Earth Bounty

An Intergalactic Bounty Association Story

This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, by any means, without explicit permission from Eli Constant.

This is a work of fiction. Any locations, characters and entities are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously; they should not be construed as real in any capacity. Similarities to actual persons, living or deceased, organizations or locales are purely coincidental.

Xandros System

I was crouched down, in the dirt, in my brand-spanking-new uniform. The redesign was snazzy – a little too fancy for a Bounty hunter for my tastes. Whatever idiot designed it must not have realized that cobalt blue wasn’t exactly discreet.

Shifting slightly, I peered around the beat-up hull of a decade old cruiser.

It was ridiculously hot on the junkyard planet, with the sun beating down on trillions of kilos of wrecked star cruisers, transport ships, and unidentifiable, mangled bits of dull metal – all reflecting the rays of the three Xandros suns.

I’d been tailing the Xandarian, home planet unknown, for a week. The longest damn week of my bounty career.

He was tall, too tall – intimidatingly tall.

Eight feet at least and a complete neon-5 yellow alien beefcake with bulging muscles and a curved spine covered in sharp ridges.

I’d been trying to catch the creep by surprise, but that was proving impossible since he quite literally had eyes in the back of his head. His hair was localized – only coming out of the peak of his scalp in one round, thick expanse of white.

He had the strands twirled now, tied-up bun style on his ugly, alien head to keep his rear eyes free to see.

Every time I’d come close to slapping my light cuffs on his wrists, he’d bolted and he was fast, much faster than me.

Now though, he was lounging on the ground- his back and head leaning against a sawed-in-half shipping container- which meant his third and fourth eyes were useless. Point one advantage to me.

I squinted, trying to read the writing on the container, but the letters were too faded. Not that the history of the container mattered. I was just trying to delay the inevitable fight.

I looked at the Xandarian again. His name was Devo. Devo the Rapist according to his bounty file.

He was wanted in four different star systems for fifteen counts of sexual assault. And he didn’t discriminate – no two victims were alike.

Apparently the guy wanted an all-you-can-rape alien buffet. If I wasn’t careful, the gigantic, muscle-bound Devo would make me number sixteen on his sexual bucket list.

That wasn’t going to happen. No. Freaking. Way.

Because I was going to take the sleazy perp down. Here and now.

Dropping to all fours, I scooted around the junkyard, quietly making my way to Devo. One wrong move, one loud noise, and I’d be playing cat and mouse across the galaxy again. And I needed to get paid… really… badly. I was over a hundred merchandise points in the hole and I owed three hundred merch. points in rent for my tiny living pod.

If I didn’t bring Devo in today, I’d be beyond the galaxy with a dead fuel cell.

I was crouched next to – what appeared to be– a starflight simulator, early generation, like my great-great-grandfather’s era. The beat-up, ancient simulator was directly behind my mark’s position. I could barely see the top of his pale hair.

Finally, a break. His head was still leaning against the shipping container so his extra eyes were useless. I yanked my antiqued Earth gun from its holster, stood erect, and began walking.

Felt like a death march, but I wasn’t going to let the Xandarian see me sweat.

I kept my eyes trained on the perp and that’s why I didn’t see the xenon bulbs littering the ground.

Crunch. Crunch. The sound of busting glass wasn’t loud, but it was enough – enough to tell the Xandarian that he had company. Smart bugger.

“Aren’t ya bored of chas’n me, Bounty?” His Interspace English was good. So he wouldn’t misunderstand me. Also good.

“I never get bored of chasing dirt-bags, Devo. You going to come quietly?” He smiled. And it was a wicked smile – the double row of teeth decidedly sinister.

I sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

Close combat. Always fun. I re-holstered my sidearm and reached over my shoulder and towards my machete.

Many times, I’d been approached about my refusal to give up my human toys. My hardware guy once even insisted that I try out the new issue light gun. The weapon could use any available light source, concentrate it, and slice through practically anything.

Yeah. It was cool, no doubt about that, but it couldn’t replace the heavy weight of the machete or the recoil of the 500 Magnum I’d stolen from my dad’s gun cabinet before off-worlding to the Academy. Sometimes I regretted not given my family a proper farewell. Eh. No use whining over the unchangeable.

I expected my fingers to meet the cool handle of my trusty machete, instead, they found nothing, but air. Crap. Knew I’d forgotten something… I hesitated- just long enough for Devo to pounce, his eyes slitting in anticipation of sexual mealtime.

Not this time, slime ball. I sidestepped, but I couldn’t fully avoid his advance. Devo’s long arm stretched out sideways, following my movement. He had me around the waist and lifted off the ground before I could say shit-sandwich.

I kicked hard, violently flailing my legs in the air – my normal girl instincts momentarily overriding my kick-ass Bounty training. I forced myself to relax, going limp as an overdone noodle in his grip.

I tried not to grimace as he pulled me to him, my feet still off the ground. My body was against his now and I couldn’t control the shudder of loathing that vibrated my body.

“I’m really gonna make you shiver in a minute…” his voice trailed off and my stomach lurched as his long, black tongue licked the side of my face. So. Freaking. Gross. 

With my arms pushed down against my body, my hands rested against my thighs – impossible to hit the tiny button embedded in my right cuff.

Devo shifted me, half-throwing me over his shoulder and smacking my ass for emphasis. He had me… or… at least he thought he had me.

Resting awkwardly on his shoulder, my hands were free. I pressed the button.

And Devo screamed as my uniform produced a high voltage charge. He dropped me and, because he was so tall, the landing hurt like hell.

I’d hoped the shock would give me a moment’s breather, but it didn’t. Devo just looked angrier – and the uniform could only act like a gigantic Taser once. Well, crap on toast.

What the hell was I going to do now?

He came at me – his four eyes full of rage.

The next few minutes were a blur. Hand to hand combat was never my strong suit. His height and speed were advantages, but I was smaller, lighter on my feet and used to fighting dirty to compensate.

A fistful of dirt in the face impaired two of his eyes and that gave me a blind spot. Quick as (humanly) possible, I whipped out my regulation issued light cuffs and linked his wrists together.

Devo began to struggle realizing he was coming closer than expected to capture. He kicked out, catching me in the stomach and knocking the breath out of me. I doubled over, trying to minimize the pain. When I looked up, Devo had turned around, allowing his rear eyes to see me while his forward eyes recovered from the face full of dirt.

So… he could see me and I could no longer see the light cuffs. Shit. And, sure enough, he’d gotten them off – sneaky alien. Behind him and between his legs, the broken cuffs lay on the ground.

Battle – back on.

I reached into a pouch on my pants’ leg and pulled out a second pair of cuffs. I held them up, smiling slightly.

“Think I’d only have one pair?” He scowled.

The light cuffs wouldn’t hold Devo, that much was apparent, but I was going to have a damn good time trying to get them back on him.

“Stop fighting, damnit!”

“Screw you, Bounty!”

“Fine. You want to keep playing tough guy? I can play along.” I gave up trying to get the light-cuffs on the wanted-for-murder Xandarian and slammed my body against his. He fell forward; of course, I fell with him, but at least the jerk stopped struggling.

Once we were down on the ground. I straddled his leathery-brown body, grabbed a fistful of his greasy hair and crammed his face against the debris-covered ground.

“Still want to screw me? Cause I got to tell you…” I grunted as he, pushed against the ground and bucked my body upwards. “I like it rough.”

I tightened my grip on his hair, causing him to cry out in pain. He was on all fours now, me riding him like a mechanical bull. I’d only ridden one once- back on Earth over a century ago. I’d lasted eight seconds. I was determined to beat that record now.

As the Xandarian continued to buck, I concentrated on unsnapping my sleep wand.

One tap of that sucker, and he’d be down for hours.

My fingers were pretty nimble, so the snap was unfastened quickly, but every time I got my hand around the wand shaft, the felon beneath me gave a perfectly timed lurch.

“Son of a Sewage Feral.” I sucked in a gasp as one of his sharp spine ridges cut through my uniform, leaving a deep gash on my inner thigh.

I was bleeding now. And I hated blood.

“That’s it. I’m done playing.”

The sleep wand was out and rushing quickly towards the Xandarian’s head. He bucked again and I smiled as his head arched towards the wand and made contact.

Out. Cold.

I stood, the motion making the stiff material of my uniform brush against the thigh laceration.

Limping slightly, I made my way over to a discarded seat. The five-point harness hung uselessly- severed in several places. Must have been a crash-victim.

It was as good a place as any to sit and fix myself up. I unzipped a thin pocket on my right arm and retrieved the medi-paste. The stuff smelled nasty, but it worked. That’s all that mattered.

Several minutes and four applications of the paste later, my thigh was good as new. My uniform wasn’t.

I tapped my comm-bracelet and messaged for pickup.

Mission status- Complete Pickup Ready No need to tell them where I was. The comm-bracelet was a stylish accessory- rigged with a handy-dandy homing beacon and a slew of other tools that made my dirty job easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

Bounty G.M.

Friendship is a hard concept for me.

Let me clarify. It is not so much a hard concept to understand, but a hard concept to put into practice. I find that friends only wish a certain level of openness and honesty. Cross that line between polite reassurance and tentative rebuff into the world of total candidness and rage-filled rebuke and you’ve entered the ‘what the hell is your problem’ zone.

Needless to say, I’ve maintained zero healthy adult relationships- platonic or otherwise.

My attempts at polite conversation usually end somewhere between a foot in my mouth and a foot in the other guy’s ass.

Nobody likes a girl carrying razor sharp blades and an even deadlier, bad attitude. Not that I have any right to walk around with a Texas-sized chip on my shoulder.

I grew up in the late 2020’s in a proverbial American town, with the quintessential mid-economy and relatively happy parents. We had a white picket fence and even a happy, tail-wagging dog waiting for me at the bus stop every day after school.

Yeah, it was picture-freaking-perfect. The neighbors thought we were the ideal family. I was content with my self-consumed days of friends and track meets. Then one day my first boyfriend, Guy (I’ve always thought Guy was such an original name for a… guy) and I were doing the nasty in the basement on a pile of unclean laundry.

I was in the middle of the big “o” when a big “oh, no!” happened. I reached up to stroke Guy’s face and then he was gone. No poof, no bada-freaking-bing. He was just… just gone.

I was beyond spooked. I was hysterical; by the time my parents got home from their monthly date (which always culminated in me burying my head in my pillow as the gross, old people made carnal sounds- easily heard through the thin walls), I was inconsolable. Later my mother told me I ranted about Guy disappearing into thin-air and then collapsed.

I was dead to the world for three days. When I regained consciousness and a bit of sanity, my mother explained to me that I was traumatized over a break up with Guy and that he was at home and sorry that he’d left so abruptly.

He was apparently scared off by the crazy girlfriend’s bipolar ravings. I was confused, but the deepest part of me knew I wasn’t off my rocker. I was positive Guy had vaporized and apparently reappeared. Guy was okay, except for a bit of memory alteration. Count your blessings I guess.

Guy tried to be my boyfriend again several months after the ‘sexually triggered disappearance’ or STD for short. Yeah, I’m clever like that. Internally, I told Guy ‘no freaking way.’ Externally, I very nicely told Guy to take a hike. Besides, he’d apparently “broken up with me and sent me into a state of hysterical ranting and a three day comatose depression.” That’s what my therapist said anyways. I told Dad the witch doctor was a waste of money, but I guess I scared my parents pretty good during my quasi-coma.

For years I fantasized about my super ability to rid myself of bad boyfriends. As far as powers go, it wasn’t too shabby an ability to have. I’d find out the truth many years following the STD.

It had been a simple and cliché case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Planet GRUP (Galaxy Recognized Ultra-Power) scientists had randomly solicited human test subjects. Guy just happened to be on top of me and the laundry or I’d have been the one zapped into space and studied like a hairy lab monkey.

Pretty

In the here and now (approximate Earth year 3085), I stood in an intergalactic soup kitchen looking for a green-haired creep named Pretty. Yeah, really his name. Trust me when I say the name did not fit the bill.

I pulled out a picture of Pretty and flashed it to the gelatinous mass of Meckdar female standing behind the first vat of reeking yellow soup. God it smelled like puke and bile mixed in some heinous idea of alien stew.

I don’t speak much Meckdarian, but I knew enough to understand “leck tol mi savet et rebet” as “my left second row” and something about red or maybe blood. Meckdar’s sometimes interchanged the color of something and the actual something. It’s a very confusing language, made even more confusing by the unintelligible grunting that means nothing at all.

Meckdars are squat, horizontally large, and the color of dirty khaki pants. They have a disposition for very dry and very flaky skin and no great love of moisturizing. I guess if your major food source is dead skin cells, lotion can be a boon rather than a pleasant skin-teaser.

I turned around and searched the crowded left corner of the mess hall. Down and out members of the universal community from all nations and star regions could be found in a local soup kitchen. The Alliance of Peaceful Partners for Alien Understanding was a popular free grub destination. Apparently the puke and bile soup was pretty damn good. I sure as hell wasn’t going to test the gossip for truth.

I glimpsed a red shirt and headed in the direction suggested. Pretty didn’t need to look up to know I was there.

“Small world, G. What I wanted for now?”

Pretty spoke decent Interspace English, but his home language was Tularian.

Members of the Tulaté race were rare now and those speaking Tularian just as scarce. I switched to Tularian for discretion’s sake.

Pretty looked me up and down with his limpid, blue eyes (the only semi-pretty thing about him). His gaze hesitated over the curve of my hips and then moved further up to the swell of my not too shabby breasts. It took him a while to run his eyes over the length of me. I’m not amazon tall, but I’m relatively tall at 5 feet 9 inches and some odd centimeters.

I’m well-muscled, but I’m careful to keep my lifting regime to low weight and high reps. I may be a member of a male dominated profession, but that doesn’t mean I have to forget I have a vagina. I used to be an honest-to-god blonde, but have adapted my look to better fit my alien surroundings.

My current hair color is a very artificial looking blood red, but I could change that by a quick touch of my communicator’s disguise function. I’d been debating cutting my hair shorter, but didn’t want to lose the convenience of a quick ponytail thru my favorite blue ball cap.

I go by G.M., but my mother would have a cow if I didn’t explain that she named me a very attractive Gabriella Marie. I’ve hated my full name ever since some jerk boys in grade school taunted me with “Gabby my Penis Marie.” Like I’d ever ‘gabby’ their zit covered dicks and do anything with them.

“U-at lah-lah nuck-nuck se chi ba, Pretty. Ne-ne nub eww-aga pug Chi-Chi.” Simply put- I told Pretty that it wasn’t him I was after (for once); I was searching for an associate of his nicknamed Chi-Chi.

Continuing in Tularian, I described a Digha-Waa native named Chi-Yeta who had last been seen in the eastern region of the Meckdar solar system. My sources sent me to Pretty- who apparently conducted a shady business deal with Chi-Yeta involving boosted and modified fuel cells.

Unfortunately the modifications on the fuel cells were leading to system melt downs and stranded starships. This was more an issue for the Intergalactic Trade Association and normally wouldn’t warrant the attention of the IGBA (Inter-Galactic Bounty Association. Technically, we were supposed to say I.G.B.A. with full stops between each letter – at least that’s what it said in the manual. Most Bounties prefer to say IG-BA though– It sounds a bit strange (like the first letter of ick met guh and they adopted a sheep), but it’s quicker… and it annoys our superiors).

In the case of the stolen, modified fuel cells, IGBA had to step in- one of the faulty cells ended up in and IGBA ship and two of our Bounties were dead. The issue was personal and every Bounty felt the sting.

My track record was second to one, but Bounty Morlins wasn’t available, so the head of the IGBA had pulled me off my current mission in the Xandros sector. He’d given me a ten minute, pissed-off briefing and here I was- in a god-awful café speaking with my very favorite snitch.

Pretty smiled and started talking- he didn’t take my cue in switching to Tularian.

“Well, G…I haven’t seen Chi-Yeta in…ohhhhh a couple of cycles or so.” Pretty spoke real slow, dragging out his vowels and being obviously vague.

“Well, Pretty, when was the last time you saw the inside of an IGBA interrogation pod? I can arrange a visit if you’d like. I’m sure you’re growing homesick by now.” I watched the unattractive, furry face war between disgust and amusement.

On the one hand, Pretty was such a routine face around IGBA headquarters that dragging him in there was less a threat and more an invitation to his occasional vacation home. On the other hand, Pretty ran a tight, albeit illegal, ship and a two day recess from his operation would really prove detrimental to profits. It was difficult for the IGBA to really ‘interrogate’ him in the normal way anyway- we counted on his snitch nature far too much to torture him.

The IGBA was very clear that Pretty was never to be brought in for criminal activity unless the wrong doing was so public that IGBA was forced to interfere. I waited for Pretty to respond.

In the end, money won out. Threatening a currency greedy criminal with revenue loss was an effective strategy.

“Alright G. Let me settle up here and we’ll talk.”

The fact that Pretty wanted to relocate to a more private location meant that he had something really juicy to divulge.

Ten minutes later and a short star jump we were sitting in Pretty’s ’office’ on the surface of a surviving Tulaté moon- the world having been rendered inhabitable by a Chernobyl-esque world cataclysm. The Tulatés were Newtonian in brain power, but infantile in their common sense.

The planet’s demise actually gave Pretty his big break in business- even a dead planet had lucrative mining opportunities. Once the minerals ran out, he switched to shadier fare.

The majority of the surviving Tulaté populace was scattered to the stars. Only a small group remained in the dead world’s region and all of those remaining worked for Pretty. I listened raptly as Pretty spoke.

“Chi-Yeta was a mistake. She was a complete pain in my pretty ass. Late on her shipment, later on her payment, and then she disappeared before her final delivery. I lost a lot of inter-space currency to a displeased buyer. My associates have been looking for her also. The last information I received was she was holed up on some POS anti-GRUP planet called Earth.”

It was difficult, but I managed to control my reaction. The only individual of any galaxy species that knew my home planet was a singular member of the IGBA resource department- my handler.

Once you become IGBA, you were IGBA for life. All operatives are wiped of identity and considered advocates of the known galaxy with no world or political associations.

“Really? Earth? Small green and blue blip smack dab between Venus and Mars? I thought the Galactic Order had banned alien immigration to that system. It seems Chi-Yeta is a walking laundry list of Galactic rule breeching.” My voice was steady, betraying no emotional connection.

“Yeah. I want her as bad as the IGBA does… I’ll feed you any information I get.” Pretty held his hands on his laps, his fingers playing menacingly with one another. The hairs on the backs of his hands stood erect with displeasure.

“Thanks Pretty. You know how to reach me.”

On the way out I info-synced with my mission handler at IGBA and updated them on the direction my investigation had taken. A journey to Earth was against IGBA regulation.

Section 2, Page 10, Line 9: No operative will lead a mission into home planet territory.

You would think that ‘hey, it’s an entire planet! What are the chances you’ll be recognized?’ Trust me, it’s happened. It’s as inevitable as running into a really hot ex-boyfriend while on a blind date with your mother’s boss’ acne-ridden and caustic son named Eugene. You’re mortified and your ex is snickering at your descent on the social ladder.

Then again, in my case that is, it was highly doubtful that I would run in to anyone who’d finger me in a crowd. My generation was long gone and any relatives that knew me were dead.

The only way I’d get into trouble was if some random descendent happened to have a random year book from the 2020’s. The rule was more to protect those operatives newer to IGBA that still had living, immediate relatives. Still, I doubted IGBA would break a fundamental rule.

I knew the regulations and so did IGBA. I thought cueing in my handler marked the end of my involvement, but I was as wrong as bacon grease and pork rinds in a pig food trough.

GRUP

I headed home to my living pod in central city on planet GRUP- the Galaxy Recognized Ultra-Power. Right off the bat, it was easy to tell that GRUP was run by narcissists. GRUP was the self-proclaimed center of the extensively mapped galaxy. Any system not recognizing the political superiority of GRUP was tagged as Anti-GRUP and monitored for potential uprisings. One thing I did miss about Anti-GRUP Earth, besides the obvious friends and family, were proper baths.

GRUP’s idea of bathing is a quick stint in a sanitation booth. I looked at the small booth then stepped in with a sigh.

After I was filth free, but still feeling like a hot mess, I popped my food order into the delivery system and waited for my rations.

When the food arrived, I ignored the colorless and unappealing exterior and popped a cube into my mouth. It still amazed me that so many flavors could be engineered into a 2 inch cube.

Five cubes later, I had my nutritional intake for the evening met. Six minutes later, my wall-25 mounted info-link buzzed.

“This is G.”

“G, HQ says you are a go for Earth. Do you understand?”

I knew better than to ask questions, but couldn’t help myself.

“Is HQ aware of my connection to…” I didn’t get to finish. The line clicked and then my brain clicked. I was headed to Earth. Shit.

I received the case file on Chi-Yeta about an hour later. The info-bead arrived in the normal manner- beaming into a small diameter hole and rolling forward into a slot adjacent to my info-link. It was obsidian black and branded with a series of raised bumps. It resembled Earth braille and when processed thru IGBA data-corp, would serve as the filing label.

My first thought when perusing Chi-Yeta’s file was that I’d gleaned more about the case from Pretty than I was going to learn from the little, ebony bead. My second was why the hell would Chi-Yeta hide on Earth?

Digha-Waa was a fresh water planet and its inhabitants built for primarily water life. Digha-Waa was a 92% ratio water to land area. Digha-Waas were very gelatinous in appearance and their structure wasn’t supported by a carbon-based bone. In fact, the entire structure defied gravity and was supported by hundreds of air pockets that varied in size, but resembled bubble wrap. It was actually amazing to see a Digha-Waa transition from an aquatic to an air environment. You could actually see the air pockets inflate. The creatures basically had built in BCDs (buoyancy compensator devices).

Earth wouldn’t be the most convenient-environment wise. We had lots of water, but over 90% was salted. The ice caps had melted a bit more or the ratio would be even higher.

It struck me then that the very improbability of hiding there was likely why Chi-Yeta chose it.

Every time I encountered the strange water species, I had to reign in my urge to drop kick the creature to the ground, pounce on the flaccid, jellylike flesh and begin making the ‘pop, pop, pop’ sound that was wholly satisfying and amusing as a small child. There were so many things I missed about Earth, bubble wrap being one of them… yet…I truly did not want to return to my home planet. On Earth, a Digha-Waa would stick out like skewered pork at a vegan buffet.

There was really only one logical place for Chi-Yeta to hide on Earth and I was so not looking forward to ‘deep-water’ fishing.

Earth

I dragged ass packing my black duffel.

Pants. Check. Belt. Check. Shoes…got some on my feet. Check. Underwear…nah. Well, maybe one pair. I stuffed a pair of black hipsters into a side pocket. Maybe one more pair… to be safe.

After zipping the bag, I sat on my bunk. I wasn’t flashy. I didn’t need the fancy type of apartments advertised in the city center. I was more than happy bunking in an IGBA employee dorm. I was fine eating nutrition cubes and electrolyte-laced melt strips. My room was minimalist- a bunk, a sanitation booth, storage closet and postal slot. I didn’t ask for much, but I’d mentally asked the powers at be to never ever make me go back to Earth.

What can I say: the O GOD works in strange ways.

It had been easy to retain my Christian sensibilities in space. (Ironically, it had been easier in space than on Earth). There were many varied belief systems and non-belief systems, but the O GOD was the most wildly respected patron of inter-space theology. The principle of “One Galaxy, One Deity” was amazing in its relativeness to ancient Earth doctrine. The Intergalaxy Biblical Text had been lovingly preserved for centuries, each word now translated into Interspace English for the masses.

I carried a black document bead of the IG Biblical Text on me at all times- super accessible and always ready to pop into my wrist communicator.

My hand played with the small, ebony bead strung around my neck on an infinity cord.

The cord would never break and was touch sensitive to my exact chemistry. Next to the ebony bead was a scarlet bead which contained my comprehensive G.M. life history- from birth to current location and assignment. It was my lifeline to the past and my dog tag to the current.

If I failed in a mission (meaning I better have died and not return in shame), the bead would be processed by my handler and my remains discretely sent to my home planet- not that there’d be anyone to claim it.

I looked down at both beads side by side. I was basically looking at my life next to the book that should guide my life. It was one thing to call myself a Christian, it was another thing to work as a bounty hunter and sometimes assassin. The two lifestyles didn’t exactly mesh well.

Sitting. Sitting. Procrastination was one of my most finely honed skills…and it wasn’t a skill I’d picked up in ‘how to catch a fugitive’ training. I debated getting up and heading to the IGBA flight deck, but decided that reluctant lingering could last a bit longer. I was studiously calculating the decades since I’d last touched home planet soil when my communicator blinked green. Green for go…yippee. Guess headquarters had my paperwork in order. I glanced at myself in the small six by six inch mirror mounted above my postal slot. The red hair was so festive and bright. I glanced down at my wrist and accessed the disguise panel. Jet black. The mirror regarded me now, in all my gothic glory. My skin looked even paler, but I was pleased to have an exterior that mimicked my interior feelings. The long locks of black looked coordinated against the cobalt and black material of my regulation uniform.

My shuttle was set to launch at the lowest latitude of GRUP’s fourth moon- at a time when many would be sleeping. I walked slowly, taking a mental picture of the GRUP central city below.

In my fifth year as a bounty apprentice, the anti-gravity mechanics holding the IGBA facility at 1200 elevation failed. I’d been on street duty at the time. The poor Prigbees I’d been arresting for transport crapped all over their holding cages. Admittedly, I’d ended up with a small, wet stain on my IGBA uniform. But come on! The sight of a six acre platform rapidly falling towards me was more than enough reason to lose control of bodily functions.

Despite my procrastination and mental musings, I was locked and loaded (mentally unprepared) and standing in headquarters with time to spare. I normally arrived early, but by the grace of my nerves I arrived especially early today. Early enough in fact to see the HEAD of headquarters himself, IGBA official Briscoe. Like most IGBA officials, Briscoe was a transplant from another political sector of GRUP.

Originally he’d worked in GRUP corporate affairs. I never had been able to understand how easing company transitions during hostile mergers prepared him to run mission control, but I’m just an underling…no need to understand the ‘big picture.’ My handler constantly reminded me that the IGBA ‘don’t ask, don’t tell policy’- adopted during the ill handling of illegal experimentation on planet Cartica- was effectual for the foreseeable future.

I momentarily and conveniently forgot my handler’s words of wisdom and marched myself up to Briscoe for a little heart-to-heart.

“Head-Bounty Briscoe, nice to see you this morning.” I tried so hard to sound polite. It just wasn’t something I did well.

“Bounty G.M.” He acknowledged me with two words and a head nod. Smug jerk. I planted myself in front of him, feet spread, unmoving.

He regarded me. “Can I help you with something?”

I hadn’t met many Diecorians, but if Briscoe was the run of the mill brand, I was planning on staying clear of planet Diecor. His frame was tall, but heavily muscled. He towered over me.

His skin was an amazing and pale shade of lilac. If I ever bought my own living pod, I’d like to take him to a home goods complex and throw him under the color analyzer. I squared my shoulders and looked at him solidly.

“Actually, I do have a quick question. Why is control sending me on mission that is in direct violation of section 2 of IGBA regulation?” He gave me an odd look and then began speaking.

“There is no violation concerning your new assignment. The planet is anti-GRUP, correct?”

Briscoe glanced down at his wrist and pointedly checked his watch. I’m so sorry for wasting your time oh high and mighty one. Grrr. This man really burned my grits.

I was a-freaking absolutely sure where he was going with this.

“Yes, I think it is. What does that have to do with my assignment to…”. He cut me off with an exasperated sigh.

“Bounty G.M., allow me to remind you that due to recent terrorist activity in the Xandros sector, all anti-GRUP natives are being extradited to their home systems. Having been recently assigned to a bounty detail in the Xandros sector, you are well aware of this. IGBA has even done a thorough sweep of those in its employ. As far as we are concerned, you are a native of a pro-GRUP planet and that is the only reason that you are still on active duty and not rotting on a POS bit of space junk.” He continued to regard me. I would have to be an idiot to not understand the meaning of his statement. “So you understand now. There is no violation of IGBA regulation. Your mission is sanctioned and cleared. Good luck G.”

He walked away not waiting for a response. I stared at his back. I was pissed, but there was not a frapping thing I could do about it. A shrill voice called my name. I walked up to a tinted service window and reached for the single orange paper held by ancient looking fingers.

Alien form could be deceiving. I’d be willing to bet a month’s worth of entertainment points that the hand belonged to a Garquat and not an old ‘person.’ Earth. The reality started to sink in.

I was headed to home-sweet-home. I’d ignored most of the Earth news that drifted into headquarters. And being Anti-GRUP, Earth was monitored heavily. So there was always news and it was always depressing- thus the ignoring.

If anyone ever doubted my home of origin, all they need do is see my defense mechanisms in action. Talk about a true species trait. Last night, in light of my upcoming trip to my home planet, I’d opened the IGBA file on the planet and began to read. The more I read, the more I realized that I was not going back to the earth of my childhood. Venezuela, a former third world province, was now the capital of the planet.

My home country was no longer a world power thanks to a war between the US and China that began in 2031 and lasted until 2040.

The United Nations had dissolved by then; there were no allies to come to either side. Funny enough, the US and China canceled each other out, fell from grace and all the other countries sat back and watched. Convenient?

The USA was now known as simply the NAC or North American Continent. Personally, I preferred USA, but it was hard to retain that name after Texas broke off and unified with the Central Americas. And then the California governor decided to purposefully disrupt the major fault line that ran the length of the state and finish the job of sending the sunshine land floating off into the bright, blue ocean (the great earthquake of 2056 started that job). Nope, the great U.S. of A was just a little bit smaller with no US.

Space had been an interesting transition for me. It was a bit of a stink- my leaving home to travel off world. The inter-space travel commission (an innovation brought about after GRUP made contact with Earth) was very new and I wanted in. My parents were appalled at my choice to relocate. I could understand my parents’ point of view…to a certain extent. My leaving and jumping star systems meant that they’d likely be long incinerated and used for ash meal in the National Composting System (NCS).

Yeah, some Earth locals still bitched about the 2015 initiative to clean the planet with the NCS. I guess I could see their points too. Every land fill had been emptied, every grave exhumed. When folks were used to retaining some tangible proof that their relatives had once lived, it was a hard pill to swallow that their loved ones’ bodies were now crushed into fine, organic powder. And I could understand how the NCS might seem a little…well, sick.

But personally, it didn’t bother me one bit that the sterilized ashes of my loved ones were used as binder in the plant food that helped grow the national produce. Circle of life and all that jazz.

All the Earth junk that couldn’t be recycled or incinerated was dumped on the little planet that used to be- Pluto. Every citizen was mandated to save organic materials for the NCS, separate recyclables, and bag non-organic, non-reusable materials. More free will options thrown out the window- ‘going green’ was no longer a choice.

My parents were long dead now and they had been barely in their thirties when I left. My current appearance was near identical to the eighteen year-old girl that had left home over a century ago (minus the artificial looking hair, loud makeup…and weapons). That’s what lots of cryo-sleep and space travel will do to a person. Not to mention that IGBA put operatives in the ARC (Age Reversal Crypt) after each mission. I still had some scruples with reverse aging, but damn I looked good. Back on point: My leaving was a stink.

My parents…well, I’d said a mental goodbye to them in the 2080s- sure that they’d passed away after ninety years of living.

Send-off

Flight deck was pretty deserted when I arrived.

I greeted my pilot with an unenthusiastic grunt. Rando was a jerk, but not half bad looking for a Grelig. He had the traditional dark green markings of the Grelig race, but he kept himself well groomed and the Grelig anatomy was relatively close to human. We’d actually been on a date. I thought it was going pretty well…until I caught a glimpse of him adding something to my Jupiter 6 cocktail.

When he wasn’t looking, I’d switched our glasses. His taste buds were so dead from chain smoking hash that he couldn’t taste the difference. Boy was he surprised. I left him puke-ugly and passed out against the bar. I’d never confronted him. The pictures that ended up on the uni-net were consolation enough.

Cross my fingers. I wasn’t the one who painted his face up like a Dennian prostitute and posed him that way…honest. I was a little miffed at the lack of send-off.

IGBA was breaking a fundamental, although null in my case, rule and didn’t even care enough to give me a farewell back pat. I was sure Rando would oblige. I shook my head. Ugh.

Just the thought of that grease-ball touching me gave me the heebie-jeebies. I took one last look at the flight deck and sighed. G et in the damn craft. I mentally shouted at myself to quit lollygagging.

I’d been dealt a crappy hand. If I wasn’t going to fold, may as well go all in. In a matter of minutes, I’d stowed my gear and situated myself against the cushy wall of the sleep pod. I belted myself and yanked downwards on the harness straps until they were snug.

I watched Rando set the time link for cryo-sleep. Earth was a long way off. I was going to be drop-dead gorgeous after so much beauty sleep. I shifted my legs a bit as the pod rose slightly off the ground and began to tilt backwards. When I was horizontal, the memory foam beneath me rose slightly until every part of my body was cushioned.

I wouldn’t dream which would be nice for a change. I couldn’t be sure, but as the cryo-haze settled over my mind, I could swear I saw Rando making the type of gesture that earned him the nickname ‘Raunchy Rando.’

Consulate Red Mountain

I awoke quickly, fully alert with no memory fog.

The cryogenic travel pods had recently been further improved to minimalize the after-effects of long distance travel. Rando was already awake and fiddling with the control panel.

When my pod was upright and opened, I stepped out and enjoyed a full body stretched.

“Ugh.” I groaned when my spine cracked several times. Despite the cushioning, somehow I always ended up kinky. At least my brain felt rested and ready to go.

“We’re entering the atmosphere now and will begin docking above planet at IGBA consulate Red Mountain in 25 minutes.” My head turned and I watched Rando pressing a number sequence into the command panel. The viewing port opened to reveal a picture that differed greatly from my memory. Earth’s greenery had been in decline when I departed a decade ago, but now seemed to be making quite the comeback. From a high space aerial view, I saw what the century-old history books described as the green, blue planet of the MWGS (Milky Way Galaxy Sector).

Entrance was a speedy affair, our silica-coated, platinum and ceramic hybrid shell making short work of the atmospheric resistance. Before long, our craft began to quickly descend towards a helipad. IGBA consulate Red Mountain was suspended 3000 meters above the planet’s surface and measured 20 acres square, was home to 5000 IGBA employees and work home for an additional 800 contractors. It was massive and a feat of engineering.

The auto-piloted landing was flawless. I barely felt the ground gear touch down and adjust the craft to exit-height. It would be another few minutes before our cabin equalized and we were able to exit. I stretched again and decided a quick phase shower wouldn’t be a bad idea. I stripped my clothing off and tossed it into a decontamination unit, pressing ‘quick tide’ before walking into the small, confined shower space. Just like my bunk room, sensors picked up my presence and measured my weight and height. Always pissed me off when a robotic voice suggested I lose several kilograms of mass deposit in a certain pants-stretching region below my back. My ass fat was just fine, thank you Mr. tactless robot man.

The booth lit up and I felt the warm, cleansing heat that told me I was soon to be dead-cell free and odorless. One thing I was going to buy while on Earth- a decent bottle of perfume. Every scent I’d sprayed at the GRUP consumer central mall smelled horrific. Of course, there wasn’t a large market for the human desire to smell dainty and floral. I’d learned from my many encounters with different species- Meckdar, Tulaté, Digha-Waa- that natural musk was the preferred eau de toilette of the galaxy.

I put on my newly fresh clothes and ran my fingers thru my shoulder length black hair. I clipped my communicator back on. I pressed a button and a small rod ejected out of the communicator. Looking in the mirror, I held the rod to the corner of my right eyelid and said “eye shadow, green.” I swiped the rod across my lid and was pleased with the grass-green shade that now complimented my natural eye color. I mimicked the motion and speech to shade my left lid. A few more words and motions and my face was diva perfect.

When the door opened, there was no inward swoosh of air. Our craft had been too perfectly equalized, had prepared us too well for our new environment. While in cryo-sleep, our bodies had been slowly acclimating to earth. Our bodies were ready for the gravity, our internal clocks were ready for the time changes; even our bodies had been slowly warmed to acclimate our skin and glands to tolerate the heat of an Alabama summer.

All of these accommodations should have made stepping onto earthen ground feel perfectly normal. Of course, none of the physical acclimations assisted the emotional issues boiling below my very calm, very cool knife-toting surface.

It was a coincidental thing that the I.G.B.A., NAC consulate would be located in my birth state. Well, above my birth state. Coincidence or not, it was still a kick in the crotch. Thank the O GOD that Birmingham was a long way from Andalusia.

Rando gave me a fare-the-well wave and one of his looks that said ‘how ’bout a pat on the butt for good measure?’ And I gave him a ’try it and you’ll lose an arm’ look in reply. I watched Rando retreat into an IGBA office. I sincerely disliked the jerk, but I would be very happy to see him again- if seeing him meant going back to GRUP and getting the hell off Earth.

No one met me on the helipad. No send-off on GRUP, now no ‘hello, how are ya?’ on Earth. I was pretty popular.

I didn’t know which direction to walk in, but I wasn’t following Rando- one awkward goodbye was enough. I scanned the area, my eyes taking in several buildings. They looked a bit antiquated, but they were architecturally in line with most IGBA designs. At some point a senior IGBA researcher had unearthed an archive bead containing a photo of the Sydney (anti-GRUP Earth continent: Australia) Opera house.

Pretty soon, all newly constructed buildings were that basic design. They varied in color and slightly in shape, but one could always distinguish an IGBA building from the sea of corporate and bland Earth buildings that were produced in bulk during the minimalist resurgence of the 3030’s. 

The buildings were color coded. Gunmetal gray usually meant living quarters, reddish-brown usually meant equipment storage, and cobalt blue buildings were always the operations centers. I strode toward the beckoning blue building and sucked in hot air, filling my lungs and warming my core unpleasantly. To me, the IGBA buildings always looked like half an artichoke- The building peaks like stacked, stiff leaves. Yum. Artichokes. I realized I wasn’t just looking forward to the perfume.

Earth food was going to be a pleasant change. That was one tidbit of happiness I’d gleaned from the endless data on the ‘new’ Earth I was returning to. Nutrient cubes were available, but not widely accepted as core food supplements. I could still walk into a NAC town, find a diner and order a double-stacked, cheese burger. Granted the patty would be a buffalo clone product and fat-free. Cows were extinct.

Burgers, meatballs, and sundry other ‘beef’ dishes existed thanks to a disease free male Buffalo preserved prior to the devastating Mad Cow strain V outbreak of 3019. So much time. So many changes.

At least I didn’t have to worry about running into old ’friends.’ Friendship was overrated. My longest standing relationship was probably with Pretty and I’d just as soon handcuff him as talk to him.

I hesitated only for an instant before yanking the windowless door open. I was blasted by icy air; my skin tingled with the chill. Before my eyes could sufficiently adjust to the artificial lighting, I was accosted by a rather large man. I didn’t like to be surprised or man handled. This stranger was pressing his luck and quickly rising on my shit list.

“Want to get out of my personal space bub?”

I looked up at his face. I’d planned on being haughty and entitled. But then I focused on him. Human and good-looking. Damn. Guess I’d opt for the less bitchy route. His irises were so dark that it was difficult to distinguish pupil. His lashes were girl long. His bronze hair was cropped short against his head. Cute could get you everywhere.

“Want to show me your papers, Ms.?” Yum.

Nice voice too.

I colored a bit. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts; I’d forgotten to have my bounty shield clipped to the lapel of my uniform. I huffed, a little irritated at myself. I bent and yanked my badge and folded mission papers out of the left leg pocket of my jumpsuit. I mumbled a half-hearted apology. I didn’t meet his eyes, not wanting him to catch me appreciating his features a little too much. I wasn’t a very subtle person. When I liked something, I was pretty obvious about it.

When I disliked something…well, I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m a bit lacking in the friendship department.

I continued to avert my eyes as ’tall guy’ read over my paperwork and scanned my badge into a computer. One little scan and the abridged history of me would pull up in a 120 k-bit IGBA file. Having verified my mission clearance and parameters, ’tall guy’ handed back my stuff.

“Alright Bounty G.M. You have a meeting tomorrow morning, but for now you can head to the residential building. Your room is…” He glanced back at the computer screen “…E4-9.” I turned to leave.

“Wait, where’s the meeting?” I always forgot some itsy-bitsy, unimportant detail.

“This building. S1-1.”

“Time?”

“0700.”

“And I was hoping to sleep in.”

“Sleep in?” ’Tall guy’ chuckled. “I don’t know what IGBA branch you’re from, but the words ‘sleep’ and ‘in’ have never been used consecutively here. We wake, we work and we’re lucky if we fall asleep before we have to wake again.”

I smiled ruefully at him. “You got a name?

I’d like to mentally refer to you as something other than ’tall guy’.” I watched as he looked down at his decidedly tall frame and grimaced.

“Willard Short.” His voice was almost apologetic. My grin was full blown, all-teeth-showing happy.

“I like that. See you later Willy.” I’d momentarily debated calling him Mr. Short-having already teased him about his height. I reneged on the idea. Besides, it was quite a bit more fun to call him by his first name when he was undoubtedly waiting for me to jab at the contradiction that was his physique versus the inadequacy of the last name ‘Short.’ I walked out of the building, back into the world…my world. I strode purposely towards the gray building.

I found E4-9 with little trouble. All IGBA residential units were similar in layout. The room was a mirror image of my bunk back on GRUP. It felt so familiar that I threw my duffel towards the back left corner, expecting the mattress to cushion its fall. The heavy bag hit the single-person dining table instead.

I glanced at the bag, puzzled only for an instant before realizing my mistake. I left it. I’d move it later- one more opportunity to ignore the reality of where I was. I wanted to clean up, with real water. It was amazing. I’d only been in the heat for minutes, but my skin felt grimy.

I opened the frosted glass door to the small water closet and was thrilled to see a silver showerhead. I pulled the faucet handle downwards, twisting it left and right until the water was warm, but not hot. I unzipped my uniform, pulled my arms out, and shrugged it off my shoulders. The cobalt material pooled around my feet and I bent down and untied my boots. I lifted my feet free of both jumper and shoes simultaneously, peeled my socks off and headed for my first real shower in more than 150 years.

The water felt good. I stood in the wet warmth for a long time. The sensation of clean wetness against my body brought a literal waterfall of emotions. I cried for my parents, high school, even for my stupid ex-boyfriend, Guy. Mostly, I cried for the life I might have had.

When I finally turned off the water and stepped out of the stall, I was returned to my normal, messy, Inter-Galactic Bounty Hunter and bad-ass self. What kind of life was I crying for anyways? I might have gotten married, had kids, and maybe had a career.

Anyway you cut the cake, if I’d stayed on this blue-green blip of a planet, I’d be dead and decayed by now- food meal for the NCS.

Devoured

My stomach grumbled.

I had a couple of cubes in my duffel, but who the heck wants quick-dissolve dissatisfaction when there’s real food to satiate hunger. I searched the small bunk room for an area information bead, but came up empty handed.

Surprised, I realized that there wasn’t an info-link mounted next to the door either.

“Huh” I muttered, a bit confused. Good thing I now knew one person to harass for information. I glanced at my IGBA uniform, but opted for a pair of cargo shorts and a white tank instead.

Lucky me. Willard was still at his post.

“Hiya Willy.” He’d turned in my direction before I’d spoken- the influx of hot air thru the open door gave me away.

“Bounty G.M. Can I help you?”

“Call me G. And yes, you can. I’m hungry and…” he interrupted me

“And you’ve lived off nutrient cubes for over a century and a half.” He paused. “Call me Will.

Please. I’m not fond of Willard or Willy.” The ‘please’ sounded like an afterthought, but I’d bite.

“That and the occasional soup kitchen fare. I tried to avoid the nights when Meckdars ran the menu.” I cocked my head and grimaced. “Their taste buds are—different than most species.”

“Dead skin doesn’t appeal to you?”

“Maybe with ketchup.” Thinking about ketchup made my stomach grumble audibly. Will chuckled.

Still standing behind the security desk, Will untangled a cord from around his neck and inserted the attached info bead into one of several slots adjacent to the main info link.

Above the desk a holo-screen came to life. I could see the basic layout of the city below. Will’s index finger tapped a map key and several dozen buildings on the city layout flared to yellow life. Our current location blinked red.

“I’m partial to Donovan & O’Malley’s Irish Pub on 2nd, but you might like Route 66 Soda Shoppe on the corner of Tribeca Ave. and South Main.” Will pointed at each location on the map.

When his finger came away, the buildings had changed from yellow to blue. “The Soda Shoppe has killer half pound buffalo burgers and steak fries.”

“I was sold at half pound.”

I studied the map briefly, but ended up scanning the address into my info chip. Why try to remember directions when I could just have a robotic voice lead the way? On second thought, 50 why leave any useful information behind. I asked Will if I could borrow his bead. I unpinned my identification badge and used the pin point to activate an info transfer. A male, micro usb popped out of Will’s bead and I inserted it into my info bead’s slot.

The transfer was quick. I threw a ’thank you’ behind me as I walked out of the building and towards the teleport room. Actually, it wasn’t so much a room as a phone booth with an accordion door. The booth tela-linked with a corresponding booth at ground level. I walked in, scanned my ID bracelet and dematerialized.

It was always the strangest sensation to feel oneself broken apart and reassembled. It all felt very Star Trek.

The Soda Shoppe wasn’t a long way from the tela-booth. I strolled along with real interest, staring into the various shop windows. The Earth felt like a very different place. It didn’t feel like home anymore. I was a tourist, my blood as foreign as the alien I now hunted.

I ignored the stares and murmurs as the meat juices dripped down my chin and landed on my tank. The gray color did little to hide the large food stains that now decorated my tank. When the waiter had placed the burger in front of me, I’d been assailed by the smell of real meat. The grill marks weren’t synthetic; the patty wasn’t soy. I was in heaven. As much as I wanted to smother the burger with ketchup and mustard, I didn’t. I wanted to taste the meat in all its glory.

The golden, crispy fries were another story. I used an entire bottle of ketchup eating them and was tempted to ask the waiter for more. But I didn’t. I wasn’t a complete gluttonous slob.

Points for me. I ate myself into oblivion. My belt was too tight and the trip back to my bunk room unpleasant. It even hurt to lie down. My bulbous stomach weighed down my back and chest and I vowed to order a garden salad next meal. I never fell asleep so early, but tonight I did. I slept hard.

Briefing

I forgot to set my alarm and arrived twenty minutes late to the morning meeting. Not a great first impression. I physically felt bad. I emotionally felt like pond scum when I saw the people waiting, not so patiently, for me.

Only one other person at my lower rank. The other people were commanding officers. Twenty. Commanding. Officers. I refused to cower, but it was ridiculously difficult to make eye contact. I mumbled a brief apology and scooted quickly into the only empty chair available. It was on the other side of the conference room. Talk about the walk of shame.

A voice cleared, loudly. I looked in the direction of the voice long enough to read his name tag. Lt. Teague.

“Glad you could join us Bounty G.M.” I nodded sheepishly. “We’ve gone over some of the basic information for this assignment. I won’t bother to recap and bore those more punctual.” I opened up the mission brief in front of me and quickly skimmed the first two pages; the feeling of real paper was odd against my fingers. I already knew the majority of info on Chi-Yeta-her origin, psych profile, most recent locations.

Lt. Teague continued to talk.

“Chi-Yeta originates from Digha-Waa, an aqueous planet in the Meckdar Solar System.

The majority of inhabitants, Chi-Yeta included, chose to relocate several years ago and wait out the solar flaring of their second Sun. Chi-Yeta has been involved in a number of illegal activities in the past two years. For the most part IGBA has loosely monitored her, but not pursued.” Lt. Teague cleared his throat, reaching for his coffee mug.

“Very recently, one of Chi-Yeta’s exploits hit home and hit home hard. IGBA purchased a dozen crates of fuel cells off a seemingly reputable container ship in Market City. Turns out, those fuel cells had been modified and originally purchased in the Black Belt. Chi-Yeta’s been fingered as the culprit. We’ve had four stranded star ships and two casualties. The fuel cells generally work great, but have longevity issues.

“We wrote it off as a poor expenditure until Bounty Ship Echo III exploded shortly after departure from IGBA consulate Shadow Sun on the third moon of planet GRUP. We lost two of our best operatives. Not only was Bounty Linx highly decorated, but he was the nephew of Head Bounty Briscoe. Head Bounty will be arriving at consulate Red Mountain two days future after the funeral for Bounty Linx. The second casualty, Bounty Mesta, will always be remembered for her expert handling of the lower quad mutiny on Planet GRUP and the original Prigbee infestation.”

Lt. Teague bowed his head.

We were all silent for a moment. I assumed most meeting attendees were sparing a thought for our fallen comrades. I, on the other hand, was envisioning an alien organ grinder and cute Prigbee pet that I rounded up many years ago on GRUP as a Bounty Apprentice. I continued to hang my head for a few minutes after everyone else had straightened back up. I didn’t want anyone to misread the barest hint of smile stretching my lips.

Personally, I was fond of Prigbees- despite their bad rap. They were an adorable and diminutive creature, ranging from 8 to 13 inches in height. Devious creatures, but cute as hell with bright eyes, button noses and mouths that perpetually grinned. They were also my favorite color- bright yellow. Prigbees had been saved from a dead planet by conservationists and then subsequently sold across the universe as adorable, trainable pets.

Consider them the alien version of man’s best friend.

Seriously, they were popular; then the Prigbees realized they were smarter than their owners. Now they ran amuck on most planets-especially GRUP. They foraged for discarded trash and were often trained to perform scouting for pickpockets and unsavory street vendors.

IGBA was constantly handling Prigbee complaints. We had so many locked up at headquarters that we’d had to invoke the death penalty for the first time in GRUP history. I openly detested the mass euthanizing performed every other Thursday.

I shook my head very slightly, bringing my brain back into focus. Teague was already talking again. Oops.

“…water-dependent species, Chi-Yeti will be drawn to water sources that are mainly fresh water with certain types of algae growth. Varieties of green algae have been determined to be the most similar to the food sources on Digha-Waa. “Chi-Yeta was recently tracked to North Dakota, but her trail went cold. We feel that Chi-Yeta may have bunkered down in that state and we’ve been advised to begin our search at LAKE Sakakawea. It’s a freshwater lake with plenty of hospitable wood and rock for algae growth. If Sakakawea is a bust, our naturalists have already compiled a list of probable locations in the northern hemisphere of NAC. It’s full summer and we feel safe ruling out locations that are experiencing high average temperatures.”

As I was listening to the briefing, my eyes scanned the listening faces.

I noticed those who shifted nervously in their seats. I took note of whose fingers were clasped tightly together. It struck me odd that everyone seemed so out of sorts. This was a high priority assignment, sure; but people were acting like finding Chi-Yeta meant averting a catastrophe. I began to list questions in my head. The more questions that filled my mind, the more convinced I became. I was being thrown into the deep end, no paddle and no support. Why did Chi-Yeta flee to Earth? And why in hell would she choose North-freaking-Dakota as her safe zone? I raised my hand and waited.

No one noticed me waiting patiently. I stretched my hand up a bit higher and wiggled my fingers. Lt. Teague stopped talking and looked at me with the queerest expression.

“Bounty G.M.? You have a question.” His tone suggested he lacked experience in the being interrupted department. I had to approach with caution, keep my tone even and unassuming.

“Just to clarify, Sir: How do we know that Chi-Yeta is still in the NAC? Have we positively ruled out every other continent and province on Earth? And. If.” I lightly emphasized the if, “Chi-Yeta is suspected of still being in North Dakota, why haven’t Bounties assigned to this planet been sent to recover her? I was deployed roughly a week ago Earth time. That should have been plenty of time for any properly trained Bounty to bring in our suspect. You didn’t have to have me and my fabulous track record.”

Another throat cleared and a couple chairs squeaked under the weight of restless bodies. I didn’t bother to study the faces again. I knew what I would see. The one expression I did watch intently, changed from lecturing apathy to caustic defensiveness.

“Are you suggesting that we have not taken the proper course in identifying and capturing Chi-Yeta?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, Lieutenant Teague. I’m merely pointing out the obvious. I understand why I was put on this assignment. My investigation in the Xandros Sector connected me to Chi-Yeta’s dealings with Pretty and her trafficking of the faulty goods. But I could have uploaded my reports to you. Easy peasy. So, the question remains: Why do you need me versus some other Bounty?” I crossed my arms across my chest and waited- with what I hoped was a determined grimace stretched across my face.

The simpering Grimlek beside me exchanged a nod with Lt. Teague. Like a slap in the face, a photo of my personal McDreamy was slid across the smooth table. I stopped the slick paper with my right index finger and swirled it around so that the perfect smile and singular dimple were staring straight up at me.

“This is why we need you, Bounty G.M.” Lt. Teague huffed.

I was paralyzed, but only for a mili-second.

“You need me because Bounty Morlins is somehow involved? I don’t believe it. He was first in class at the academy, always had an exemplary record. Wasn’t he just named Head Bounty Successor?” My mind reeled through possibilities as fast as my mouth spewed out word vomit- a response to complete disbelief and dogged denial.

“Bounty Morlins was named Head Bounty Successor, yes. He was the logical choice without question and had he not been given that honor, he might have suspected that we no longer— entirely—trust him.” Lt. Teague dragged out the end of his sentence.

Each word was painful to my brain. I knew I’d need some indisputable, rock-hard facts before my little world could change to include a scenario where Morlins was a…a…bad guy. It just didn’t make sense.

All I could see in my head was the sexy, tall, earthen-hued body of the Sarthtat Native. The long vines of tentacles that looked like dreadlocks flowing from his scalp. The tentacles were rubbery and pliable- filled with a nutritional milk that aided survival on the dry, dark planet of Sarthtat. I could still hear the deepness of his voice that, try as he might to change, still retained the lilt of his birth language when he spoke in Inter-space English. I remembered tracing my index finger across the plated bridge of his nose as the undertones of Sarthtatian vocal acrobatics made him sound Earth-European and so desirable. For the second time in the meeting, I had journeyed off to la-la land and left my companions behind in reality.

La-la land was preferable in my book.

“We have reason to believe that Bounty Morlins is a leading member of an Anti-GRUP political offensive stationed on this planet. Additional intelligence links Chi-Yeta to Morlins. We believe that she’s simply a gopher-used to facilitate the procurement of supplies and weaponry.” Teague took a breath and I jumped at the opening.

“But Morlins—I just don’t believe it. You must have some pretty substantial evidence supporting the fingering of such a beloved Bounty.”

A sniveling little alien on the end- he looked like a stretched out prigbee, but smelled like Sewage Feral- whined “That information is neeeeed to know, Bounty.” I grimaced. Have you ever heard a voice that quite literally conjured up sharp nails and a chalk board? I was afraid my ears would bleed from the simple act of listening.

“I feel like I’m pretty well entrenched in this mission…” I trailed off, realizing I didn’t know the little alien’s name; he was the same rank as me, but there was no name on his badge.

Curious.

“Never the less, Bounty, you are not privy to more information at this time. You have one goal and one goal only, find Chi-Yeta and bring her in for questioning. Your involvement may deepen at a later point at which we will disclose any additional information that your superiors deem necessary.”

“So basically keep my mouth shut and if you need to misuse me later, you’ll let me know. I’m so happy to be a pawn against my ex-boyfriend.” No reason to deny I’d dated Morlins. They already knew or I wouldn’t be here.

“Exactly. You have a keen wit that one would not expect in an alien of your origin.” Despite the grating soprano, his sarcasm was effective and cutting.

Ugh. That voice again. Jerk. It was obvious he knew I was human and thought his tiny, smelly little species was better than homo-erectus of planet Earth. I could squish you tiny martian-man. I seethed, writhed with pissed-off-ness, but could I say anything? Nope. Sit down. Shut up and be a good little employee.

Mission On

The rest of the meeting was a haze. I admittedly zoned out- for a third time, shame on me- after Morlins came into the picture. Any person would be thrown for a complete loop if confronted with their most recent ex-lover and the prospect of ‘you were sleeping with the enemy.’ It was close to lunch time when I stepped out into the open air. I breathed deeply, centering myself. I would put aside any personal feelings. I would do my job. Just like I always did.

My stomach grumbled. When I wasn’t thinking about work (and now Morlins), my thoughts revolved around the next good Earth meal I was going to eat. The burger satisfied my meat-eater, but now I was craving pasta. An endless bowl of creamy, dreamy, seafoody pasta.

No need to ask for directions this time. Since I already had the street maps and directory uploaded, I just had to pop my info bead into my wrist bracelet and vocalize. “Italian, Restaurant, Seafood.” Four locations popped up.

Only one had a five star rating. Yum. Yum. My mouth salivated happily.

My pause outside the cobalt blue building caused fate to take course as the Grimliq from the meeting walked right into my backside. He was only 42 inches tall. His apology was muffled by the plush cushion of my butt.

It was really awkward, especially since Grimliqs were always seeping pore-fluids. Once he’d walked around me and scurried off, I wiped my hand across the seat of my pants. They were sticky. I contemplated whether to continue toward food or take the time to change. I decided to let the grossness dry and spot treat later.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in front of a steaming plate, sucking in the food smell through my hungry nostrils. I was lifting the first bite to my mouth, when my communication bracelet vibrated. A message. I lifted my arm into view and ran my index finger across the tiny touch screen, accepting the transmission.

Chi-Yeta surfaced. Report. Immediate depart. Out. I looked forlornly at the yummy fare in front of me. No way was I leaving before each and every morsel rested in my waiting stomach. I bowed my head and overtly thanked the O GOD for the sustenance and for safety. The burger the night before had been fantastic, but I felt guilty hours later when I realized I hadn’t blessed the greasy goodness. I ate quickly.

I ate swiftly and felt the tea and pasta sloshing around in my overfilled belly as I waddled back to the tele-booth. Pre-burger the night before, I’d never been thru dematerialization directly after eating.

Today, I’d eaten quickly and the food was still fresh in my stomach, it was like the noodles disappeared and reconstituted within me. The sensation left me feeling empty for an instant and then grotesquely bloated. My hand went to cover my mouth and I hardly had time to step out of the booth and bend over the gnarly bushes to the left.

I was officially emptied out and straightening my body. A hand came out of nowhere and helped me to stand. I usually got pissed when treated as helpless, but in this moment, I was uncharacteristically grateful for the compassion.

“You okay Bounty?” I recognized the voice, knew who it was before turning around.

“Hiya Willy. Lovely afternoon we’re having.” I tried for nonchalance, but the effect was ruined. My voice was hoarse from expelling my innards. The food was so recently eaten that it still smelled fresh and undigested. How sick was it that my stomach responded positively to the smell? Willard gave a throaty man-chuckle and let me lean on him all the way to the residential building.

“Thanks. I think I can make it from here.” His face was still well-shadowed, but I could tell from his hesitation that he was concerned.

“Seriously, I’m fine. Thanks again.”

“Alright G.M. Try to relax and feel better.”

“Not likely Willy. I’m on the way out, not in. Just got to grab my bag and it’s bye-bye Red Mountain.”

“Well, luck to you then. And don’t call me Willy. Please.”

“Don’t need it, but thanks for the sentiment, Willy.” I winked at him. And before he could say any more, I walked through the sliding doors. I liked to end things. I liked things to feel final. Willard was good-looking, kind, and seemed smart. Just the kind of guy I didn’t want to get involved with. I wasn’t nice enough for the nice boy anymore. Besides Morlins… I stopped my thought train. I wasn’t thinking about him now, too many other things to focus on.

I felt like my life was a process of running forward. Each stop in the race was for a quick reprieve and a disposable cup of water. Sometimes I felt at the finish, but normally…

The lifting of the shuttle lifted my resolve in direct proportion. I was Bounty. I was hardened. I had an arsenal of guns at my side. Bring. It. On.

Fishing

The solar-powered shuttle moved forward at breakneck speed, but it still took twenty-three hours to reach the outskirts of Williston, ND. I’d gotten hungry along the way, fully recovered from my bout of sickness. In-flight food consisted of freeze-dried seaweed, turkey-jerky, and protein water.

We were now floating over Lake Sakakawea, a 178 mile blue-green behemoth.

The only thought on my mind: Where the hell am I going to start fishing?

As soon as the thought finished crossing my mind, a vibration announced a download to my communicator. I accepted. A list of coordinates scrolled; at the end of them was a succinct message. Scientist determined search locations. End. Well, that answered that.

I interlinked the first set of coordinates to the mapping system. All it took was a quick wave of my wrist against the shuttle monitor. We set down in a central location between the first two search locations, our shuttle padded by the soft grass and small periwinkle flowers that littered the field near the shore. I surveyed the view, getting lost in the beauty of the lake. Then I looked down at my wrist, tapped on the first location, and started walking.

I was followed by two IGBA gophers. Their only job: To follow me and do what I wanted, when I wanted it done. It should have felt empowering. Instead, it was annoying.

It was a fifteen minute walk before my moving red dot overlapped the stationary location dot. The bank of the lake looked the same here as it had everywhere else. Several large boulders, in various degrees of submergence, decorated the lake several yards off land. I looked at them, recognizing the hairy green floating on the water, half-clinging to the rock surfaces. Looked like a Digha-Waa restaurant to me.

From the pictures of Chi-Yeta, I knew my underwater search was going to be a crap-shoot.

In an open air environment, Digha-Waa’s ranged in shade from deep navy to the palest of blues. Underwater, the species’ coloring becomes almost transparent- all the air pockets deflate and lay flaccid against the body. The lighter the skin tone, the more see-through underwater.

Chi-Yeta was blessed with the lightest of the colorings and would be afforded the best of camouflages. God. I really, really hated fishing.

It was a pure and deep hatred that began a lifetime ago when Uncle Edgar made me skewer a live worm to sacrifice.

“I need the dive equipment from the shuttle.”

I watched gopher number one hurrying back towards the shuttle. Run, little man, run. I didn’t mind working with other people, as long as I was in charge and no one got in my way.

I began unzipping my suit. I pulled my arms out and let the top half of the jumper hang loosely. I laced my fingers behind my back and stretched my arms upwards. I wasn’t satisfied until an audible cracking announced sufficient stretching.

I didn’t bother with the dive suit in the duffel bag now at my feet, opting for my exercise shorts and sports bra instead. The water was comfortably cool, splashing against my naked skin. I dipped my dive mask in the water and then spit in it; swishing the liquid around to coat, then rinsed again. I’d tried toothpaste before to keep my goggles from fogging, but nothing worked better than a good, ole fashioned loogie.

I readjusted the spear gun on my back. I’d been sad to unstrap my antiquated earth weapons, but they wouldn’t have been much good underwater.

I was waist-deep in the water now, so I unhooked the dive fins that hung from my vest. I half floated in the water, one leg crossed over the other trying to shove my foot into the fin. It must have been pretty funny to watch because I caught one of my underlings fighting a grin.

“Hey jerk-off, want to trade places with me?”

I yelled at him and his smile faltered. “No? Then wipe that grin off your damn face.”

Immediately, the man went sour-faced and serious.

I struggled a moment more, but was finally ready to press forward. I lowered my left shoulder, arm swinging backwards and hooked the hose piece of my second stage. I pressed a button in the middle of the shiny mouth piece and released a stream of air, jetting out any water that had seeped in during my water strolling.

The dive setup worked just fine, but I’d really wanted a Spa-Aquatic Re-Breather. It was developed for the early exploration of several water planets in the Fragon Galaxy. The small, opaque mouth piece that transformed water in to breathable air would have been a lot less cumbersome than the outmoded, heavy tank on my back.

Being flaccid under water, I knew Chi-Yeta would be tricky to trap. I was hoping the finely meshed webbing contained in the NetGun would do the trick. I checked my thigh, making sure the half-foot waterproof sidearm was there.

I took a breath. Knowing I was delaying.

My hair was pulled up in a high and tight ponytail. I could feel the length of it trailing behind me as I swam deeper, leaving the surface behind. Once under the water, I removed an apricot-sized orb from the right breast pocket of my dive vest and moved a small knob one quarter-turn clockwise. The ball blared to life, glowing amethyst in my palm. It rose, floating and began pulsing, sending purple waves in all directions.

I waited. Suddenly, my purple guide shot forward. I pushed my body, kicking my legs in long stiff movements, letting my ankles move loosely. I swam for a while, using three liters of precious air. The orb had now stopped, floating up and down with the water movement. We were near the bottom of the lake and I could see an odd shape, obscured by the muddy bottom.

Slowly, I shifted my body downwards. I didn’t think Chi-Yeta would be so still- not if she knew capture was imminent. I wasn’t going to fire my NetGun unless I was absolutely sure. I only had one shot and it had to count.

The spear gun was too chunky at close range, so I unsheathed the black, rubber-grip dive knife strapped to my left calf. I was inverted now, blood moving slowly from my lower limbs to gather in my head. I was going to get a migraine if I stayed upside down for too long. I reached, my heart rate speeding slightly; it was a sensation I always found strangely pleasant.

The strange, muddy silhouette didn’t move; until my hand touched it. I pushed off the ground, straightening my body, bringing myself several feet above the lake floor. As I watched, a six foot fish with a nose like a bayonet shook itself and moved quickly off in to deeper waters.

If I could have, I’d have laughed. Getting so jumpy over a fish. What a wimp.

I grabbed the orb before it could move and hit a small button to ignore future life form signatures like the fish, then I reset the search settings. My eyes searched through the murky waters. The little purple sphere didn’t move, finding nothing but cold-blooded fishy friends in the vicinity. I turned it off and stuck it back in my vest pocket. It took me about twenty minutes to reach shore. A quick shuttle flight took us to the next search location. I didn’t feel very hopeful. It was a big, damn lake.

I was back in the water now, following the pulsing orb, when I caught movement out of my peripheral vision. Large, jellylike movement. My guide turned quickly, shooting after the retreating figure. I had an inkling in my gut and my gut was rarely wrong.

I knew she would be faster, but all I needed was to be just close enough. Minutes passed, swimming and kicking. I reached a shallower area, maybe fifteen feet deep, with large algae-covered rocks. A fallen tree brushed the surface water; the fingers of its branches playing, causing ripples. I was distracted for only a moment. That’s all it took. Oops.

I was shoved roughly, my body hitting one of the nearby boulders. The second stage fell out of my mouth.

I was semi-conscious; I knew the little bubbles rising through the line of my vision weren’t good. I went to hook the hose, get my air back, but my assailant had other thoughts. She was against me; the slimy feel of her body made slimier by the water and surrounding algae. My finger sunk into her skin, into an empty air pocket. Eww.

I fought her wildly, disoriented by my quickly deflating lungs, forgetting all my training. The rest of my air was expelled violently by a punch to my gut.

I finally gained my footing, then simultaneously launched towards the near surface and pushed Chi-Yeta away. The feel of her body had erased any remaining doubt. It was her; only a Digha-Waa could feel like rotting dolphin.

My NetGun was off my back and pointed downwards. My back was really hurt; every twisting, turning motion caused spasms, shooting pains that ran the length of my body. I felt like I was drowning. I didn’t have time to get the second stage back in my mouth and my lungs were burning, trying to survive off residual oxygen.

Her face rushed towards me, contorted in emotion, looking like clear Tupperware that had been microwaved way too long. And I fired. The netting came to life, expanding outwards and moving downwards. The face, so recently caught in anger, shifted to surprise. I knew I had her well before the heavy weights twirled around each other. All of Chi-Yeta’s squishiness was contained.

After getting my mouth piece replaced and breathing very deeply, I grabbed the long rope and convenient handle already built in to the mesh trap and began lugging my catch to shore, one fin-flip at a time.

Mission Wrapped

It was difficult to pull myself out of the water, dive equipment and inflating Digha-Waa in tow. Once I had Chi-Yeta on land, I loosened the net slightly, allowing the rest of her body to plump with air.

“Get up”

“Bequa tegu mu frika.” The face was full-bodied plastic now and still ugly as hell.

“Watch that mouth or I’ll pop a few of your air ducts. And speak Interspace, I know you can.”

“Bitch.”

“Ah, that’s better. Good girl.”

I knew how slippery she was in physique and personality, so I snuck the Asian finger trap into the net and linked together the large, third digits of both her left and right arms before lifting the net off. It wasn’t actually called a finger trap, but it looked and acted so much like a Chinese New Year bobble from Earth that I had just decided to ignore the official name-Self-Adjust Digit Detainment or SADD for short. I found the name a funny compliment to the idea of it detaining someone.

Chi-Yeta didn’t want to talk on the way back to consulate Red Mountain, so we spent the majority of the flight in silence. Eventually though, I got tired of the quiet and decided to do a little investigating before handing Chi-Yeta over. She still was tight-lipped, but I was pretty convincing.

“So.” I paused for a bit of dramatic oomph.

“Been a bad girl Chi-Chi?” She glared at me; I could only smile. “Been punking ’funct gear off the Black Belt, huh?”

“Not talking to you, bounty-baby. You sicky prigbee. Need to jack off world and ‘sintegrate”

“I’m not drifting anywhere Chi-Chi. You and me; we’re gonna be pal-pal ’til star death.”

Chi-Yeta lifted both arms into the air, elbows bent, fists closed in the universal ‘screw you’ sign of the conjoined galaxies. My smile shifted from amusement to disdain to blatantly pissed.

“Gotten a rising outta ya, bounty-baby.” Chi-Yeta was sitting opposite me.

With a quick motion I lifted my ass out of my seat- five-point still latched, raised my leg and pinned Chi-Yeta’s neck against the metal shuttle wall with my foot.

“Yeah. You got a rise out of me. How you like it, scum water?” I pushed my foot deeper into her flesh. She could still breathe; I’d have to wrap her entire body in an airtight plastic bag to actually suffocate her. She was feeling pain though and that was enough…for now.

“St…st…op.”

“What’s that Chi-Chi? You want me to push harder? Okay, should have figured you for a real freak.” I dug harder and only letup when full salt-free tears rode down her unpleasant face.

Chi-Yeta reached up, trying to stroke her neck; the finger trap made it a bit difficult. Her whole body hissed, expelling wind from thousands of air pockets- a trademark Digha-Waa fear reaction. Right where I wanted her.

Bully for me.

We were minutes from Red Mountain now. If I was going to get my questions answered, I needed to ask fast.

“Are you working with Bounty Morlins?”

She kept her mouth firmly closed.

“Did you know the fuel cells were faulty?”

No answer.

“Alright, let’s do this the hard way.” I reached under my seat and yanked out one of the Earth weapons I was so very, very fond of. When I had the machete pressing into her third largest air duct, located at mid-abdomen, I asked her again.

“Is Bounty Morlins involved in your dealings in the Black Belt?” The gelatinous, puffy creature looked down at the knife. Her eyes were wide, scared.

“You-a kill me, they-a kill me. No win-win for Chi.”

“Who will kill you?” She firmly resealed her lips. “Who. Will. Kill. You.” Hmm. Maybe a different approach. “Chi, I can’t help you if you don’t talk. IGBA can place you into protective custody.”

“You low, bounty-baby. What you say gonna be of no helpa for Chi.”

She was right; I was low on the totem-pole.

One of the best bounties on active mission file, but I held no clout with the higher-ups.

“I promise. I’ll help you. I swear on the O GOD.”

“You-a, and you O GOD, no never mind to Chi. I tell you-a, the Briscoe gonna air me out.” I cringed, first at the mention of Briscoe, secondly at the vision of a Digha-Waa being ‘aired out.’

Popping one duct was easy as pie, but I couldn’t bleed out a Digha-Waa completely. Briscoe…Why would she mention Head-Bounty Briscoe.I spent the remaining few minutes of the flight in deep thought.

Bounty Morlins and Head Bounty Briscoe? No way. No freaking way are both of them dancing the dirty in the bad guy’s banquet hall. But what if? What if…No. I refused to think it.

When we docked at consulate Red Mountain, I turned Chi-Yeta over to the Bounty Incarceration Unit. Once I’d confirmed transfer on the info-pad, Chi-Yeta was not my problem. I knew in my gut that telling anyone that Chi-Yeta had mentioned Head Bounty would be a colossal mistake. Unfortunately, my big mouth didn’t get the message.

Reassigned

“She said what?” Lt. Teague questioned me, his tone hard to read.

I looked at the group in front of me, aware that I’d willingly leapt into a shit pile. I repeated my conversation with Chi-Yeta verbatim, because it was too late to change stories now.

“Ridiculous.”

“Preposterous.”

“Beyond the Galaxy, that is.”

The chorus of resounding disbelief did not interest me. However, I was very keen on knowing why each man at the table was trying so hard to seem authentic in their denials.

Reminded me of my first meeting at Red Mountain- all the uncomfortable shifting, the averted gazes. Something was…off. I left the meeting knowing I’d done a stupid, stupid thing. Thanks mouth. Way to go getting me in trouble, yet again. I ran into Willy on the way back to the res. unit.

“That was a quick assignment, Bounty.”

“Yeah. Turns out Digha-Waas suck at hide and seek.” Despite my impending-doom mood, I smiled at the man.

“Sticking around a while longer?”

“Willy, I get the feeling I’ll be off-earthing pretty quickly.” I sucked the inside of my mouth, making a resigned, clicking sound.

“Too bad. Thought we could hit a new steak house off 5th and Grove.”

My mouth watered, but no point making a date I couldn’t keep.

“Sorry Willy. You’re too short for me anyways.” I took a second to appreciate his roughly 6’4 frame. “Yep. Couldn’t even wear heels on a date with you.”

“You’re cute enough, I’d wear risers.” It was his turn to take a visual run at my 5’9 length. I smiled at him.

“Guess this is adios, Willy.” I left his ‘goodbye’ in my wake. I hated farewells and always made a habit of ditching before they were over.

When I arrived at my room, I wasn’t surprised to find an official envelope jammed in the door. It felt too thin, empty. Then my fingers found a tiny roundness. I knew what it was.

I got a paper cut opening the envelope and dug out the small yellow bead. Red Mountain really should install info-links in the room; it would be a lot more convenient and less hazardous to the finger. I pushed the bead into my communicator.

My eyes read the information. I was headed back to GRUP first and then… Mission status- frozen. Task duty- Prostitute beat on Planet Dennia. Duration- 2 star cycles.

Two star cycles walking the beat on Dennia, using my immense skill set running down prostitutes. I’d be giving out citations and overnight jailing, just to pick up the same Dennian whores the next night.

Son. Of. A. Sewage. Feral.

Join Bounty G.M. on her next sanctioned mission:

BLACK BELT BOUNTY

An Intergalactic Bounty Association Story

IGBA pulls G.M. off the beat, lifting her from her hideaway duty on Dennia. After spending one and a half star cycles picking up scarlet women on the ‘players’ planet, G.M. is chomping at the bit to get back into the thick of a real mission.

Our favorite Bounty is sent to hunt down information in the Black Belt [BB]. She has another objective also. Track down and bring in a spy, last known to be in the BB. Her target: the nameless attendee of her meeting on Earth.

She’d thought it was curious he hadn’t had a name on his badge, just a rank. Now IGBA suspects he was an infiltrator, member of an Anti-GRUP militant group, gathering intel and getting ready to strike at the heart of the galaxy order.

Armed with a holo-pic of the target, her trusty machete, and her ever-so-useful skill set, G.M. will be in for the bounty assignment of her career.

Turn the page for a sneak-peak at the next Bounty G.M., Intergalactic Bounty Association Story…

BLACK BELT BOUNTY

An Intergalactic Bounty Association Story

(a sneak peek)

Dennia- The Player’s Planet

“Seriously, how many times am I going to have to cite you this week, Nadora? I’m going to have to jail you next time.”

“Oh gimme a break G; girl gotta eat.”

“Find an actual job; I know you don’t have a street-king this side of town to stop you.”

“I likes this job, G. Big bread and all I gotta do is spread ’em.”

“You could make good money at one of the player clubs. Megra makes a hundred merchandise points a dance. That’s big money.”

“I makes lots more baring my bits on the strip.”

“Okay, how about this? Stop walking the strip or I’ll put you in the clink for a star cycle, see how your merch. points look after that.”

Nadora looked at me, trying to decide if I was bluffing. I could have saved her the trouble;

I never bluff, but it was too amusing to watch her face struggle in indecision, so I stayed mum.

“Alright, G. You wins.” I watched the five foot, lithe profile of the Dennian native walk away. There was a particular sway in her walk that gave me the distinct feeling I’d be having this same conversation hours from now.

I sighed loudly, hanging my head. One and half star cycles I’d been walking the beat on Dennia. I was getting really tired of walking the strip picking up the same girls and boys night after bloody night. Then again, watching Nadora sway away into the evening, I realized walking the strip wasn’t too bad considering the decent eye candy.

LOOK FOR BLACK BELT BOUNTY FALL 2013

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eli Constant, also writing under the pens Eli Grace & Eliza Grace, is a genre-jumping speculative fiction author. She’s not afraid to be a bleeding heart nonconformist. Also has an unhealthy love of all things Tolkien and Jeff Goldblum. Eli once thought she’d marry Martin Short, Dustin Hoffman or Richard Dreyfuss.

Then she discovered Alan Rickman #Always. www.authoreliconstant.com

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

I send you my sincerest thanks for reading Earth Bounty. I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I loved writing it!

I hope the next book you pick up to read is a true literary ride—a veritable page-turner with a cornucopia of spunky characters. Thank you so much for taking a chance on Earth Bounty. It was my honor to share it with you!

-Eli Constant