If I’m going to meet the Colossal Calamari in the sky, I’m going to do it on my own terms... in my swamp, decided Grozzel. He quickly dunked his head, turned effortlessly in the water, and darted to the other side of the swamp.

  The electric bolts entered the water at a frantic pace. Grozzel bobbed and weaved to avoid a fatal strike. They came with such rapidity that they appeared to form a sort of underwater latticework. Grozzel didn’t stop to admire them; he swam as far away as possible from the onslaught.

  The demon paused, presumably waiting to see a limp corpse float to the top. After a brief moment, he moved on to another area. And Grozzel did as well. This game continued for what seemed like hours. Outside of brief moments of surfacing for air, the Psitakki stayed one step ahead of the tenebrous predator.

  Regrettably for Grozzel, the invader had friends. They showed up in droves and surrounded the body of water. Grozzel surfaced near the far bank under the exposed roots of a tarzantia; the shadows and mud made him invisible to the naked eye of most biological entities. He wasn’t so sure with these guys.

  Grozzel noticed that the beast was communicating with his comrades. He must have been telling them that the ammunition that they flung from their bodies penetrated the water, because they all started to test it out. In short order, the real estate within which Grozzel could hide shrunk dramatically. The demons unleashed a coordinated pelting; the strikes stirring the swamp into an ocean of sludgy waves. If Grozzel re-entered the swamp, it would only be a matter of time before he was struck down by the same kind of bolt that had killed his best friend.

  This is it, he thought to himself. At least I get to die in the place that birthed me. He liked the symmetry of it.

  He took one last deep breath and submerged himself in the comfort of his swampy home, waiting for the bolts to appear. He wasn’t sure how long he could dart about and avoid their sting, but he would try until he took his last breath.

  As soon as a charge snaked past his head, he pushed off from the submerged bank and headed in the opposite direction to a portion of the swamp that he hadn’t yet used as a hiding spot. He dove deeper and deeper. This is new, he realized. He continued his descent towards a nook that was easily four times deeper than most of the swamps in the area. He hoped that the added depth would provide added cover. The frequency of the bolts decreased. Maybe this will work, he hoped. Until I have to resurface for air, that is. The latter thought deflated his newfound optimism rather quickly.

  The velocity of the bolt that zipped by was so great, even underwater, that it spun Grozzel around completely. It struck something solid; the crash sent him into another aquatic tumble. He felt more crashes in rapid succession but saw no additional bolts. It was as if the strikes had triggered the eruption of an underwater volcano. But Grozzel knew that swamps typically didn’t have volcanoes. The shaking stopped.

  Maybe it scared away the shadow beasts?

  The Psitakki swam through the newly-created debris, searching for cover from any subsequent attacks. As he navigated through the murky water, he noted that the swamp kept going and going. I should’ve hit the bank by now, he thought to himself. It was clear that the strike had opened up the mouth of a hidden cave. Some of the larger swamps in this area had submerged caves, but Grozzel was familiar with this particular body of water and had been relatively sure it didn’t possess one. He was very happy to be proven wrong.

  Maybe this is my lucky break... or my future tomb.

  The passage narrowed. A tunnel. He pursued the trail and swam for some time until he surfaced in a cavern. He had never seen or heard about this place, though Psitakki had traversed all of the swamps and waterways on their home world.

  He took in a deep breath of stagnant cave air, enough to fuel him for another prolonged retreat. He treaded water as he tried to collect his thoughts. His meditation was interrupted by an unusual glow coming from behind a cluster of stalagmites. It was bright white—blindingly bright. Even though a large portion appeared to be blocked by the rocky formations, Grozzel didn’t look at it directly as he feared it might burn out his pupils.

  Oddly, as he approached it, the intensity of the glow lessened. He wasn’t even sure why he approached it. As a young squidling he had been taught to avoid bright and shiny objects stashed away in hidden caves. But investigating just felt right.

  He peeked around the stalagmites. The glow was now faint and subtle. It was coming from a mound of circular disks. The pile extended farther than Grozzel had realized.

  Shields? Why is there a heap of glowing shields in a secret cave on Psitakki? His mind began to race. Clearly not made by the Psitakki smiths. Alien? Could this be what those demons are looking for?

  He knelt down and picked one up. It wasn’t heavy at all; in fact, it was extremely light—too light. The material was foreign to Grozzel and he concluded that it wasn’t likely to be able to withstand much impact. That wasn’t a good trait in a shield. He slid his arm into the strap and the shield rested on his forearm. Kinda useless, he concluded.

  A dozen or so explosions rocked the cavern and pushed Grozzel onto his posterior. The strikes ripped off the ceiling of the cavern, exposing Grozzel and his mound of alien shields to the night air. Five shadow beasts peered down at the trapped Psitakki soldier. But they didn’t pursue.

  All five slowly entered the dwelling. Grozzel hadn’t previously seen them act in any manner that would be described as cautious. After the initial five beasts entered, one after the other, more flowed in. The sky was obscured by the mass of shadow demons. It was impossible to tell where one stopped and the other started. Grozzel’s game of hide-and-seek was finally at an end. He cowered and covered his face with a forearm, though he knew it would provide little defense against one of the demons’ obsidian death bolts.

  The shield on his arm pulsated and vibrated, then shrieked and whined, then swished and whooshed. It let out a reverberating bellow and shot out fiery flares from its perimeter. The bellow turned into a wheezing sound as if the shield was inhaling. Then out shot a ray of light that permeated every crevice of the roofless cave. The explosion of light from the shield caused a massive recoil. However, the force didn’t knock Grozzel off his feet. It pushed against his forearm but the pressure was manageable. The light continued to blast through the cave into the night sky for what seemed like hours. The banshees wailed and screamed in pain. The blast stopped and then the beam seemed to be sucked back into the middle of the round shield.

  Grozzel opened his eyes and looked upward. Nothing. Not a single shadow beast remained. The shield had obliterated them all. Every one of them.

  This is exactly what they came for, he concluded.

  The Psitakki was too shocked to move the shield—or to move at all. He stood petrified near the stalagmites, the shield still strapped to his forearm. He lost all track of time.

  “Is that you, Grozzel?”

  The gruff voice belonged to Commander Churzzel. He unfastened himself from his rappelling harness and approached Grozzel. Other Psitakki soldiers were also careening down the cave wall from the newly formed roof entrance.

  “Yes,” Grozzel replied meekly.

  “We saw a light shoot out from the trees and hurried over here. What’s left of us, that is. What happened?”

  Grozzel did not respond right away. He collected himself and glanced at the mound of shields. Churzzel also seemed to notice the pile. Grozzel straightened his posture.

  “Commander, tell High Command that I have a much better plan.”

  Chapter 2

  Sol's Bail Bonds-O-Rama

  SOL WAS NOT THE MOST hygienically sound being in the universe. In fact, he flat-out stunk. But he ran one of the most lucrative bail bond outfits in his sector of the galaxy. So a bounty hunter looking for a payday could turn a blind eye—or nose—to Sol’s unsavory fragrance. That was exactly why Duke LaGrange and Ishiro’shea were on Tardasio 7 in the waiting room of Sol’s Bail Bonds-O-Rama. It had been a month or so since the bounty-hunting duo had returned from their adventure on Neprius. They had been canvassing the sector but hadn’t picked up a single gig in that time span. It was a record low. It was even crazier that they hadn’t heard of any sub-space chatter from any other bounty hunters. The only thing bounty hunters love more than bounty hunting is bragging about how good they are at bounty hunting. Maybe Duke wasn’t the only one suffering from a dry spell.

  The lobby of Sol’s was as unkempt as the owner. If the furniture wasn’t broken, it was dirty. If it wasn’t broken or dirty, it was uncomfortable. Pictures of Sol shaking hands with the who’s who of bounty hunters adorned the walls. Some of the frames had pieces of glass missing or noticeable cracks. All of them hung crookedly. It annoyed Duke to no end, especially the ornate frame made of faux jewels hung above the receptionist’s desk that housed a warped photo of Sol raising the hands of Duke and Ishiro’shea as if to announce that they had both won a prize fight. Duke was one of Sol’s top clients.

  What was unusual, however, was that Sol’s waiting room was empty.

  “Sol will see you now, gentlemen,” whined the overweight receptionist. Women on Tardasio 7 were typically bigger boned than most humanoids in the sector, so they tended to carry a bit more girth, but she was especially flabby. And sweaty. She might be related to Sol, thought Duke.

  The Nova Texan tipped his hat and smiled. The receptionist swooned and giggled. As one of the most recognizable bounty hunter-playboys over the last fifteen cycles, Duke LaGrange knew that behind every unattractive lady could be a more attractive best friend. His Irish-Japanese ninja sidekick bowed slightly.

  Other than his sloped forehead and narrow cylindrical nose that came to a sharp point—both typical traits of Tardasian males—Sol could have blended in with the humans on Earth or Nova Texas. At least, the grotesquely obese ones. Even though he was a disgusting man in a disgusting office, he was good at his job. From its outward appearance you couldn’t tell it, but Sol’s Bail Bonds-O-Rama was a well-oiled machine. Duke and Ishiro’shea had brought in bounties for Sol on hundreds of occasions. He was a fair businessman and easy to work with, if you could stand the stench.

  He waddled towards Duke frantically.

  “Close the door, LaGrange. Close it now,” he said in between grunts. He had to hike up the waist of his pants with every step to prevent them from falling to his ankles. Probably don’t make belts in his size, thought Duke.

  “Sol, my good buddy,” Duke began. “How goes it? Any more sightings of three-headed ice wombats?”

  “No time for chitchat, LaGrange,” growled the bondsman. “We gotta hurry.”

  “What are you talking about? Why do we have to hurry? What’s going on, Sol?”

  “Those damn toughs from that government thingy, they’re trying to shut me down.”

  “What toughs? What government thingy?”

  “You know, those hard military bastards. With the guns and the warships and whatnot.”

  Duke looked blankly at the overweight Tardasian.

  “Come on, LaGrange! The organization that’s trying to take over the frickin’ universe, man!” Sol yelled, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

  “I got nothing.”

  “Where have you been lately?”

  “Actually—”

  “Never mind, I don’t care. Anyways, out of nowhere, this organization starts claiming to be the one true government in the known universe. All I know is that they’re big. Real big. They sent squads to every corner, every planet of any consequence, and started to... well... govern.”

  “Come on, Sol,” Duke protested. “And all of the planets and races just went along with it?”

  “Of course not, meathead. Some resisted and were shut down—but not as many resisted as you’d think.”

  “Did they come over from some alternate reality? Have they seen how successful governments are in this universe?”

  “This one seems different, LaGrange. In one month, they’ve done more than any of the previous outfits. More than the Cosmic Council, or the Planetary Senate, or that one weird tyrant guy with the eyepatch, or...”

  “I get it, I get it,” Duke interrupted. “So why are you freaked out? You said they’ve only gone to planets of consequence. Seems like Tardasio 7 is pretty safe, then.”

  “Funny, LaGrange. They’re on their way.”

  “Why are you so worried? It’s just some government pencil pushers with submachine guns. You’ve seen worse. It’ll probably be just a few more minutes of paperwork a cycle—maybe a tax hike or two. Nothing you can’t survive.”

  “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?”

  Sol paused for the first time since Duke and Ishiro’shea had entered. He took in a deep breath.

  “They’re outlawing bounty hunting.”

  Duke and Ishiro’shea looked at each other.

  “They’re outlawing bounty hunting?”

  “Yes, what are you, deaf? No offense, Ishiro’shea.”

  “He’s mute, not deaf,” Duke said. “And it’s by choice. But why?”

  “I don’t know, ask him. He’s your friend.”

  The bounty hunter pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighed. “No, Sol, why are they outlawing bounty hunting? It’s not exactly a bad thing. I mean, we bring bad guys in. For the most part.”

  “Yeah, LaGrange, but you see... it’s not regulated.”

  “So?”

  “So, these guys don’t like what they can’t control.”

  “Tough,” scoffed Duke. “Not my problem.”

  “Oh yeah,” Sol snickered. “How’s business? The last month in particular?”

  Duke looked at Ishiro’shea again. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down. “That’s why no one has been returning my calls, huh?”

  “Yep. They shut down Big Rudy yesterday. Warthog Phil went down last week. Mama Fong fought back—no one has heard from her since.”

  “Mama Fong, the three-eyed Zylantian? The one that used to be a bounty hunter?”

  “Yes, that Mama Fong,” smirked Sol.

  “It doesn’t make sense. In the whole scheme of taking over the universe—”

  “Not taking over the universe, LaGrange. Controlling it. They don’t seem to care for power like a mad dictator would, they just want to control it. Have everything be neat and tidy. A single set of laws. In my opinion, it’s worse. At least a crazed power-hungry megalomaniac is relatable to most of us. Order, structure—who needs that nonsense?”

  Sol mimed spitting on the floor.

  “But outlawing bounty hunting and upstanding bondsmen like yourself seems pretty petty and insignificant at the onset of a universal takeover,” said Duke. “Right? Even if what you’ve said is correct and they’ve accomplished a ton in the last month, more than others that have sought to organize the infinite number of planets and races, are they that efficient that they can also enact bylaws to eliminate harmless little sub-industries like bounty hunting?”

  “Honest answer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes,” said Sol. “They are. And they’re coming for me next.”

  He rushed behind his desk and started organizing items and miscellaneous decor. He tossed them into a duffel bag.

  “Why are you running?” asked Duke. “Can’t you just say, ‘Fine, I’ll shut down’?”

  “I’ve heard that they’ve been burning the places down to the ground and taking every valuable on the premises. Right down to the clothes you’re wearing.”

  “I don’t think they have any interest in seeing you without clothes,” joked the bounty hunter.

  “Laugh now, LaGrange, but what are you going to do without any benefactors, huh? Not sure the playboy racket pays enough. I know and you know that bounty hunting pays the bills. Keeps your freaky ship in the air. Keeps your bar tab at Joe’s paid off.”

  Duke couldn’t disagree. The playboy part of his title—bounty-hunter-slash-playboy—was the part that typically got him in trouble. Bounty hunting was the steady gig and he knew he couldn’t let it slip away.

  After watching Sol load up his getaway bag, Duke asked, “So what about the other bounty hunters in this sector? Surely they’re trying to fight this?”

  “Bounty hunters trying to unite against this?” Sol snorted. “Are you mad, LaGrange, or just stupid? Once the word went out and a few bondsmen disappeared or were kicked to the curb, the hunters scattered. They hid. Did you see my lobby? Not a damn soul. I was shocked when I saw the Deus arrive. I thought you’d skedaddled with the rest of ‘em.”

  “You know there’s a Bounty Hunters Union, right? It’s on Brenatto in the Gordget system. Or maybe it’s Torlanus in the Protitroxx Limpor system. I’m not sure, but I get the mailers.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a myth, LaGrange. There’s no union for bounty hunters. It’s a scam to swipe a few coins from your purses.”

  “Shut up, Sol.”

  “Seriously. I think they busted the guys that made it up. They made a fortune before they were caught. Don’t tell me that you paid dues to that thing.”

  Duke looked at Ishiro’shea. The ninja provided no help.

  “Oh man, Duke.”

  “It’s real, Sol,” pleaded Duke.

  “Gotta give ‘em credit. Always best to exploit folks that are rich and dumb. If they kept their mouths shut, they probably would be in some Oscavian cave right now, living the life.”

  The Tardasian zipped his bag shut and hurried past the bounty hunters. He opened the door and motioned for them to follow him. “You guys leaving? Or are you gonna wait around for these feds to show up? I don’t think they are the talkative type.”

  Duke and Ishiro’shea entered the lobby.

  “Come on, Wanda!” shouted Sol. The pudgy receptionist left her post to stand next to the bondsman. She carried a duffel bag equally as robust as Sol’s.

  “Duke, Ishiro’shea—this is Wanda. Wanda, these are—”

  “I know who they are, silly,” she interjected in a wheezy tone. She batted her eyelashes and blushed. Sol looked a bit peeved at her reaction.

 

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