voice of Roc-Ha, “He will need to apply for a bounty hunter license. That will take at least six Federation long-clicks.”
Eight chuckled and looked at Gunthix with a smile. “How about this,” he responded to Roc-Ha, “Just put him under my name when he brings him in.”
Roc-Ha collapsed his legs to appear short again and approached the duo. “That isn't legal,” sounded the device again, “But for you I can make an exception if you pay me back.” Eight let out another loud burst of laughter. “That sounds great.”
Roc-Ha looked at Gunthix, trying to size him up and decide if he should divulge any information. “Your target is an Avian named Redthroat,” the voice spoke from the device again, “He is very notorious. The federation has tried to kill him several times, but failed every time. It is disputed, but he owns several towns. The last place he was confirmed was a small town not far from here.” Gunthix nodded to the monotone voice that burned his ears and began to turn for the exit when he was stopped by a simple set of dual claws. “He has been reported killed several times, you will only be paid if you bring the body in,” the device voiced.
Gunthix thought for a moment on the exact terms of his assignment. Roc-Ha said the word 'body' and not 'him' as if he was indifferent whether or not Redthroat was alive. A smile began to invade Gunthix's face as he spoke, “Just tell me where to go.”
Eight let out another hearty laugh, “Sure. In fact, take my sand runner; it is faster than walking.”
***
Charon was eating in the officer's mess by herself. Officers aboard most ships keep to themselves and ignore anyone that hadn't been on the ship long, but hated those they viewed as stowaways and 'hitch hikers'. Unless they were forced to eat at the same time as her; they left her well alone, a complete paradox to the enlisted. She was annoyed when she ate with the enlisted by their constant questions and terrified stares. Quite often a veteran soul would dare to ask her for the chance to share the same rack and was quickly denied. Eating in solitude was her personal luxury and was rarely interrupted.
Styx entered the mess hall and rushed to Charon. She looked up from here meal with a smile, enjoying her sister's always hyper attitude. “Charon,” she started with a concerned voice, “I need to talk to you.” Charon gave her an attentive look, placing her utensil down. “I think I have a problem,” whispered Styx.
Charon's look changed from attentive to worried, “What's wrong?”
“Something,” answered Styx.
“Well, what is it?”
“I was on a mission to assassinate the magistrate of a border colony. Everything went well. The insertion, the stalk, and everything. I followed him back to his quarters, sneaked in, and did my job quick and clean.”
“That doesn't sound like anything is wrong.”
“That's just it.”
Charon sighed. Styx ran a hand through her silver hair and continued, “After he was dead, I started making my way to the window when I heard laughing.” Charon studied Styx's face and gave a curious look. “The laughing wouldn't stop,” she continued, “and then I heard a voice.”
“What did the voice say?” inquired Charon.
“It kept laughing and then said 'kill him' over and over. It wouldn't stop.”
“You already killed him, though.”
“I know, but the voice wouldn't stop, and the laughter. It wouldn't stop.” Styx placed her head on the table. Charon rubbed her shoulder in an attempt to console her. “I couldn't control myself,” cried Styx, “I couldn't. When the insertion team finally came in, they managed to stop me.” Charon stopped rubbing her shoulder and lifted Styx up to look at her face.
“What did you do?” asked Charon slowly.
“I,” she stumbled, “They said I stabbed him. Over and over, I couldn't stop.”
XXII
Gunthix approached the tiny building slowly. It was simple and shared all the characteristics of all the other buildings, and he was only certain that this was his location by the creative sign on the front with a large red lizard. As he approached the entrance, he became aware of something struggling to breathe. He examined the creature, believing that it was suffering from the heat due to a large amount of hair around its neck. Upon closer examination, he discovered that it had a large laser bolt wound to its stomach and was bleeding profusely. The creature reached out with a fur covered paw for him, hoping for help. He ignored him and entered the building.
The building was just as dark and cool as Eight's cantina, but was far more populated. Gunthix scanned the interior, studying several large groups as they ignored him. One of the groups was quieter than the rest, obviously studying him. He spotted his target, a tall Avian with a thick spread of crimson feathers covering his neck and chest. Gunthix marched forward, attempting to prove himself as non-threatening as possible as he kept his hood up.
“Well, looka here,” spoke a Terran, “Another great bounty hunter to collect on Redthroat.” The Terran slapped the back of another Terran and raised his cup. “
It's a busy day,” rang a monotone voice. Gunthix traced the sound of the voice to the arm of Redthroat. His entire right side was mechanical, an obvious expression of a life as an outlaw. “You want me to take care of this one?” spoke a high pitched voice that was complimented by the sound of a laser bolter charging up. Gunthix studied the owner, a squat pink humanoid with thin limbs and eight fingers each. He was disgusted at the sight of his single, massive eye.
Red Throat waved it off with his feathered hand, then pressed a button on his mechanical arm, “How much am I worth to you?” Gunthix nodded slowly in response. “Your life?” the mechanical voice played again. Gunthix stepped to the edge of the table and listened as the room became suddenly quiet.
“Be careful,” sounded the first Terran as he charged up his laser bolter.
“No one has killed me,” spoke Redthroat's mechanical voice, “And no one ever will.” He ran his feathered hand along his mechanical arm, slowly rubbing each part.
“I don't want to kill you,” Gunthix finally spoke, “But you will come with me.” The entire bar erupted in laughter as they enjoyed his apparent joke and several of the onlookers prepared their personal weapons. “You will come with me,” Gunthix spoke quietly.
The sound of several weapons charging up pierced the silence in the dark room. Gunthix sighed as he looked out the corner of his eyes, the whole room was against him. A tiny voice sounded, “Kill him.”
Gunthix responded faster than they expected. He flipped backwards to the middle of the room, morphed both of his Gatling-guns, and began firing in a wide arc into th
e entire room. After the short burst, he noticed that several of the outlaws had survived his initial attack. He waited to see if they would continue their attack. A Terran stood up, clutching his stomach as he raised his weapon, and Gunthix gunned him down with both weapons.
Groans of pain filled the silence as Gunthix approached Redthroat, stunned from the sudden death of his gang. “You are coming with me,” Gunthix repeated slowly as he grabbed Redthroat by the throat. A sudden urge to kill him exploded in his mind as he aimed at weapon at his prisoner. Redthroat struggled with the hand gripping his throat as he searched for any help that might have survived. Gunthix and the outlaw faded black and disappeared.
Gunthix reappeared at the star port to the surprise of Eight and Roc-Ha and the smell of ozone. “Well,” remarked Eight, “Ain't that a surprise.” Gunthix released his grasp on Redthroat, leaving him off balance and letting him fall to the ground ungracefully. He reached for a weapon on his hip, but was stopped by the barrels of Gunthix's Gatling-guns at his chest. Redthroat searched the room, looking for an exit, and attempted to roll away. Roc-Ha extended a long leg and cornered him, then gracefully slid his other leg over to place himself directly over his prey. Gunthix couldn't decipher an emotion on the insectoid face of Roc-Ha, but he assumed he was happy.
He reached down with his long arms and lifted Redthroat easily, examining him carefully. After a few moments, Eight interrupted his searching, “You know as well as anybody that it's him.” Several small feathers floated to the ground as Redthroat attempted to break free of the giant's grasp to no avail. Roc-Ha swiftly turned on one leg and carried the criminal into another room as Eight approached Gunthix.
“I'll tell you what, Buddy,” Eight let out with a loud laugh as he slapped Gunthix on the back, “You really are something.” Gunthix lowered his hood for the first time, allowing his silver hair to fall freely down his back. “You know, I managed to strike quite a deal with that swindler,” Eight continued as if Gunthix had replied to his compliment, “And I think you might like it.”
“What is so special?” inquired Gunthix.
“Well, not only are you gonna get that hundred thousand debs for the reward, but he also threw in something special for you on my behalf.”
Gunthix gave him a puzzled look with his black eyes. “A ship,” boasted Eight, “I managed to talk him out of an old Diashi light frigate.” Gunthix was unaware of what kind of ship it was, but was grateful for it.
“Only if you brought him back alive,” sounded the monotone voice of Roc-Ha as he re-entered the room.
“He did, didn't he,” sounded the loud voice of Eight again. Gunthix was unsure, but he believed that the giant insect managed to nod with his long face. Several fast clicking noises sounded from Roc-Ha's mandibles and a miniature doppelganger appeared from the same room that he had come. It deposited a tiny data-pad in his hand then quickly sprinted back into the other room. “Teaches me to never gamble again with you,” the slow voice spoke again, “It is time I clear my hangers out.” Roc-Ha crossed the large room in one long, graceful stride and deposited the data-pad in Gunthix's hand.
“Wait a minute,” sounded an alarmed Eight, “The debs?” Roc-Ha collapsed his legs to a short size and sat down behind his console and began to rapidly type. “Wait a minute, Buddy,” spoke Eight to Gunthix has he marched to Roc-Ha. The stout being crossed his upper arms and extended his complete lower arm out, “We agreed on the debs. Do you want me to report your swindler ways?” The clicking stopped and Roc-Ha retrieved something from the console's lower section, placing it in Eight's hand.
“You will have to transfer the debs yourself, I'm assuming you know how to do that,” rang the computer voice of Roc-Ha.
“Ya, I can do that,” responded the happy voice of Eight, “Go ahead and get the ship on the launch assist.” Gunthix stepped forward, understanding that his future was being discussed and he felt obligated to be a part of it.
“So soon?” retorted the computerized voice.
“I don't see any reason to hang out around here,” Eight spoke as he turned to face Gunthix. Gunthix thought for a moment. His biggest concern was the question of where to go. He nodded and spoke confidently, “Let's get to it. Get me out of here.”
***
“Initial reports show only a small increase in Federation patrols along our borders, despite our assassinations,” spoke the avid Major. He was uncomfortable giving anything but positive reviews directly to the Empress, but she demanded it from him specifically. He waited for a response, saw that she wasn't going to give one, and then continued, “Our current primary concern is any Guntherians that might be within their borders that are high profile and would give our tactical secrets away. Warship formations, ground tactics; information of that magnitude could possibly be used against us. We need to eliminate them.” Several military officials nodded in agreement.
“We managed to keep information on several Guntherians living relatively deep in Federation space; some of which will be easy to eliminate, while others will require more depth in their elimination,” spoke an Admiral.
“Sounds like something that Styx and Charon will need to do,” remarked the Empress, half interested, “What about the capital fleet?”
Another Admiral quickly answered her, “Another full-cycle and we will be at approximately the same strength we were before the Battle of Gunthix. Prototyping is almost complete on our other project and we estimate that we will be able to deploy them full scale by the time the standard capital fleet is complete. If we were to wait two more full-cycles, we would increase our fleet size by almost sixty percent, in addition to a full army of the war-droids they are attempting to develop again.”
“High Admiral Mars, have you selected your Fleet Admirals and your Battle Generals?” asked the Empress. Admiral Mars looked at the monitor carefully before answering her. He was proud that he was selected as the campaign leader. “Yes, my Empress,” he responded happily. She stood up and left the room. Admiral Mars studied the monitor as everyone left, counting the thousands of ships that were prepared to defeat the universe and gain him honor.
***
Gunthix strapped himself to the special chair as he continued to check the controls on his new craft. The Diashi craft was meant to be a war horse, but was stripped of its primary weapons by a group of Terran smugglers to be faster. The ship was now a simple runner. It originally had a simple design: a simple rectangular design with a tapered, circular bow and curved wings that sprouted from the top and curved below. It wasn't unlike the standard Guntherian ship-set, replacing beautiful curves with ugly, flat sides and sharp angles. Gunthix found a ship-link that was designed to assist the pilot and link directly into their helmet. He studied for a moment, unsure if his suit would accept the jack, and placed it on his gauntlet. A small, glowing hole developed where his weapons formed and he placed the jack inside. His helmet echoed the broadcast of the computerized voice of the launch assist, “Captain Buddy, civilian ship Eight's Gamble, prepare for launch in ten.” Gunthix nodded and leaned back.
A mechanical grinding started and he could feel the ship lifting magnetically away from the rails. The countdown ended and the ship surged forward and Gunthix was forced deeper into his seat. The rushing continued for several seconds then slowly let him go. He studied his controls and confirmed he was in space. Several monitors began feeding data to him as one console began displaying the need for a serious question. He punched in the coordinates for Gepp, a planet that Eight had mentioned as a great place to start a new life and understand realistic Federation life. The ship buzzed and began flying automatically for a nearby shipping lane.
XXIII
“So, there I was, between a rock and a hard place, when I realized 'What was I doing on this side of the rock',” rang a voice through the entire channel.
“What did you do then, Wedge?” begged the voice of Biggs.
“Keep the channel clear, you two,” answered
the annoyed voice of Bishop, “How are you doing on slaving their computers together?” Biggs chuckled loud enough for his radio to pick it up. Bishop and King stared carefully at the monitor from their cruiser Unicorn at a comfortable distance. “Answer me, Biggs,” demanded Bishop.
“We are done with the first twelve,” responded the voice of Wedge, “If Johnny doesn't quit pestering me, I'm going to kill him.”
Bishop wouldn't have cared. “I've been thinking,” spoke the calm voice of King, “I think we should change the plan.” Bishop took her eyes off the monitor for the first time since they started the operation a quarter cycle ago.
“What do you mean? Do you want to leave them here?” she asked King carefully.
“No, I'm talking about the plan to go back to the Empire.” responded King.
“Let me hear your plan.”
“Well, I was talking to the magistrate the other cycle and he has really enjoyed the relative prosperity and peace from raiders. All from our protection.”
“You want us to stay?”
King cleared her throat and waited. She wasn't sure of the exact ramifications of her new idea. They were all prepared for the ritual suicide of going back home. She was concerned that Bishop might view her as a coward.
“I suppose it could be an alternative. Lots of Guntherians leave home and set up small outposts; there is no losing honor in it,” mused Bishop. King couldn't believe her ears.