Chapter 1

I am on my way to Gullster’s Paradise. Never heard of it? Well, Citizen me neither until five standard days ago that is. That’s when a Triple-Strong barkeep, in a less than clean and overpriced Tox-Serv right by the landing field of Thirty-Three spaceport on planet U-56730-II I, told me that there wasn’t much of anything further out, other than Belgrath and Gullster’s Paradise before Union space became Shiss- space.

Belgrath so he told me was a community of Petri-Excluders, closed to outsiders. A rabid sect of crazy stone worshippers; I kid you not; were adamant to be left alone and were shooting at everyone and anything that tried to stay on their world.

I doubted he went that way after getting the same information from the same bar-keep most likely. Since that Tox Serv, although less than even average clean was the only such establishment at the E class spaceport on U-56730-III. It would not have surprised me if men and beings of all kinds have looked in the ever and everywhere present bars, taverns and watering holes for information since times began.

Trails lead where the trails lead. I never was too picky in that regard and frankly, I prefer them to head towards a little known, out of the ways, backwater fringe world that was somewhere at the edge of unknown and Shiss space. Now, why would I prefer trailing my prey to one of those? Instead, let’s say a nice crowded ‘old neighborhood’ core world with every convenience you can imagine? You need to smarten up, Citizen if you wanna succeed in this business. Runners that hide among the faceless masses in plain sight are much harder to track down than a scared shit-less ‘corporate rubberneck’ who first decided to skim a little profit off the top or sell something he didn’t exactly own and when it was found out and decided to run. He heads out into the fringes thinking no one will ever find him in the boondocks far outside the busy core of our Shiny Union. Oh wait, that is where you would go if you decided to run, is that what you’re thinking? That whatever you did wasn’t worth rotting on a prison colony; having your mind doctored by psycho surgeons or perhaps face those nice hooded goons of the Justice Departments with a very permanent solution to all your troubles this side of life? I stopped the recording for a moment to check on the Navi readout. It wouldn’t be the first time that this EN AutoNav Starfinder got me completely lost. That second-hand ′Expensive-New-Rubbish-Overpriced-Equipment′ wasn’t exactly my first choice. Spelling out ENROE the manufacturing companies name in that, all over the Union known fashion was only funny if you had the credits to spend on something really nice. Like a great working but overpriced piece of SII equipment. Everything seemed alright however, the Starfinder had me on course so it seemed and fed the helm control with the correct data. The small little red triangle representing me, or more precisely my ship on a neat path of green dots ahead of it and red dots behind of it progressed neatly and slowly inside the three-dimensional projection of a space cubicle of hundred light-years to the square. That dot illuminated path originated from a star system designated U-56730. After scrolling through two more representations of space map cubicles it ended at a system marked Gullster’s Star. One of those stars planetary companions was a dirtball named, you guessed it Gullster’s Paradise. The reference stars I had marked just in case the ‘Star-Finder’ would act up again and find anything but the destination I wanted it to find, was still there. Losing the Auto Nav or being misdirected by it, without catching it in time was a royal screw up after all. Especially if you found out too late and you ended up somewhere in designated Nul space, hoping the purple brutes didn’t notice you while trying to slip back with next to empty tanks. That wasn’t a laughing matter, that really happened and not all too long ago. I did make it back with a few micrograms of piss in my tanks, trail cold and out of a good bounty. Thinking about it still got me pissed in a major way. Ah, but all seemed good indeed, so I resumed my recording. Where was I? Ah yes, you were asking... , or actually I was thinking you might ask this at this point of my narrative: Why not hiding somewhere out in the fringes? I reclined a little further wished for a slug of something, preferably intoxicating strong. Think about it, the further out you go the less the travel options. Someone is bound to see and remember you. Even if you are one of those lucky ones with your own space ship, you need fuel and all sort of things. Again the further out you go the less abundant the choices and destinations to get them. The easier it is for someone like me to pick up your trail. Oh wait a minute, it’s not the fringes you’d run and hide, you consider to leave Union Space altogether, and head for Sin 4 perhaps, Union Credits are good there after all, right? Sure you might make it, especially if you smart and rich enough to make the trip on board of one of the more reputable companies. There are a few that do offer to get people there but trust me if you travel there trying to escape Union law and you are a not a real hard case, you be captured and sold as a slave if you’re lucky, ending up in a Togar butcher shop as part of the wares if not. Piloting your ship across into Freespace; unless you have a crew of fighting spacers with you and a well-armed fast ship; forget it. If you make it unmolested to one of the independent worlds of Freespace you won’t be able to hold on to your ship for long and the result will be the same, you being sold as a slave or for food. I noticed that one of the marked reference stars had disappeared and was now a good parsec removed, from where it should have been at this point of my journey. With a silent curse, I dare not to repeat. I promised myself, this was the last time that damn thing let me astray. The first thing I would do after this hunt was over and the cat in the bag, buy myself a brand new SII Cosmos Auto Nav XI.

Damn those Schwartz Industries cutthroats and the 19,588 credits the cursed thing was priced at the last time I checked browsing Silver-Hawks Emporium and double curse that rotten piece of Enroe junk. I mused the thought for a moment, maybe there was a good used one for sale.

I cut the ISAH engines and dropped out of Quasi space. I was close to nothing really and that was, of course, a good thing. Encounters in deep space, far away from any destination system were very unlikely. But if they happened because you popped up on someone’s scanner, they weren’t usually the encounters you wanted to happen.

While I still drifted with some inherent momentum into the general direction of Gullster’s Star, at current speed not even one of those legendary Narth would live long enough to make it alive.

No trans-light enabled ship with a valid Union registration was allowed to leave the boundaries of a star system behind without at least three means of navigation.

The first and obvious one was usually the Computronic assisted Auto Nav option. Basically, Pift the Dudu could find his way in this manner. Tell the thing your destination and if was registered in the Astrographical societies official catalog; given you had the required fuel and range you would end up where you wanted to be, except if you had to deal with second hand, third-grade equipment that is, like me!

With a clouded gaze, I scolded the EN AutoNav Starfinder.

Now the second option was the one I was about to use, by dialing into GalNet channel four-four-four and retrieve the ‘directional ping broadcasts’ of Pluribus Unum, Zee Point Station and Zee Minus Station. The Navigator could then be recalibrated and off I went to my destination.

Since I did have enough fuel, was well within range, had reasonably well-maintained engines that should be no problem.

While I am explaining things any way I might as well mention the third option: Navigating by manual calculation.

Now technically there was nothing to it, as a matter of fact, it was one of the tests you had to complete successfully before they handed you the Trans light ship master license. Without one, you weren’t authorized to operate a ship that could slip into Quasi and thus go faster than light. Out here in the fringes, it didn’t matter much other than you getting lost for good, but in the so-called consecutive space claimed by the United Stars of the Galaxies aka the Union, it was. Union police hailing you for your license code and you are not able to transmit the genuine kind is asking for a lot of trouble. Getting one isn’t all that hard, I did it after all and took me only two tries.

The navigators aboard all Spatial Navy ships so I heard, did it all the time and every time. Some I heard was even able to do some of the calculations right in their heads relying on their ultra-reliable super tech Computronic Nav assist, only for back up. In order to navigate that way, you needed a reliable star map, a precise chronometer adjusted and calibrated for Union Standard Time, then you needed to find at least three of the known quasars. Identify them by their pulse rate, know the real-time at your position and the real-time at the destination of arrival, feed the quasar positions into the calculator and ... ah well, you get the picture. Unless you are a genius or been to the Naval Academy, it takes forever.

Luckily the re-calibration had put that Enroe junk back on track and me back on the correct course; sparing me this exercise.

Before I go on, I think I better tell you who I am and why am telling you all this.

The name is Angel Thiermo Marifou. I am human, well somewhat human that is. I really did finish Union school, despite the impression I might have given you so far. No, I never claimed to be the smartest or the best, but I claim to be a good average in almost everything. I’m about 6′ 11 and keep myself in good shape. To give me an edge over the average prey and a fighting chance over the not so average, I opted for some mostly legal cyber stuff. Nothing fancy, nothing that shows and yells Cyber freak the second you see me.

In my business, you need to strike a balance between looking no-nonsense when you got your prey in front of you and not stick out from the crowd like an advertisement pig for Arthur’s Swine and Dine with a project-a-sign over your head. While plenty of citizens are much bigger and taller than me, a human male wearing mostly black rhino armor leather and of my size and frame still doesn’t blend in as easily as the average guy.

I really did go to Union School and even served my twenty-two months as a ground pounder in the Union Army to earn my full citizenship. Yeah, I am indeed an, honest to god, Union citizen, couldn’t do what I do if I wasn’t by the way.

Law-abiding? Of course! Well, mostly and depending who’s asking. That’s why I am speaking to you or more precisely I am recording all this for legal purposes as I actually have no idea who you might be if this is recording is ever listened to by anyone after all.

T’was Brux Mostry, a Big Maggi-Sauron and sort of my mentor when I started doing this. Anyway, it was him who told me to start keeping a journal.

I am not even ashamed of the mist in my eyes when I think about Brux. If I ever cared for anyone or anything. I mean I respected my grandparents and all, but not like I respected Brux. Ah, anyway about the recording, at first I wasn’t too keen leaving a record.

While I was mostly truthful and indeed I am a lawful and law-abiding citizen as I mentioned, sometimes some of the other laws might get into the way of things and I rather not have any actual evidence of me not doing what Union Police wanted or most likely not wanted me to do. I am sure you understand.

Brux is as smart as they come and I learned a thing or two from that Saurian and when he argued that such a journal could be kept secure and that it also might come in handy one day if I had to prove that I was on the right side of the law. Doing what I do is often at the very edge of what you might call lawful behavior. Besides I follow my prey anywhere the trail leads and that usually includes places that have local laws on top of Union laws. No one could know them all, so having a record of your actions could be a lifesaver.

Brux also thought that it might come in handy as a training manual if I ever decided to get a partner, branch out or retire and turn the business over to an eager beaver wanting to succeed without making all the many mistakes I made.

Fat chance I ever get a partner and I am not one of the big agencies with dozens or even hundreds running around for them. Retiring has an attractive ring and if a real fat contract or three slip my way I might even considering it. For a while at least before I pack it all up and head out again. I doubt there is enough time left in the universe to tell you about all the mistakes I made so far. I am pretty sure, I came out on top usually by sheer luck and by the seams of my pants. I just hope my luck isn’t running out anytime soon or I hopefully learned enough to keep myself making the big ones, especially the ones that get you killed.

And not that I have any idea what a beaver supposed to be, but since the word eager was attached I had an idea what it meant. Who knows maybe I will run into someone who could benefit from what I have learned.

Alright, back to that introduction. As I said I am Angel Thiermo Marifou. I am usually and by those who know me called ATM, you say it like this: Aaa Te Em and ever since I left home.

The name Angel I like to be used only by the female companion variety. Most often however I never get to the name introduction part, and I am simply called a pain in the... , you know where by those who wanted to see anyone but me.

As I said I am a Union Citizen and I am saying that again just to be sure you get that. I was born the natural way, you know where a woman carries the child and gives birth.

I never met my mother, meeting her with a mind old enough to remember that is. Occasionally I think I did dream of her holding me or something. Usually happy and soft dreams.

Of course, I know you need someone else’s genetic material to get a woman to bring children that natural way to life.

I heard of Union life forms that could do without that, but there were few and none were of the carbon-based variety. Technically you can, of course, use your own genetic material, and ignore the super-serious Gene clone laws, but the results are less than pretty as a rule.

In my case, it was a male and human tradition calls that individual, father. My father Thiermo Marifou left me his names but I had no recollection of him at all, not even a fuzzy and vague one like I did of mother.

Both my parents died in a big explosion during a terrorist attack. I was found, covered with blood, most likely theirs by a med bot, sometime after the attack. I was eight months old when that happened and had been raised by my grandparents on Gore II, without question the most unusual place to be born. This isn’t just my opinion by the way. Gore II, you must have heard of it, is on the list of the ten most unusual destinations in the known universe and ranks right at the number one spot. Look it up on GalNet, or if you can go visit, it is overrun by tourists from all over the Galaxy but worth your while.

But just in case you’re from the far side of Andromeda and came to the M-0 for the first time and never heard of the place. Gore II was a living planet. Not like a garden world, but a real planet-sized organism.

The almost 6,100 meters radius ball-shaped object, an ugly dark brown crusted thing, floating around in the second orbit of a normal GIIIa type sun had been known to the Saresii of the First Age of Knowledge, or for about a million years at least or more.

While no one is certain about anything when it comes to Gore II, most researchers and scholars believe it was already dead or dying even back then.

It is dead or by some of the thinkers’ definitions still dying right now. No one knows how it came to be, how it ended up in the second orbit around Gore. No one knows what it consumed when it was alive or what caused it to die. Some speculate that the Narth know because some believe the Narth know simply everything.

It seems sort of funny to me. The planet or that planet-sized thing had been known to half the space-faring societies this side of the Galactic bulge and from what I heard for many thousands if not millions of years, long before the Union existed or Earthers ever ascended. Yet as far as I knew, none of them went near it or explored it more than maybe looking at it from a good distance.

Then Earth ascended and the nosiest, most curious race of sentient primates stepped upon the galactic stage.

It didn’t take long in terms of Galactic developments and the monkey boys from Earth discovered Gore II. Of all organizations, groups or whatnot, it was a Schwartz Industries corporate explorer or something like that, landing on it first in 2944 Old Terran time, and because it was SII, they never left and simply claimed it.

Union science came in and examined the thing. Nothing like it had ever been found and no one came across anything similar since. As a matter of fact, no one has been able to explain pretty much anything about it, thus it was and still is one of the biggest draws to scientists there ever was.

And because Union law prohibited, even back then, anyone from exploiting a sentient life form, or from taking possession of a place occupied by native sentient life. Gore II had the potential of being either or even both.

However after almost one hundred years of research that did not yield any evidence that the thing was alive, had a brain or was sentient, and a big court battle that developed into a day-long hearing at the Assembly. Featuring the first-ever public appearance of the Saresii representative testifying that the planet-sized creature was dead for a long time, Union science cleared the world and SII took possession. It established a large science research facility inside the so-called Heart chamber, deep inside. Below the five-mile crust of hardened carbon tissue, were layers of soft tissue, a planet-spanning tunnel system filled with blood like substance just like the vascular system of a mammal, bluish globes identified as potential neural nodes and many organic features.

The researchers and explorers also discovered small parasitic or perhaps symbiotic life forms. None were sentient, but a few quite dangerous to, especially unprotected life.

I will tell you more about Gore II some other time, but one thing I still need to mention. There are people within the Union, who believe that Gore is only sleeping and that it is a God. A Cosmic super-entity to be exact. Even though the Narth had verified the Saresii verdict in a second court and Assembly hearing in 4002 OTT. Despite this, there are still a few churches and sects praying to Gore and out of these churches a radical movement developed, a group calling itself the ‘Defenders of Gore’. A group strongly opposed to the presence of SII, of Union scientists, colonists, and tourists. These Defenders of Gore recruit their members almost exclusively out of the ranks of Non-Citizens and Gal Drifts and turns them into fanatical believers that do anything to advance their cause, including acts of brutal violence and outright terrorism.

Both my parents died in the big Heart chamber bombing of 4992 OTT. I was three years old that year and became an orphan. I am almost exactly forty years old now in case you can’t do the math as it is 5029 Old Terran Time. Yeah I know what you are thinking, I don’t get that Terran time thing either. To me, a day has 20 hours and an hour hundred minutes. A month has 40 days and the year 400. The guys at the Assembly tried to get away of the many different timekeeping norms, including the Earth-centric way of keeping it and introduced New Union Time and technically everyone is supposed to use it and call the year 3444 NUT, but I think it will take another hundred years or so for it to really catch on. Almost everyone is still using that blasted OTT. Ah, what the heck it makes no real difference to me anyway. Time runs the same and I am not getting paid by the hour anyway.

All that time talk got me off track. Well, after serving my twenty-two months in the Union Army, I started hunting Gore Defenders and eventually became a licensed business card-carrying bounty hunter. Making sure those who decided to become fugitives of the law and those declared guilty in abstinence will not escape their due punishment. That I am getting paid for it, is only to cover the expenses and eke out a living.

--””--

Finally made it. The place was called Gullster’s Paradise and looked pretty much like any other GWC 5D from space. Oh, right you might not be a spacer or haven’t traveled all that much. GWC stands for Garden World Class. The D denotes a dry, arid world and the number could range from one to seven, denoting just how dry the world is.

A GWC 5D is pretty dry alright and finding open water on its surface would be very unlikely. Perhaps except for puddles of brackish soup, loaded to the max with dissolved minerals and about as consumable as boiling sulfuric acid.

I had just landed on, what the Complete Astrographic Catalog of 5025 OTT listed as Space Port F type.

It was clear, at least to me, that whatever genius came up with that designation had no idea what a spaceport F type actually looked like.

There was nothing portly about it. It was just a big space of dust and hard-packed dirt. I was certain whoever decided to report this place as the spaceport of Gullster’s Paradise didn’t even use some sort of earthmover or dozer to level it or move the larger boulders out of the way, but hey the fellow must have had a considerable sense of humor or a very imaginative mind. Apparently, it wasn’t a Type X, which of course meant no landing facilities were present whatsoever and no form of artificially added improvements existed.

In other words, you simply landed where ever it was level enough to put down whatever space ship you had.

Gullster’s paradise had service buildings. At least that’s what I assumed the two buildings of sorts were, that I could make out in the glimmering distance across the sun-baked flat field of Gullster’s Paradise Space Port.

My eighty-one feet, DeNoir Comet chaser TL450, lovingly nicknamed ‘Angel’s Wings’ had certainly seen better days I had to admit, but compared to the two other spacecraft sitting on their struts not too far distant, it was a shiny new looking, first-rate product of Union engineering.

To the left at about 200 meters distance, a Jooltar Dinghy. About seventy feet of dinged and crudely repaired, elongated cone-shaped Duro-metal. With two Karthanian Nuran enticers bolted to it as if by afterthought.

‘Yeah, the tech books and general knowledge will tell you they do the same thing as an ISAH pod. Kicking a spacecraft past the Dim threshold and into Quasi space, but anyone actually flying a spacecraft knowing about them will tell you, the difference is the same as night and day. Those Karthanian enticers weren’t particularly bad and considered products of a TL 7 society, but they required three times the energy, had half the range, a third of the speed and needed natural sourced Kalimun crystals.

The Dinghy looked like the workhorse of a scavenger. Seeing Jooltar technology so far from Jooltar space was unusual, but seeing it had a Union registry number stenciled to the side was almost unbelievable. Someone telling me, I’d call him a liar.

To my right and at about 200 meters distance, near a rugged little outcropping of tall desert colored rocks, a D60 shuttle. Usually, Dee Sixties were shiny examples of well kept Union hardware and used in a thousand different configurations usually within star systems. Sometimes in Long-range configuration hopping between systems that weren’t too far apart and deep within Union core space. The term shuttle had many meanings, but in terms of Union spacecraft, it usually meant anything smaller than a space ship intended to ferry passengers and goods between short distances and usually within the confines of a star system. Even long-range shuttles with the means of going trans light never really went beyond the next star system or so.

Here is a little bit of trivia, my I have yet to meet friend, the D stands for Discovery. I think you might not even find that tidbit of information on GalNet. A guy I know, used to be in the Union navy and I swear honest to Mickey, he had served on the most famous ship of them all, the Devastator as a shuttle pilot.

I put the engines of my Angel’s Wing on standby. Landing at places like this, I like to be able to jump back into space real fast and thumbed the recorder back on.

That flying continent has an entire fleet of shuttles of course. From the smallest D10 to the largest D100 models. Anyway, this guy tells me he shuttled the big man, I kid you not, the Eternal Warrior, Admiral Stahl himself.

While I was putting on my Rhino leather jacket, I knew how that sounded. No one would ever believe that. Well screw you, I know the guy alright? He really served on the Devi. He had a pilot jacket, with the Devastator logo and all. Real Spatial navy, not a fibber. If you knew anything about our navy you’d know they would never dare to fib about the Devi or mention the big man with Marines in the same bar.

I didn’t have to get angry. There wasn’t even anyone I had in mind giving that recording to, eventually, Everyone I knew would of course now how serious Marines took anything even remotely relating to their declared God. I checked my gear and remembered I wanted to tell whoever listened to my recordings, why Union shuttles had the ‘D’ designation. The Eternal Warrior told him that the D stood originally for Discovery. Long before Earth ascended, there were only a few shuttles and one of them was called Discovery. It was the only one that survived the times and ended up in some museum or something. When the first real shuttlecraft were manufactured by Schwartz I think, they named their first commercially available model Discovery 20. It somehow and over time shortened to D and the length. So no matter who makes the shuttle, it is always called D, something. I bet you didn’t know that.

I put on the face mask, made sure the filters and the emergency air supply were okay and then lowered the ramp and stomped out into the brutal heat, that almost knocked me off my feet, despite me expecting it. I took a moment to acclimate while I kept looking towards that D60 over there.

Most likely it had been bought from a scrap dealer or perhaps had been stolen from a boneyard. It was a Mitshu-Ford Roomy-Sixty. A model that hadn’t been sold for over two hundred years if I wasn’t mistaken. It featured two ISAH pods alright, but they had been custom added. The Roomy-Sixty sitting over there wasn’t the manufacturer’s long-range version. There was no registration stenciled to its sides either.

To me it was a beautiful sight because I knew it belonged to Sodiban Renow, the Andorian I was eager to meet and the reason that brought me to this overheated dust ball in the first place.

The first thing you need to invest is in good personal gear, friend. This is a mighty big galaxy with lots of friendly, but even more quite unfriendly people of all shapes and sizes. Many are stronger, faster, bigger and a whole lot smarter than you. This is unfortunate, I know but a fact of life. No matter who you are there is bound to be someone bigger and better in everything you do. Once you decide to do this sort of thing, make sure you know who you after. Do your homework and learn as much as you can about your target.

Finally meeting up with a tiny small-framed Arilou, you been after for several months. You already spending the bounty in your head that is and you think you can handle the little son of a bitch with one hand tied to your back, not knowing that this little shit is a Psionic user and a good one, telekinetic talent to boot. That he didn’t break your neck with his mind powers after he spotted you was only thanks to a stroke of luck, because a competitor saw him too and attracted his attention by shooting at that green-skinned runner. Next time you hunt someone with psionic talents make sure you know what to do or decide to have someone else take the ‘tract.

While I was certain the Andorian didn’t have an HPI over two hundred, the threshold level where psionic abilities might develop in an individual, he still was a four-meter tall humanoid who could run a whole lot faster and was naturally at least twice as strong as a standard, non-enhanced human.

I lowered the cargo compartment lift gate and unloaded my Silverhawk-Monoflash. A small open skimmer with powerful Artigrav lifters and a truly insane directional ′all-environment′ turbine.

I never wanted to find out just how fast the thing could go, I wasn’t the suicidal maniac kind.

The S-M provided me with transportation first and foremost as I had no inclination to do much walking in this scorching heat and the way things looked around here, I didn’t expect taxi flyer service or convenient slide belts.