Story #223 - Problem Solved?

Problem Solved?

It had been my intention to let the slight to my honor go. Really, among bounty hunters, the chance that you weren't going to be targeted by one of your employers was slim to none, so I'd tried not to take Done's attack personally. Unfortunately Grelik, the crime-lord I'd run afoul of, did not seem to be as high-minded.

Several failed attempts on my life later, and I found myself on-planet and just outside Grelik's massive country estate. I was fortunate to have worked with a personal friend of Grelik's some years ago, and had taken the opportunity to get my co-worker drunk on some of the most expensive wine in the quadrant, liberally sprinkled with a non-toxic truth agent. I'd learned all sorts of interesting things about the red-skinned criminal leader, not the least of which was the location of his home. My co-worker had never been the wiser – the drug I used left nothing behind but a bad headache, one conveniently covered by wine.

I checked my blaster batteries one last time, then double-checked the spares I had in my pack. I'd gone with six explosive charges for tonight, along with two sidearms and an energy-blade in case things went awry. Simply put, I was tired of being chased. Grelik had to depart the world of the living.

It had taken me some time to discover exactly what the crime-lord had against me. The incident with his friend was never uncovered, and I'd always provided Grelik with the same caliber of work I offered all my clients. I'd never failed a mission he assigned, directly or indirectly, and on the rare occasion he was required to speak to me in person, our discussions had been amicable. Heavy with the chance that either one of us could die within seconds, but still, amicable.

Thinking about one of those meetings had finally given me the clue I needed. Grelik was a Tarathar, and few of that race ever left their home planet on the outer rim. Their red skin set them apart, along with a sour disposition. Less than one thousand Taratharians could be found in the entire expanse, and I'd killed one not so long ago, a guard who'd been remarkably dedicated to the job of protecting his master when I arrived. Usually, hired hands fled when a hunter landed in their midst, but this one had charged me as soon as my feet hit the floor, and killing him had been my only option. I hadn't bothered to take a good look at his face – he wasn't the one I was after – but thinking back on it, a number of facial features began to overlap. I wasn't sure of the exact relation, but I'd killed one of Grelik's family members.

Most men in his position would let such gaffes go – his relative had chosen a life of crime and the risks that came with it – but my guess was that Grelik had been looking for an excuse to take me out. Once bounty hunters got to a “certain age”, we began to lose our shine to clients. Concerns would start to crop up about our physical prowess and reliability, and many crime bosses started to wonder just how much we knew and how we planned on using it.

Slipping the safety off of my gun, I sped down the treed slope, my feet making almost no sound on the forest floor. Grelik had guards everywhere, but they weren't expecting an attack since one had never come before, and certainly not from the densely-wooded foothills. Three died to my hands before a single sound was made, and even that cut off as a quick blade-swipe took out the throat carrying it.

Then it was just a matter of making my way toward the center of the large compound and accessing the upstairs. Grelik was overconfident – he'd put all of his trust in able-bodied men and spent virtually nothing on electronic systems. I could have defeated both, but simply having guards to deal with meant I was at his door far more quickly than I had anticipated.

A solid kick tore the door open and I rushed inside, blaster at the ready. There was the sound of sudden motion, and light flared beside the bed.

“You!” Grelik screamed, leaping to ground. “Guards! Guards!”

“They're dead,” I grated as I spooled up my blaster. A little hole wasn't going to do the job – I wanted everyone who saw what was left of Grelik to know the crime-lord had crossed the wrong man.

“It wasn't personal!' Grelik had dropped to his knees and had both hands in front of his chest. “Just business!”

“I bought that with Done,” I said, taking a step closer to the grovelling man, “but not when they kept coming. Killing one of your brethren wasn't on purpose – he was a guard for a target. You chose to make this personal, and now I've got to finish it.” Grelik had made things messy – mixed up business with emotion – I hated it when things got messy.

The hiss of a doser sounded next to my ear and I tried to turn, but it was too late. I got one step closer to Grelik before my legs gave out, and I fell to the floor, gasping. Tymnide, most likely; it would paralyze me for half an hour but leave me able to speak.

Strong hands rolled me over, and I was looking up at the faces of Grelik and a man I'd killed.

“Hello, son,” my father said quietly, dropping the cartridge from his doser, “you're looking well.”

Anything I could say would be gibberish, so I kept my mouth shut.

“Your father speaks highly of you, hunter,” Grelik said calmly, all traces of his former terror gone. “And that cousin of mine you killed is better off in the ground. No, I've been stinging you on purpose, hoping to draw you here. I even disabled by security system for you, sacrificed all those guards so you'd come talk to me.” He looked down at my paralyzed form. “Well, so your father and I could talk to you. We need your help, hunter.”

My initial problem had been solved – Grelik wasn't trying to kill me, and would stop sending men now that I was here – but a new one had taken its place.

Sons shouldn't have to kill their fathers.

- D

Story #221 - Problem Solver

Problem Solver

I've never cared for the term “bounty hunter”; to my mind, “incentive-based problem solver” is a more apt way of describing what I do, especially if one wants to be precise.

In my line of work, precise is the only option if you want to stay alive.

Take the man I'm going to go see, as an example. I wasn't hired to kill him outright, but scare him so badly that he'll do whatever my employers want. If he decides to grow a spine even though he's got bruises from my black gloves above his collarbone, then I'll come back and finish the job. Precision is the key to success, here.

Bounty hunting always ends for the hunter one of two ways: with a completed mission and the “bounty” in their pocket, or their death for failing to get the job done. What exactly that job is varies wildly from client to client.

I like to think that I've built up some goodwill in the community, but that's because I'm an optimist. Any of the people I work for on a regular basis would sell me out in a heartbeat if it suited their needs, and while I'm not so crass, I'd be willing to destroy large swaths of criminal compounds if I believed my life was in any danger. I'm a pistols expert, mainly, but that doesn’t mean that I can't throw around a bomb or two to keep things interesting, and I've always got three charges strapped randomly on my person. They've come in handy on more than one occasion.

I won't bore you with the details of my interaction with the merchant I'd been hired to “convince”, but suffice it to say he was more than willing to comply with my reasonable demands. A small video to show proof of my work, and I was off to a holo-mat to upload the data. Within ten minutes, my bank account had the funds I'd been promised, and a new job had come through on my personal data implant. The world of incentive-based problem solving had changed significantly in the past twenty years, and I'd had to change along with it or be left behind. I was one of the few who was still willing to meet clients in person, or speak to my targets before they were eliminated. To my mind, it gave the work a legitimacy, a human touch that cold-blooded killing lacked. Others thought I was crazy.

My next job was off-planet according to the specs, but came with a big payday. I checked the job owner, but the implant gave a sharp, buzzing error. No surprise there – high-risk, high-paying assignments were often contracted out by organizations that had no business arranging hits, organizations like planetary governments, churches, or the scientific community. All three groups could be equally ruthless on their own ground, and had people eliminated for what I would describe as extremely poor reasons.

It was not up to me to decide what constituted the right reason for a hit, though there were some jobs I'd turn down. Forty years in the business has taught me there are certain things I just can't do. It helps me sleep at night.

The transport schedule showed a ship heading my way in less than an hour, so I made for the station as quickly as I could. After this job, I had a break coming to me, and I one I planned to enjoy. I'd solved enough problems for the time being.

***

Funny that I didn't see this coming.

You'd think that after so long looking over my shoulder and watching my step that I would have started to question the details in assignments, wonder if someone might not be looking to get me. You'd think, but here I was, lying in a pool of my own blood, staring stupidly at the man who'd attacked me.

“Done” is what they called him, though years ago I'd known him by another name. He'd picked up the handle because no matter the job, no matter the difficulty, it was as good as done once he had his hands on it. For a time we'd worked together, but I found him too impulsive, too in love with what he did for my tastes. I solved problems because of who I was, how my mind worked. He was a bounty hunter, through and through, living for the thrill of the hunt and the ease of the kill, and never shying away from money, no matter the assignment. We'd parted ways amicably, and I remembered thinking at the time that he'd probably be the one to kill me when the time came. Honestly, I thought I had a few good years left.

I didn't say a word as he advanced; there was no point begging for my life or trying to make a deal. He liked to finish his targets up close and personally, though it wasn't as if he'd given me a fair chance to fight back. Fair wasn't in Done's wheelhouse, something that helped to make him one of the best.

“You got anything to say?” He asked. It wasn't meant to be cruel – if I had words I wanted taken somewhere, to someone, he'd take them. It was part of the code. As a group, we had little in the way of honor or decency, but the last words of a hunter were considered sacrosanct.

“Yeah,” I said shortly, twisting my hand so that it rested on the timer edge of my closest detonation charge, “you probably shouldn't stand so close to a man who's got bombs strapped to his chest.”

Done's eye went wide, and he was moving before I thumbed the timer lock, but it was too late. I could feel the blast ripple outward from my chest, throwing me back against a wall and vaporizing Done where he stood. Directional dissolution charges were expensive, but with the right gallosteel backing, they could be used to great effect – and keep the user alive.

Grunting, I flipped onto my side and started working on my bonds. As soon as I was free, I'd head down to the holo-mat and let my “employer” know that I was successful. He wouldn't like it, and I wouldn't be getting paid, but I was a problem solver, and loose ends weren't my style.

- D