I swung the ship’s nose around, circling the station. Up close, Clarion was enormous—larger than any orbital station in this region had a right to be. My ship, Umbra, looked like an ant next to a bloodthirsty tarantula.
The truth was, Clarion wasn’t supposed to exist. It wasn’t on any official holomaps, and its data was scrubbed from departing vessels. The only way to find it was to hardcode the coordinates into your mapping software before every trip—or, like me, have them burned into your memory.
I’d been here so many times I could probably navigate blindfolded.
Chester ran a tight operation. He had to, considering Clarion’s clientele. It was one of the largest nodes in a shadowy web of stations catering to interstellar bounty hunters.
As I maneuvered around the station’s massive, floating bulk of chrome and steel, I noticed an unusually large number of ships docked. None of them looked familiar. Not surprising, but still unsettling. I was often Chester’s only visitor.
Why so many bounty hunters in one place?
Umbra was small, just 90 feet long, which set me apart from most hunters who preferred to travel in teams—packs armed to the teeth and ready to annihilate anything in their way. Especially here, where million-credit bounties were common. A prize like that wasn’t hard to split a dozen ways.
I eased the ship into a space on Dock E and waited. Massive robotic arms extended toward Umbra, clamping down on the hull with metallic ka-chunks.
Standing, I grabbed Lilith and strapped the demon-blade to my hip. Trouble wasn’t expected, but no one wandered Clarion unarmed. Carrying a weapon was a courtesy here, a nod to the unspoken respect among hunters.
I moved to the airlock, waited for the light over the door to glow green, and stepped out. The hatch closed behind me with a soft clunk.
Dock E was nestled beneath one of Clarion’s long, jutting arms. A short hallway led to an elevator that would take me up to the massive central column. The elevator opened into a familiar tunnel. Turning right, I headed toward the central hub, Lilith’s hilt resting under my palm. Despite the flotilla of ships docked here, the corridor was eerily empty.
What’s going on? Did I miss Chester’s birthday or something?
I pulled Lilith partially from her sheath, just enough to bypass the warding runes. Her voice echoed softly in my mind.
I wonder…
No helpful ideas. Thanks, Lilith. I left her partially drawn, flipping my robe’s edge over the blade to conceal it, and stalked deeper into the station. Whatever was going on, having a demon-blade at the ready felt reassuring.
The corridor stretched long and straight, ending in a circular door. It slid open with a familiar hiss, revealing the central column of the Clarion.
The space was colossal—fifteen stories of mostly empty air, crisscrossed by bridges and gantries. A narrow elevator shaft ran through its center, connected to my level by a single walkway.
I sighed. I hate this part.
Lilith snickered. An angel afraid of heights? Priceless.
My lip twitched, but I didn’t respond. Staring straight ahead, I gripped the bridge railing and swallowed hard before speed-walking to the elevator. My heart pounded, but I ignored the yawning drop below.
The elevator doors slid open as I reached them, then shut behind me, mercifully cutting off the view.
Lilith’s voice purred. See? No problem. Easy as pie.
“Thanks for the support,” I muttered.
The elevator began its slow descent. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and plastered on my best devil-may-care expression.
When the doors opened, I stepped out onto the vast, circular floor of the central column. Rows of uncomfortable benches and couches littered the floor, interrupted by scraggly bushes that added a half-hearted splash of green. A small café sat near the wall, manned by a lone android barista spinning on a narrow track, pulling levers and twisting dials behind a chrome counter.
The café wasn’t empty.
Three massive xenos hunched over their drinks, wearing brown leather dusters that barely contained their bulk. The Threezens.
In the hunting community, everyone had nicknames. These three unimaginatively went by “One,” “Two,” and “Three,” the numbers tattooed in red on their navy-blue faces.
Each carried a Dispatcher minigun—a weapon so heavy it typically required a tripod and a beefy soldier to aim. The Threezens cradled theirs casually in their four massive arms like they were paperweights.
I’d seen their work before. Bodies riddled with holes, burned beyond recognition.
The Threezens don’t miss.
Number Three jerked his chin at me in recognition. I gave him a slight nod before moving past the elevator shaft. Hunters are a prickly bunch—a small discourtesy could come back to bite you.
Across the hall was a large, white kiosk. Seated behind several inches of blastproof glass was the man I’d come to see. His wireframe, holographic face changed every time I visited, but the voice was unmistakable: crisp, academic, with a faint French accent only someone as old as me would notice.
“Lucian!” The AI’s hologram leaned back, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. This time, Chester had chosen the form of a chunky, older man with a fluffy shock of pale hair and a dark mustache framing thick lips. His jowls wobbled as he grinned. “Welcome back!”
My only friend in the vastness of space.
But something about the image felt… wrong. The details didn’t match my memory of the place, though I couldn’t put my finger on it. A faint chill trickled down my spine.
Lilith? I asked silently, my hand resting lightly on her hilt beneath my robe.
I feel it too, she replied, her tone pensive. I’ve got your six.
When Lilith got all business, it was never a good sign. It meant she felt just as uneasy as I did. I could sense her extending her awareness, probing for threats. One of her more useful talents was a form of precognition—enough to give me a few seconds’ warning before things went to hell.
A few seconds could make all the difference.
Leaning back on a low couch between the kiosk and me was a willowy Kheerzu. His black body armor clung tightly to an impossibly thin, bone-white frame. The Watcher.
He swiped idly at the screen of a tablet but looked up as I walked past. Though Kheerzu are ostensibly sightless, their eyeless heads still seemed to watch. I could feel the weight of his blank, white stare, his small, circular mouth opening and closing soundlessly.
“Watcher,” I muttered in acknowledgment, knowing he could hear even the faintest whisper.
He inclined his head, then returned to his tablet, pale fingers tap-tap-tapping on the screen. A long cord connected the device to a thin gray band on his narrow head—likely a translator or audio interface.
“Come, come,” Chester called, beckoning me closer. “Another successful contract, my friend?” His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he leaned forward. “Your employer confirmed payment several days ago. I’ve been awaiting your triumphant return.”
I nodded, leaning casually against the blastproof glass, my silver eyes scanning the room. What’s off?
“Tsk, tsk, mon ami,” Chester chided, interrupting my thoughts. “A million credits in escrow won’t free themselves.”
I shook off my unease and stepped closer. Chester gestured, and a robotic arm slid a flat white scanner through a narrow slit beneath the glass. I placed my left hand on it, keeping my right firmly on Lilith’s hilt.
“Who are you today?” I asked, glancing up and down at his chosen outfit. My foot tapped out an anxious rhythm on the floor.
The hologram was dressed in a dark three-piece suit with a bow tie. The wide vest spread across his ample stomach.
“Can’t you guess?” Chester asked proudly, smoothing a hand over his fluffy hair as a blue tracer line began creeping down the scanner, mapping every detail of my handprint. “Alexandre Dumas! A classic, no?”
I snorted softly. Chester loved history, but he loved literature even more.
“The usual destination account?” he asked.
I nodded curtly, my fingers drumming against Lilith’s hilt as the prickling unease between my shoulder blades intensified.
The scanner’s blue line crept past my fingers toward my palm. Chester’s gaze flicked nervously between my face and my hand—a rare crack in his usually composed demeanor.
Turning away, I scanned the room again.
The Watcher was now bent over his black leather valise, rummaging for something. The Threezen furthest to the right downed the contents of a small ceramic cup and started to rise.
Above us, screens hung from the ceiling in keeping with Chester’s airport terminal aesthetic. Normally, they displayed bounties, sorted from highest to lowest. Today, every screen was blank.
Lucian, Lilith hissed in my mind. The Kheerzu…
My gaze snapped to the reedy, black-armored xeno as his hand closed around something inside the bag.
Behind me, the scanner beeped softly. It was finished.
“Confirmed.”
The terminal fell silent, the synthetic voice reverberating through the farthest corners of the vast hall.
“Lucian Lightbringer. Bounty: ten million credits.”
And that’s when the world went to hell.