Bounty Hunter

What was supposed to be the last day of his first life, had gone differently in his head.

Paul smiled as he held up his electro-cuffed hands in supplication. If Kestrel could only see him now.

He'd been late for their weekly meeting, this time at Hannah's bar on the fringe side of the Burberry District. He'd dashed inside out of the ice rain into the warm apple pie cinnamon aroma of the bar. They always picked a new location, and never in a deadzone. The Galt Crew was particular about personal security, if any member of the Crew was comprised, they were all vulnerable through their connected transponders.

Paul reached behind his ear to activate the black disk fixed there by the magnetic pair beneath his skin. It had been disconcerting when they were first invented, but now almost everyone wore one – hard wired to send signals direct to their brains.

It was a retro bar, with jazz music from the old America. Paul would have liked it, if they hadn't offered only one drink, which was bright green and, to Paul, tasted like a mixture of pine and menthol.  He ordered one from the receptionist seated behind the white melamine counter.  The receptionist held up his scanner for Paul's payment chip, showing a nice holo-watch. Knock-off.

Paul wondered if it was one of his as he raised an eyebrow and paid.

"Nice watch,"

"Cost me a month's salary," the man grinned, "worth it."

Paul knew it. His salary, after all, was exactly the same.

"You're late," Kestrel's voice fed through the transponder as a bot-tender on a unicycle wheel stopped in front of him with his drink. He took it, "Far corner, get over here,"

"Yes Sis…"

"I should have been a bar clerk," he said as he slid into the booth beside Kestrel. Her side of the booth seemed a lot roomier than sharing with Baker's bulk. He removed his baseball cap and tossed it on the table, dropping rain on Kestrel's arm. She frowned at him,

"What does it matter? We're all zeroes,"

The ranking for System jobs, 0-11, with each gradation relating not to pay, because all jobs are valuable and equally paid, but to capacity for brainpower, because each should give according to their own ability.

"Then let's discuss our real work," Paul raised his glass, wincing as he drank what felt like toothpaste.

"Yes Captain," Baker grinned his goofy smile and tossed a small device onto the table. It could have been an old wooden puzzle game, but as Baker tapped it's centre there was a rickety clicker clacker as it extended a field around them, the air shimmering around their table as the noise of Hannah's was shielded from their table, and vice versa.

He listened to the reports of new technology from his top crewmen. Together they decided which new tech to focus on. Their job was simple. Find new technology, learn how it worked, reverse engineer it for popular consumption. Bar clerks couldn't afford genuine holo watches, but there was a market for the replicas the Galt Crew created.

His meeting that night kept pulling on the edge of his attention. If he was right, and he thought he would, this meeting would change his life. All of their lives for the better.  He was jolted back to the table when Kestrel suggested weapons blocking technology.

"Whose technology is that? I know Shako dropped it,"

Kestrel lifted her chin,

"It's not anyone's,"

"We don't create, Kes, you know that."

"I know we might need this technology. So might others,"

"We create it, they take it, remember? We're System employed zeros, we don't have a licence to own anything we create. There's no profit in new technology until it's been created by one of the elite corporations first. When Shako or TerriCorp pick it up again, that's when we move on it."

"We can make this work, Paul," she insisted, "Galt Crew moves tech on the black market, why not new tech?"

"They'll take it. Then they'll reverse engineer it and sell it to the highest bidding Elite Corp. They call us pirates." He sighed, "There's no point, Kes."

"We can't always live our lives holding ourselves down because of the System."

"We don't need to. The System does it for us. We take back what we can. I want to tell you I've made a breakthrough with my research."

They both sat back in their chairs, Kestrel folding her arms and Baker nodding slowly,

"I have a strong lead on one of the Bounties."

He knew from the way Kestrel finished her drink (without wincing) that she was unimpressed. It had been like that since they were kids. Ever since he'd read about the Bounties, he would dream and she would roll her eyes. For her they were a distraction from the business of surviving. For him, they were the point of surviving. Asides from piracy and his day job (courier), combing the historical record of the Bounties since the inception of Novamerica was an obsession. 

Ten accounts (well, most researchers agreed they were accounts), with enough money to create an Elite Corp, to buy one's way into the Gated Community of the private corporation owners (the "Gate"). There were only two ways into the Gate, be smart enough that an Elite Corp would pay your way through Tertiary after which you could pay back your dues through 30 years of employment, or buy your way in. There wasn't enough money to earn in a lifetime to do that, except through the Bounties. It was the way the System was set up.

"What lead?" Kestrel asked quietly.

"It's not important." It was. "What's important is I've been contacted by an entity usin the name 'T. Cadwallader'."

"Contacted how?" Kestrel sat up straight, her frown deepening.

"Online – not through any legitimate channel. He just said I'm on the right track and wants to meet in person to verify…"

"Your identity?"

"No," Paul waved her away irritated, "he doesn't know my name or anything about what I do…what we do. He found me through one of my blogs…fake name, fake everything."

"Let me guess, he was impressed by your research?" Kestrel muttered,

"He was," Paul said sternly. "I'm meeting him tonight. You should know in case-"

"-in case you're wrong and this is a trap," she sighed, "Paul, why would this person help you and what makes you think he s' not some charlatan who knows nothing?"

"T Cadwallader was the pen name of Yealand Hammer's early works. He was a dissenter, a critic of the founders of Novamerica. Kes, he disappeared soon after it formed and left no trace of his considerable fortune. It makes sense."

"It makes nonsense," she threw her hands up.

Baker cleared his throat, speaking slowly,

"Hammer must have died fifty years ago…"

"There are historical records of Sentinels placed to help us find the Bounties. He must be one of them."

"You sound like a fanatic. Don't go Paul," Kestrel pleaded.

"I'm meeting him tonight at the Library,"

"A deadzone?!" she yelled. Paul glanced around to check the other patrons couldn't hear her.

"It's a library…public place. Nothing can happen."

"You've lost your mind, brother. You will put all of us at risk."

'What do you think the Galt Crew does? It's always been about something bigger. There's got to be a purpose to this."

"There isn't. Leave your transponder."

"What?"

"I made it. I want it back. You aren't taking the rest of the Crew down with you."

"It's my only link to the Crew,"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He slowly handed it to her, feeling her nails against his palm as she took it from him and left. 

It was Baker who handed him another from his coat pocket.

"It's keyed to a different serial – you'll only be able to reach me. Our secret."

The library was quiet but there were still plenty of tertiary students despite the hour. Most students studied hard. Their tuition money from the Corps depended on it.

He adjusted Baker's transponder, putting the tingling behind his ear down to routine adjustment to any new brain-machine interface.  

The aisle he was headed for as the political history section by surname. He started with 'C'. When he arrived it was silent, he was shielded well enough from the late night students as he made quick investigations, looking for any movement from other aisles indicating his liaison was approaching. It was when he looked down that he noted some records were out of place, no longer sitting in precise alphabetical order.

He read the first letter of each book, an obvious cypher and felt a thrill as he understood the word 'INSIDE'. He tried each record, pulling it out as a holo until it materialised in his fingers, the solid weight materialising before he checked and put it back in place. When he got to the last book he knew as soon as it settled in his hands. It was lighter; hollowed out.

Inside was what looked like an Old America burner phone. It rang. 

He should have hesitated, he knew that now. But he answered and the tingling behind his ear spread through his body as the panic rose in his throat,

"Hello Paul, I've been expecting you."

The transponder was a holo device. But that wasn't possible. Anywhere except deadzones enabled a person with a holo device to effectively transport out by activating their device. Transponders were for radio communication. They couldn't move people.

His wrists were electro-cuffed to the table and they'd taken Baker's transponder. He was alone in the empty room where they'd left him.

The man who opened the door was the sort of man you'd never look twice at. He was middling in every respect. Average height, middle-aged, neither attractive or not. Someone's unnoticeable uncle. 

"Paul Galt." He sat opposite Paul.

"Who?" Paul knew even then there was no point. If they had his name, they had him.

"I don't think we need to do that do we?" even the man's tone was middle. Not too low or loud.

"How did I get here?"

"Your transponder."

"That technology doesn't exist."

"No," the man agreed, "not to you. We don't make all technology available. Call it a contingency."

"Who are you?" the man didn't answer. He pressed a button in the air that Paul couldn't see and a file cabinet materialised in mid-air,

"Why did you bring me here?"

"To remove a problem for my employer." The man removed several files and the cabinet dematerialised. 

He put them on the table and opened each one.

The information on the Galt Crew was extensive but not exhaustive. It went back maybe two years. The only people who had all the information were Kestrel and him. The Crew was always kept partially in the dark for security. Still, there was too much information for it to be a coincidence.

"You never go where you can't escape. Thankfully, your greed for the Bounty let you overlook this rule of yours to make your meeting,"

"How do you know about that meeting?"

"I'm Cadwallader."

Paul swore.

"I'm guessing you're not here to help me find the Bounty?"

"There is no Bounty, Paul," he said evenly.

"That's what you would want me to believe. It's in the history, there are too many records for it to be a myth, as you would know, as you've read my blogs," he muttered.

The man smiled,

"Brain's like that it's a wonder some Corp didn't buy you." Another cabinet materialised and the man withdrew pieces of cylindrical metal. Paul swore again. The man touched his own transponder,

"Please clear the area. There should be no witnesses to…the information the prisoner will provide. Wait downstairs."

Paul watched as Cadwallader assembled the weapon. It was a laser by the look of it. Death would be quick and clean.

"We do want you to believe the Bounty myth. The dependable thing about people is they always need there to be something more, a sense of meaning…a goal. Who do you think wrote the historical record, Paul?"

Paul tried to twist his hands free, knowing death was inches away from him. The fact of Cadwallader telling him this was evidence.

"Without hope, the system is revealed." Cadwallader shrugged before raising the weapon. "The only failure is that your sister Kestrel isn't here with you,"

Paul felt his electro-cuffs disengage the moment before the weapon powered off with a series of descending tones,

"She is," Paul leapt across the table calling on years of training and caught Cadwallader with a roundhouse kick, discombobulating him before knocking him out with an uppercut. He grabbed the weapon and reassembled it to reengage it, edging out of the room.

He knew the floor was clear, but he was trapped in a deadzone with no way of communicating with Kestrel who he knew was out there.

They'd left Baker's transponder in his ear. He knew he'd need to remove it before getting out of there but he tried the activator in case Baker was still listening. He was surprised to hear Baker's response,

'Where are you Captain?"

"I don't know Baker – are you with Kes?"

"She's in the Lotus, I'm in the building."

The Lotus was a shielded vehicle. There would be no picking her out from there. 

"6^th floor," he saw the sign in the stairwell as he ran into it, "Hurry Baker, we have to go."

He arrived only moments later. Paul frowned,

"How did you get here so fast?"

"Good luck?" Baker shook his head shrugging. He touched his transponder, "Kestrel – I've got him, come out of the Lotus,"

Baker froze and then pulled his transponder off,

"She wants to talk,"

"Now?" Paul took the transponder, "Kestrel?"

"Thank Old Stars," she muttered, "I thought you were dead. Have you got your activator?"

"No, I'm stuck. Kes what's the plan?"

"I leave the safety of the Lotus to save your hide, once again. I have to disable the deadzone manually which means I'm sitting duck without a holo. Baker gave me a replacement transponder so the rest of the Crew will be safe."

'They won't Kes – there's been a…Baker gave you a new transponder? Kestrel, don't leave the Lotus that's an order," he turned to Baker just as Baker raised his gun.

Paul had always been quicker but he should have seen this sooner. He missed Baker's leg, getting him in the stomach instead. He reached to his own arm feeling the burning tear in the flesh. The smell of his own singed flesh caused his panic,

"Kestrel," he started to run upstairs, hearing the door to the stairwell open again. Mechanical guns this time. How old fashioned he thought as bullets hit the stairs behind him. "Kestrel I'm going to clear the building. You'll have maybe four seconds to get a lock on me and holo me out of here."

"Paul?!" He could hear the terror in her voice and taste the blood in his mouth as he cleared the stairwell and burst into the dark room. He took aim at the glass windows, lasering them to ribbons as they fell backwards leaving a clear path.

He ran and jump as the flash of lights off the falling glass told him the bullets had started. He leapt hanging for just long enough to shout, "Now Kestrel!"

Then he fell, plummeting faster by the millisecond as the concrete rose up. It was too late, she didn't have enough time.

The last thing he knew was a searing pain in his calf as he passed into darkness.

"Wake up for Star's sake," she was yelling at him.  

He jolted upright, looking at her and then the syringe sticking out of his blackened arm.

"I'm awake," he pulled the syringe out.

"You were shot in the leg. Where's Baxter?"

"Are you still wearing his transponder?"

She removed it and held it out. Paul handed her his own. 

"Disable them but salvage them if you can. That's how they transported me out of a deadzone. How they would have got you too if you'd left the Lotus."

He let her process that for a second before adding,

"Baxter's dead, probably. Who's flying?"

"We're parked. Cloaked don't worry."

"I am worried Kes, get us somewhere safe and call the others, channels Baxter never knew."

"Yes Captain," she nodded firmly, moving to take the pilot's seat.

He patched up his own arm. His leg would have to wait until they arrived.

When he took a seat next to Kestrel he thanked her quietly. 

"You're bleeding on the seat."

"I owe you an apology."

She nodded slowly,

"I'm glad you're alive. Let's not mention it."

"It's important. I found out I was wrong and you need to know it too." He told her what Cadwallader had told him.

She sat in silence before putting the autopilot on, moving her head to her hands.

"We have to destroy it Kestrel. The System. We have to start with the Gate."

"Destroy it?" she looked up aghast, "We barely survive getting away with piracy – look what happened tonight. You want to be what, guerrillas now too?"

Paul thought of the folders he'd seen in Cadwallader's hands. Cadwallader was still alive. Paul knew that meant there was no place safe for him or the Galt Crew.

He shook his head,

"Not Guerrillas. Revolutionaries."

It was a long time before Kestrel responded, staring into the low lights of the city beneath them as she took control of the Lotus again,

"Yes Captain."