"Jobs like those don't show up often. I know you've probably done your fair share of shit bounties before." He said, taking a taste from some of the Nova Tears himself. He decided he should get a bit of the hard stuff, if only to keep him talking. He wasn't usually one for conversation, particularly with a naked woman. When that happened he tended to be busy with something else. "It's only been the last two years I've built my reputation up enough to get them thrown my way, anyway."

"That doesn't answer my question," she pointed out wryly, and then giggled. The drink was getting to her visibly now, if only just.

"I had a lot of debt until a few months ago." He admitted, but he didn't extrapolate further. She raised her brows, so as to goad him to continue. He merely took another heavy drink of Nova Tears, and then after a long silence, he halfway sidestepped the explanation. "My armor costs a lot to maintain, though. That and this hotel room. But Volkavax's name goes almost as far as mine, by virtue of him never leaving Neo-Mecca. I get a discount when they know I work for him."

"Wouldn't being infamous make your job a bit harder? You don't have an ego thing, do you?" She jested with a gesticulation of her voice, her last question emphasized through a full-bodied voice one only made when teasing. It was a bit tattered when she burped suddenly, evidently surprising even herself by the widening of her eyes and the following rueful smile.

"There are two ways to be a bounty hunter. One way lies subterfuge and anonymity. Makes the job easier in a lot of ways, no one suspects you, and you can get in and out of places you've been to before. It's got its uses... I don't do that." He explained. Dirk didn't seem old, at least judging by the lean body and trim muscles she could see rising out of the bubbling water. But he spoke as if he had thought on the intricacies of bounty hunting as if he was an old pro, with more than a couple of years under his belt. "The other bounty hunters, the ones that make names for themselves. They don't do it for the flak, at least the good ones. They do it because as soon as your mark hears your name, they're pissing their pants. They know they're being hunted. They know the hunter after them won't stop. They'll get nervous and make a mistake."

He took a good swig after that, letting her digest the information. "Besides," he said, clearing his throat. "Assholes'll be less likely to get in your way if they know you've killed bigger things than them."

Jocasta was about to make an off color joke about sizes of boats and motions of oceans when an alert pipped in her implants. Her attention seemed to focus off in space for a moment as she rapidly assimilated information from a number of her drones. Her eyes blinked very rapidly as she cycled between views at a speed fast enough to make her regret how much Nebula Tears she had consumed.

“Problem,” Dirk said, not in question but in statement.

“Eighteen minutes ago a luxury liner, Tenebs Tribune, docked. From the looks of it, she was hijacked out of system and came in under her codes,” Jocasta reported, watching silent footage of a gang of rag tag men bursting out of the hold as the liner unbuttoned. They swarmed over the security personnel before they knew what was happening.

“Six minutes ago they took control of the transit stations and the control center it looks…”

The monitor on the wall sprung to life and was filled with the image of a heavy browed man with a shaven scalp and a mechanical eye. He grinned through a mouth of metal teeth in a manner that looked both smug and threatening at the same time.

“Ello folks, I’m sorry to interrupt your hard earned vacation, but this station, why its under new management. Im afraid we will be closing it for renovations,” he leered, scratching an ear as he did so.

“Some nice gentlemen will be around to each island in turn to collect our cancellation fees from ya, but don’t worry, no one will be hurt provided they give my men everything they ask for,” he explained, his grin growing wider.



“Turn over your valuables and we will let you leave alive, for those who dont appreciate my nice industry speech. And just so you know, the smart ladies who built this place put failsafes into the boats. I wouldn’t try leaving your islands without my boys express permission if was you!”



The screen cut out to be replaced by a slowly rotating skull and cross bones.

They got suited up in a relatively short amount of time. Dirk felt he would have taken longer, but apparently Jocasta had more up her sleeve. He doubted she was priming her hair, even if it was unmistakably lustrous. Once he made sure the armor was tightly secured and all systems were green, he stepped out and met her in the living room, a hand on the hilt of his left DMX Heavy-Blaster. Jocasta's drone popped up, fluttering before the two of them as she loaded her gun.

"I didn't expect us to suit up so soon after getting naked." Dirk replied, the modulator in his helmet giving it a slightly more dry tone than he likely had, but then again maybe not.

"I still didn't see your face. That would be scandalous," She quipped, giving a wink. "Where do we go?"

"The docking bay is on the northeastern section of the resort. Once we step out, we'll go down to the ground floor and then work our way forward and left until we hit hanger doors. If we move quickly, we can take them out before they ruin our vacation and no one has to hunt for them across the planet."

"Do you know who did this? Any suspects?"

"I can name a few." Dirk said, lifting his gun, barrel up as he stepped to the doorway. "When we find someone, we'll ask. Maybe the front desk?"

Just as he was about to open the door, Jocasta grabbed his arm and placed a finger to her lips, stepping ahead and opening the door so little not even a finger could poke through. Her drone fluttered to the crack and squeezed its tiny body through, zipping away after a brief struggle. Seconds passed, and Jocasta gave the thumbs up. Dirk opened the door, still wary, gun pointed professionally as he stepped into the hall. It was eerily quiet.

"Stairs or elevator?"

"They'll be watching the stairs, and the elevators are easy for them to guard..." Dirk mused. He turned on his admittedly poor heat sensors in his helm, and couldn't tell where any warm bodies were except the ones that hugged the thin doors of the hotel rooms, watching the halls anxiously as Dirk and Jocasta moved slowly past them. Dirk walked with a cool measure of confidence, like a wolf approaching a meal he was too powerful to have contested. "Can you use your drone one more time? I have an idea..."

---

5 minutes later...

Amber held herself together well. Her glasses were taken and smashed and her shirt sleeve had been torn off in the rough handling they have given her, but her virtue and most of her dignity had been left untouched. The men, rough sorts with various slug guns and blue collar ganger apparel with no cohesion in appearance save for tattoos of the legendary Celestial Pheonix, were hustling the guests they had found in the public pool toward the gymnasium, throwing all the staff by the stairwell that led to rooms marked for the 5000's. Amber herself was up against the wall, her hands tired from being held up for the past twenty minutes or so. It felt like a lifetime. She knew of a few more high profile guests that were dangerous in a fight, but she didn't know if she could count on their goodwill or aid. Some were drunk, some likely asleep, and others probably oblivious to the situation. More than likely they were also apathetic.

Whatever was happening, it had been lightning quick. However they got here, it had been planned meticulously, and not by these low-life fucks. Someone had trained them relentlessly and sent them here, with little to no strings attached that would lead no investigations back to the source if this failed. She didn't really care, she just wanted them gone so they didn't shoot her and let her have her coffee.

Ding

Amber's eyes bugged out, and she turned her head to regard the elevators. Had some idiot come down to ask for toothpaste!? She waited for a few brief moments as the toughs with guns approached. Twenty meters...ten meters... There were notable mutterings and curses in a tongue she didn't recognize, and the elevator doors opened to reveal a small container. Amber wasn't an expert in ordinance or anything military, but it didn't take a genius to realize whatever it was, it was likely going to explore.

It did, and Amber fell to her feet from sheer fright as the item detonated. A flash of air and heat washed over her, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant, being sixty meter from the comparatively controlled explosion that took the lives of at least eight men. And then guns began to blaze, but they came from the stairwell of the 3000's, where Dirk and that new partner of his had gone. And these guns didn't fire slugs...

Jocasta felt the explosive go off in the elevator through her stomach, the vibration seeming to purge the last of the liquor from her system. Dirk burst out of the stairwell blaster bolts cutting across the gymnasium with surgical precision. Two of her drones were sharing their feed with Dirk’s helmet, a gesture of trust somewhat minimized by the must unbelievably baroque encryption he was using. The drones were able to throw up holographic overlays of hostiles among the crowd, a feature Jocasta was also using. She waited until all of the thugs scattered for cover, firing at Dirk. Then she pulled open the roof hatch of the elevator and dropped down into the open smokey doors. A thug who had just ducked into cover stared in amazement as a voluptuous woman in a bikini dropped from the ceiling and landed beside him.

“Hello,” Jocasta said brightly, then jammed the slender barrel of her pistol into the joint between his breastplate and his greaves and pulled the trigger. The mercenary arched backwards, throwing his weapon skyward as every nerve in his body fired simultaneously, the contraction pitching him into the back wall with a crack. Jocasta was a little embarrassed. She was on vacation sure, but this was the second time she was going into combat dressed as lazer stripper, she needed to pack a little more practically. She stepped out of the elevator and fired twice more. The bluish sizzling rays from her pistol struck another two of the hijackers who found themselves suddenly out flanked. Two gunmen who had been herding the hostaged turned towards Jocasta, one of them lifting a heavy riot gun that looked like it could fell a Takovian waterbeast. A blade of arcing energy erupted through his chest and then vanished leaving a cloud of smoking blood. His partner tried to spin around only to find his head was suddenly separated from his body and bouncing across the floor. An old man stood behind them with a glowing force sword that had apparently been concealed in a walking stick. He reached up and adjusted an old timey pair of spectacles.

“That was pretty bad ass,” Jocasta admitted to no one in particular.

“Like wise my dear,” the old man said, raising the sword in salute and then depressing a stud. The blade winked out and it was a simple walking stick again. The gymnasium was in chaos, but all the enemy were marked as down. The icons for those killed by Dirk had a little D above them but upside down so it looked like a frowning face. Jocasta’s kills were marked with little anthropomorphised dragonflies with their fists raised triumphantly in the air. Irritatingly he had more, although the computer was querying her as to how to allocate the two that the old man had killed. Jocasta assigned them to herself, it was her system and she should get the credit!

“Clear,” Dirk remarked as he strode through the carnage, calmly replacing the powerpack in his weapon.

“Clear,” Jocasta said somewhat belatedly, too used to trusting her drones to have thought of announcing the fact.

“Clear,” said the old man, apparently just happy to be included. Fine, Jocasta thought, and changed the icons above his kills to a pair of spectacles winking.

“If everyone will remain calm the situation is under control, if you are injured remain where you are, otherwise please return to your rooms,” Amber’s voice sounded over a concealed PA system. No one moved for a minute. Jocasta turned and picked up a half burned ‘out of order' sign and hung it helpfully on the smoking blasted doors of the elevator.

Dirk knelt down and picked up one of the assault weapons he hadn't recognized. Most of the men had slug-throwers, but a few of them had streamlined battle-rifles that he recognized from the Iolian-Death Gang back on New-Mecca. It was a shard-shooter. An assault rifle that used a micro-accelerator, using mass-reduce fields and the magnetic force of the lorentz system to propel shards the size of grains of sand at high speeds to literally rip through a target. Extremely potent against unarmored opponents and relatively moderate against armored foes.

"These are Mark47 Rippers." Dirk remarked, more to himself than Jocasta, though doubtless she heard him. The effectiveness of the gun wasn't entirely the problem, but they used technology that was hard to replicate, which made it stomach-churningly expensive. He grabbed the three that were on the ground and rolled them up in a small duffle bag he had stowed away inside the back compartment of his armor, and walked up to Amber, stepping over smoking corpses until he reached her.

"Keep these safe for me. Good money in 'em." He told her.

"Right. Just be careful." She said. "I'll let Sarah and the others know you're on it."

Dirk turned and walked back to Jocasta and the old man, who was using some sort of ventilator for a moment, as if he had breathing troubles. He seemed to stand up a bit straighter once he took a minute to collect himself, but Dirk didn't need his thermal or gaseous scanner to be able to tell it was some sort of steroid or enhancement, rather than serving as a medicinal salve. The elderly man must either still be working in his advanced age or he saved it for just such an occasion.

"The east wing is next. We'll move in room by room, but once we get past the first two halls we need someone watching out flank." Dirk stated, but even as he finished a buzzing drone landed on his visor. Dirk didn't move, but one could tell he wasn't amused. Slowly, he plucked the thing off and let it fly away as if it were embarrassed. "Right."

The three of them entered the next corridor, the huge glass doors sliding open with a satisfying 'psst,' and that plus Amber's PA announcement showed the auxiliary power was online. Dirk walked brusquely but with his two DMX blasters out, not hearing or scanning any threats yet but knowing that there had to be at least another batch of men numbered like the ones in the front lobby.

"They are using some kind of crazy encryption," Jocasta observed, watching bands of signal traffic dance across her display. A twitch in her left eye poked and prodded at it for a moment before she gave up and beamed it to Cygi. Dirk grunted as he stepped across a hallway and swept right and left with his blasters.

"You cant break it?" he asked without interest.

"Not entirely sure its even a cipher per se, it might be a trade langague im not familiar with," Jocasta opined. Rather than attempting to unravel the meaning of the words, she set the algorthim to monitor the traffic volume, looping it back over the records she had made for the past hour or so as a baseline.

"This is more fun than I had bargined for on this vacation," the apparent old man chuckled, ducking into a side room with surprising speed and sweeping it with the tip of his cane as though it were a laser rifle, which as far as Jocasta could tell, it might be.

The door at the end of the hall burst open and a bearded man in an armored chest plate burst in. Both of Dirk's blasters punched him in the chest, a half second before Jocasta's C-beam and the capacitor lance in the old man's cane did. The armor sublimed cherry red, then white, then exploded hurling the man back through the doorway in a spray of shattered plasteel. The signal traffic spiked way up.

"Oh oh," Jocasta said a moment before a pair of grenades came sailing through the door.

"Bugger," the old man added. Dirk was characteristically silent. Jocasta stepped surreptiously behind Dirk a moment before both of the spinning bombs went off in a flash and a concussion that shattered the glass windows in a spray of airborne shards. A moment later a drone that had wormed its way through the vents flashed a warning about three men crouching in the stairwell poised to burst out.

"Thanks alot," Jocasta muttered at the somewhat tardy drone. It bleeped abashedly as its camera watched the men storm into the hallway. Dirk had been stunned by the overpressure of the blast but he had clearly trained himself to work through it. Rather than standing there to be killed he charged forward, crashing into the would be assault team as they came through the door. Bodies went down in a clatter and Jocasta fired her C-beam on general principle. It hit a fire extinguisher which burst in an explosion of dust and burning propellant. Dirk grabbed one of the attackers and pitched him bodily back down the hall. Jocasta yellped and hurdled the flying body before it cracked into a door frame. The old man stepped out of the side room and stabbed the goon in the joint between helmet and breastplate with a subsonic sizzle. Jocasta tracked the melee infront of her with her pistol but couldn't get a clear shot. Dirk through an elbow that connected with one mans chin.

"Sorry!" she premptively appologised, then cranked a setting on her pistol and then opened fire, hosing Dirk and his attackers indiscriminitely. The blue white bolts richoted harmlessly off the armored figure by one of the thugs staggered backwards from a burn to an exposed arm. Dirk's boot caught him in the chest and slammed him into a wall so hard that the back of his head cracked against the wall and he slumped to the ground.

Dirk's punches were nothing to scoff at in the most generous of terms, but when he was armored and encased in his expensive laminate steel, they were like hammer blows. The first punch broke through the brawling man's visor, the next bloodied his nose, and the third knocked him out or potentially killed him. Dirk hit him once more for good measure, all the while keeping a hold on the third man that Jocasta was now shooting at. The blue projectiles bounced harmlessly off Dirk's form, but the man he held wasn't so lucky. Multiple burns covered his body, and Dirk snapped his neck so he stopped screaming.

"Clear," Jocasta began to say as her drone fluttered out, but footsteps past the open door told otherwise. Dirk, still prone, looked up to see six men turn the corner. Four held slug thrower assault rifles, one held another Mark47 Ripper, and the sixth had a guass gun which worried Dirk the most. Depending on the projectile, it could punch through his armor, not merely harm its integrity and grind it down. He didn't get up, but rolled, grabbing the gun of the man who's neck he had snapped, apparently a DP-18 triple barrel shotgun. He pumped it and fired center mass of the crowd even as they raised their guns. The shards from the shot hit two of them, blinding one of them and felling the guass-user. Another pump and he killed a third man and hit the one that grabbed at his eyes, taking them both out.

Four bullets punched into him, and one even pierced his armor. He grunted as he felt the missile go through one of the lesser plates, and inside his armor he felt a cold wetness. He didn't roll away or relent, as his back would be exposed. He merely pumped the weapon again and fired three more times until the gun was empty, sending the remaining three scattering behind walls and a thick, overturned desk. He threw the gun and pulled himself back, leaning against the wall and checking his wound as the old man fired into the room, his capacitor laser cutting the desk in half but missing the merc behind it, though he likely had a terrible fright.

He reached for his belt, uncorking a utility compartment and taking out a syringe of blue liquid, which Jocasta would likely recognize as a medi-fix. It was a limited, temporary first aid gel with small nano-machines, one of the only items in the universe that could still utilize the technology, that found compromised damages to the body and sealed them up before the organic machines died from natural bacteria a few hours later. Good to help keep combat going or to keep someone stable before they made it to a real medical facility.

He could slowly feel the wound stitching up, and he pulled himself to his feet and unholstered his heavy blasters as shots were returned, ricocheting as brass shells cluttered on the ground.

"Cover me," Dirk said before either of them could argue, and he stepped out into the doorway after the latest wave of fire, his trained eyes and thermal sensors showing which merc was closest and which left themselves the most exposed. Fully powered, he fired both of his guns into the overturned desk thrice, the second lashots blowing a hole in it and the last shots hitting the merc, dropping him. Both men on opposite sides of the walls apparently coordinated through hand motions or sensors, and they both sprang out to fire at Dirk. They each got a shot off, and only one hit Dirk (and harmlessly bounced off his breastplate) before Dirk pulled his guns apart and shot both men down, simultaneously. One had his groin punctured and the other's head snapped back from a forehead hit, and they fell dead to the floor.

Dirk took a long breath.

"Clear."

The drones reported that the island was free of hostels, though they persisted in playfully labeling Dirk with a question mark. Jocasta tucked her long barreled pistol into its holster at her hip and followed the big armored man up onto the beach. The pristine stretch of sand was somewhat marred by the large surface effect air boat that had run up on the sand and grounded. It was easy to imagine the mercenaries leaping from its sides, yelling and brandishing weapons while the sunbathing tourists fled like panicked geese. Jocasta skipped over to one of the piles of detritus and picked up a bra that appeared to be made of little diamond shaped sapphires woven together with gold wire. She held it up to her chest and struck a pose.

“If you are quite finished?” Dirk asked. Jocasta stuck her tongue out and dropped the expensive piece into a pocket, despite the fact it seemed unlikely to do too much to conceal even assets more modest than her own.



“If lingerie and airboats don’t improve your mood I fear there is no hope for you,” Jocasta opined philosophically and hopped up onto the deck of the barge. It shifted slightly under her weight but was stuck fast in the sand. She was just about to ask Dirk how they should get it out onto the water when he planted both hands on the curve of the hull and heaved. For a long moment nothing happened save a whirring of servos in his armor, then the boat slid an inch, then two, then slid out into the water, Dirk jumping aboard just before the water reached the knee joint of his armor. Jocasta grabbed the controls, took a moment to orient herself and then fired up the big fan that drove the barge. The subsonic thrum made Jocasta’s belly tingle and her air streamed out towards the reversing fans as she backed them. She turned her hair golden blonde and shook it like a model in a commercial. No use wasting a good wind effect. As soon as the barge had come around enough, she jammed the throttle forward and the noise grew so intense that Jocasta’s comm deployed a cancelation wave to mute it. A great wave of white foam formed beneath the bow as they picked up speed and then the hull lifted and they were skimming the water at the head of a long wake. The barge wasn’t a pleasure craft, but it was designed to shift thousands of kilos of cargo quickly. That kind of power still translated to speed when it was empty. Jocasta let out a whoop and shoved the throttle to the gate. Almost immediately red carrots sprang up in her vision. Only one of her drones was aloft, flying a pattern high above, the others busily clinging to the surface of the barge and one gripping onto her hair for dear life. Fortunately the lone overwatcher was sufficient to provide warning. A large airboat much like their own was arrowing towards them on an intercept course. Within moments it hull was visible, laser fire licking out from it like a questing tongue. A quartet of what looked like high end jet skis were flanking it like outriders. The laser fire flecked harmlessly of the hull, powerless to do much damage to what was essentially just steel skirting without any mechanical components to damage, the engines buried under the deck. Dirk returned fire with much the same result. As they closed Jocasta saw a flash of smoke on the enemy deck. For a moment she thought Dirk had hit something but then a man rocketed into the air, leaping the distance on a tail of fire, his jet pack carrying him onto the deck infront of them with a crash.

Even through his armor, Dirk could hear the whistling of the wind as the gale tried to creep in through the hyper-steel fiber of his suit's seams. He crawled unsteadily onto the bow of the ship as the fallen man tried to collect himself, his face obscured in a helmet with a not too dissimilar shape to Dirks, though the armor was of lower quality. All Dirk had to do was move his front foot away from a swiping blade and then kick the man's arm that supported him staying upright. He hit the deck with a 'bonk' and Dirk's next kick sent him unceremoniously off the ship as the craft bounced along the waves.

Another man landed, however, this time more gracefully. He hit the bow with a stomp of his feet and immediately the two squared up, Dirk and the mercenary, this one unhelmed with short, dark hair whipping in the wind, traded blows before Jocasta's eyes. The impacts of their punches were somewhat muted to each combatant from their protection, and Dirk upped the ante by pulling out his xarconian basilard, a blade just short of two feet with a high-durability steel that could pierce certain materials more effectively than normal high-carbon steel and even lasbolts.

A smaller blade shot out of his opponent's wrist mount, smaller but thrumming with power. It was an electro-blade, with a small particle accelerator that helped the dagger-like protrusion pierce all but tank armor. Dirk cursed. Half of these guys were amatuers with basic weapons and the others had better equipment than even high-tier hunter.

Dirk stabbed at him, aiming for under his armpit. He turned his shoulder and took it on a pauldron, shoving his left forward. Had Dirk not caught the wrist, it would have cut him in the spleen. Dirk heabutted him, his helm (and head) proving stronger, sending the man staggering back. The merc caught himself and swiped, cutting a small seam across Dirk's breastplate, and then stabbed again. Dirk sidestepped, grabbed the arm with both hands and pulled it down as his knee shot up. He didn't break through the plating, but it broke the man's arm. He screamed inside his helmet, but Dirk didn't give him a chance to readjust himself. He stabbed under his breastplate, the merc giving a feeble grab for the arm, but he was too weak and too slow. Blood began to pool along the prow, and as the merc fell to his knees, Dirk took his blade and shoved it under his chin, ending the man's life.

Lasbolts shots every few moments, either glancing off the prow or more rarely clipping Dirk. One shot, just after he finished the jumper off, hit him square in the chest and nearly sent him falling off the bow.

"Guess it can't be helped." Dirk grunted, grabbing the railing of the ship's nose and locking on to the other boat with his visor. Green circles appeared before his vision, and they flashed red as it pinpointed the object. After sheathing the knife, he raised his pressed his thumb four times under his palm and gave the word. A small explosion shot out of his wrist like a kinetically launched projectile, before a small engine roared from its back and it rocketed towards the boat that stayed with them.

In the distance, an explosion the size of a truck erupted from the ship. It wasn't decimated, but it was hard to tell if everyone on it was dead or not.

"Why didn't you use that before!?" Jocasta asked, yelling over the spray of the sea.

"Those things are damned expensive." He said calmly, climbing back over to her side.

The timing of the explosion was perfect. A half dozen more of the would be rocketeers had been just about to launch. Instead they were flung into the air, their packs exploding or igniting wildly throwing them in all directions. One went off in mid air like a firecracker, raining bits of detritus down over an acre of ocean. The barge wallowed and began to slow, though it was still undercontrol, someone was at the helm and was edging it over towards their would be victim. As soon as they were in jetpack range there was a coordinated abandon ship. Six figures rose on the smoke trails of their jetpacks in a phalanx.

“Some guys,” Jocasta complained, “just don’t know when to take a hint.” She cut the power to the port nacelle by 90 percent and upped the drive as high as it would go. Their port side dropped into the water like a router blade, spraying a wall of foam thirty feet into the air. It crashed into the oncoming attackers, sending every one of them splashing down into the ocean where they could fight to get out of their gear before it dragged them down.



“Down, down and drowned, down and drowned and never found,” Jocasta hummed as she brought the power back up. The barge wallowed and stabalized, the enemy boat slowing down and emitting an unhealthy looking plume of black smoke. Where the jet skis had gone she had no idea. Probably decided to spend their hard earned vacation days as far from the barge as possible. Jocasta ease the throttle back and out of the red, correcting their course for the main docks on the edge of the crater ocean. She was soaked from head to toe and red water from the stabbed merc was sloshing around. The white gauzy dress she had been wearing clung to her body leaving little the the imagination. Something wriggled beneath the wet fabric and a dragon fly drone popped up from between her breasts. It shook its wings irritably, making an electronic buzzing sound.

“Hey, take it up with your travel agent sister! I was team hotub,” Jocasta scolded.

The little drone buzzed over to Dirk, flashing lights that indicated he was the travel agent. Dirk was not 'in the know' but he could tell there was a joke happening. He waved the little thing away, the drone lazily floating back to its master.

The beach was littered with abandoned towels and umbrellas, with the occasional limb and blood splotch. Beyond it was a rise in the sand that served as a small wall before one could make it to the facilities. They had traveled about ten miles, and if memory served, they were at the central communications island. Which unfortunately was not devoid of hotel goers. Dirk said as much to Jocasta, though she seemed to have anticipated most of it.

"So they will make sure none of this gets out to the authorities," she reasoned. "I've seen this movie before."

"They're dumber than movie villains," Dirk said, pressing a finger to a button behind his front visor, looking for heat signatures. He could vaguely tell there were people within the hotel and the facility behind, but he needed to get closer for a better read. If they were smart, they would have heat-cloaking tech, but they did not seem to be a group with a lot of brain cells. "All of the hotel's many feeds are fed here, yes. But it's also sent to a satellite in orbit, and it's triggered if there's no update with the correct code guarding the facility within six hours, calling in security forces from a base on one of the two moons."

"Not that fail-safes like that are uncommon, but how do you know that?" Jocasta asked, wringing some of the water out of her white dress to make it a bit less translucent.

"Because my first time on this planet, the security forces were called on me because I triggered the alarm by taking in the man on duty to halt it."

“Huh,” Jocasta said, giving Dirk the side eye as they coasted in to the beach with a crunch. She reminded herself there was a lot she didn’t know about her putative partner and his history with Neo-Mecca was far from uneventful. That might or might not be a problem, though this was hardly the time to think too deeply on it.



They were clearly getting closer to the heart of this hap hazard little party now. Jocasta had sent a drone to watch the port, which was separated from the communications island by about a kilometer of open water. That was a sensible security precaution as it made it difficult for someone to take control of the docks and the communications hub before the alarm was raised. These yahoos, whether by luck or good judgment, had obviously managed it. The feed from the port was a little problematic. A dark gray dragonfly drone, one of the small portion of her fleet hijacked by Cygi, was dog fighting with her own but the pair of them managed to make up a decent feed between them. Barges were beginning to arrive at the docks laden down with credit chips, liquor, jewelry, paintings, bedding, and anything else anyone might think of carrying off. Teams of men were hauling the loot from the boats to a docked luxury liner registered as The Lady Godiva. These men were not dressed in armor, but a mixture of clothing that ranged from the gaudy to the ridiculous. One man was dragging a marble statue while wearing a suit of white silk with a half dozen pea cock feathers sprouting from a kaftan. It was far too small for him and the seams at the arms had burst open. Another man wore a fantastic dress of nebula silk, its flaring red fabric really setting off his stubble and prison tattoos. Jocasta shook her head unable to credit it.



“It dosen’t look like our friends are planning on being here in…”

“Smoke, smoke, smoke!” Dirk yelled and shoved her bodily over the side before diving on the beach after her. His armored form landed atop her, arms and knees bent so as not to crush her. A trail of smoke and fire ripped from a grove of palm trees and smashed into the airboat with a cataclysmic boom. Pieces of debris pinged musically off Dirks armor as the heat and overpressure passed them by. He stood up and started firing his blasters at the grove, which was now on fire as a result of the backblast of the missile which had evidently been concealed there Jocasta spat out some stand and started to run up the beach towards the cover of the expensive landscaping, her drones zipping along in front of her in a flying V. A man wearing an armored chest plate stepped out from behind a fountain and swung a rifle to bear. One of the drones cut past him, ducking its wings in as it went so that the molecules thin wing membranes cut across his cheeks like flying shrapnel. He yelled and swatted at his face before the blue beam of Jocasta’s pistol removed cut and face in a sizzling blast of energy. Across a manicured lawn she saw a half dozne men burst from the main communications building. One of them was piloting a suit of armor so heavy it might have qualified as a mech, each leg easily as thick as a full grown garamon tree and as wide across the chest as a dumpster. The air split as he fired the machine guns attached to each arm in the air, raining down flaming palm fronds and coconuts.



“Umm…” Jocasta temporised, and then turned and ran back down the beach as fast as her legs could carry her.

“Huh,” Jocasta said, giving Dirk the side eye as they coasted in to the beach with a crunch. She reminded herself there was a lot she didn’t know about her putative partner and his history with Neo-Mecca was far from uneventful. That might or might not be a problem, though this was hardly the time to think too deeply on it.



They were clearly getting closer to the heart of this hap hazard little party now. Jocasta had sent a drone to watch the port, which was separated from the communications island by about a kilometer of open water. That was a sensible security precaution as it made it difficult for someone to take control of the docks and the communications hub before the alarm was raised. These yahoos, whether by luck or good judgment, had obviously managed it. The feed from the port was a little problematic. A dark gray dragonfly drone, one of the small portion of her fleet hijacked by Cygi, was dog fighting with her own but the pair of them managed to make up a decent feed between them. Barges were beginning to arrive at the docks laden down with credit chips, liquor, jewelry, paintings, bedding, and anything else anyone might think of carrying off. Teams of men were hauling the loot from the boats to a docked luxury liner registered as The Lady Godiva. These men were not dressed in armor, but a mixture of clothing that ranged from the gaudy to the ridiculous. One man was dragging a marble statue while wearing a suit of white silk with a half dozen pea cock feathers sprouting from a kaftan. It was far too small for him and the seams at the arms had burst open. Another man wore a fantastic dress of nebula silk, its flaring red fabric really setting off his stubble and prison tattoos. Jocasta shook her head unable to credit it.



“It dosen’t look like our friends are planning on being here in…”

“Smoke, smoke, smoke!” Dirk yelled and shoved her bodily over the side before diving on the beach after her. His armored form landed atop her, arms and knees bent so as not to crush her. A trail of smoke and fire ripped from a grove of palm trees and smashed into the airboat with a cataclysmic boom. Pieces of debris pinged musically off Dirks armor as the heat and overpressure passed them by. He stood up and started firing his blasters at the grove, which was now on fire as a result of the backblast of the missile which had evidently been concealed there Jocasta spat out some stand and started to run up the beach towards the cover of the expensive landscaping, her drones zipping along in front of her in a flying V. A man wearing an armored chest plate stepped out from behind a fountain and swung a rifle to bear. One of the drones cut past him, ducking its wings in as it went so that the molecules thin wing membranes cut across his cheeks like flying shrapnel. He yelled and swatted at his face before the blue beam of Jocasta’s pistol removed cut and face in a sizzling blast of energy. Across a manicured lawn she saw a half dozne men burst from the main communications building. One of them was piloting a suit of armor so heavy it might have qualified as a mech, each leg easily as thick as a full grown garamon tree and as wide across the chest as a dumpster. The air split as he fired the machine guns attached to each arm in the air, raining down flaming palm fronds and coconuts.



“huh…” Jocasta temporised, and then turned and ran back down the beach as fast as her legs could carry her.

"And then I drew both my pistols and turned to face them," Jocasta declared, "I drew both pistols and planted my feet. Bullets were wizzing all around me, blasting palm trees into sap and splinters! Laser bolt splashed off the sand burning little circles of black glass. The whole world was a roar of noise and explosions but I wasn't afraid!"

The listeners leaned in, intent either on the story, or at least intent on Jocasta's impassioned delivery which included a considerable amount of heaving bosom in her green and white flightsuit. Xiska smoke wafted up from ash trays and empty liquor bottles rattled as people adjusted their positions. A rough mud map of the beach had been created with bottle caps and protein sticks, a half crushed packet of smoke sticks represented the wrecked barge.

"I lifted my pistols," Jocasta continued, making little pantomime finger guns and pretending to squint down them.

"Then Bam. BAM. BAM!" she enthused slapping the table to empasise each theatrical shot. "Head shot, head shot, head shot!"

The listeners crowed and slapped the table with enthusiasum, some calling out in disbelief, others cheering and hooting. Jocasta made a slow half turn, finger guns sweeping the crowd.

"I cut through them like a laser knife through butter!" There were more cheers mixed with hoots of derision. It was clear however good the story there was some good natured skepticism about is veracity. Jocasta scooped a dart up off the table and threw it at the target on the far wall, a slab of cork with the portrait of an unpopular local politician taped onto it. The dart thudded into his left eye. It was less of a trick than it looked, considering she had a trio of drones perched around the spacers bar to give her all the angles. The feat momentarily stilled the disbelievers.

"What about the guy in the mech suit though, surely you couldn't have taken him down with a pistol," a scar faced smuggler objected.

"Oh yeah, that guy," Jocasta greed, thrusting her finger guns into imaginary holsters. "I had taken out all his goons, but he was still stomping down the beach, chain guns kicking up sand all around me. I hit him again and again with my pistols but to no avail. I thought I was finished, but Jocasta Ap'Gwyn never gives up!"

"I only had one chance, I saw that he was wearing a bandolier of grenades so I..." Jocasta snapped her fingers and her three drowns swooped in from all directions, seizing the pull tabs on several cans and ripping them free before soaring upwards and letting them fall to the table with a metallic clatter.

"Pulled the pins and then..." she slapped at her chest in imitation of a big clumsy man pawing at grenades that were suddenly hot.

"BOOM! bits of him raining down over half a kilometer of beach!" she crowed. The drunken spacers hooted and hollared, some clapping.

"And that," Jocasta concluded, "Is how I single handedly saved the resort from pirates."

"And what about chuckles over there," the smuggler asked, lifting his chin towards Dirk's armored form. Jocasta tossed her head as though it were of no account.

"I really couldn't say, I'm sure he was usefully occupied though."

Dirk had been in worse places. Barku's Teeth was a moderately successful dive that served anyone from thugs to businessmen to line workers ending their day at the hab block. Small scripts of bright text generated at the corner of his visor, analyzing the potential weaponry of every passerby that stumbled or sauntered across the floor. The smell of nox-sticks and alcohol permeated the dank air of the cantina, Dirk caring too little to seal off his helm's access to outside air. He heard the gasps and guffaws coming from the table over, where Jocasta marveled a crowd of nobodies on her exploits at the resort.

The armored bounty hunter glanced their way every so often, but otherwise ignored the spectacle. He was content with his liquor and the peace the deafening music brought. He wished he could say he got lost in the drink and the revelry, but Dirk never let his guard down. His gloved hand in easy reach of one of his DMX blasters. Before him, a blue-skinned Zerulian dancer gyrated against a table as men threw credit chips at her-half naked form while a table over two burly Hexanagallions grappled in an arm wrestling competition as men screamed for their chosen xenos to win.

To the right, a brawl suddenly broke out. Three four-eyed Xiclon's got in a scrap with two humans and an aquatic Falmorian, which spread to the table over when they capsized a game-table. The fighting was so fierce and the screaming so loud, Dirk could hear them even without modifying his helm to suppress other audio. In the din, someone drew an electro-baton, blue lightning crackling amongst the dark silhouettes of the bodies and flying in an arc that seared the eye. Dirk found the fight far more interesting than Jocasta's story, even if she was admittedly nice to look at. He lifted his visor up to the cusp of his nose and sipped his drink, and his entertainment was interrupted when a handsomely dressed man approached out of the crowd, taking a seat in front of Dirk even as the bouncers streamed by them and rushed to the fight.

Dirk didn't need his visor to tell him the man was unarmed. He moved both too casual and too skittish all at once, his smart suit too tight to hide anything above a quill-gun, and he seemed entirely uncomfortable being in such a locale. His hair was shaved on its left side and swept to fall over his pate on his right. On his right hand, two steel marks were embedded into his skin to signify both an allegiance to a space-trade guild and to provide a means of exchanging currency through a neural link.

"Are you, by chance, the acclaimed bounty hunter Dirk Crimson?" He asked with a posh accent. Dirk had a sense it wasn't the accent he grew up with, but one he had grown acclimated to from long hours practice. When Dirk didn't answer immediately, the man's eyes traveled to the table opposite them. "And I assume that is the spitfire, Jocasta Ap'Gwyn."

"I don't take freelance contracts any longer. I have an agreement with the guild." Dirk said.

"Would you friend have such scruples?" He pressured, but did not move to engage her. Dirk wasn't interested in playing games, and whoever this man was, he had no idea just how close Dirk was to gunning him down here and now for interrupting his night. After a long silence, the newcomer drew in a breath and continued. "That's too bad. We were prepared to pay you two million credits to find and kill a low-life vagabond. And another two when you return with proof of his demise. If half the things I've heard about you is true, it should be a walk on the parsec for you."

"Who are you?"

The man gave a tight lipped smile. "I am Bohemond Valgrayne, and I represent the interests of Phyraelon Deadstar. Have you heard of him?"

Dirk had. He was allegedly the head of a conglomerate of illicit goods, including but not limited to the trafficking of weapons, drugs, counterfeit identification chips, and even people. Evidently no one had ever seen his face, and some wondered if he even existed. The conglomerate operated in three systems and was rumored to have infiltrated varying levels of eighteen planetary governments. All of it was hearsay, but Dirk had known enough people who had made dealings with the Phyraelon Conglomerate to know there was at least some truth to it. That also meant that if he accepted a contract, it would be very discreet. Perhaps he could take a job from this man, even if technically it was not allowed per the rules. Dirk had enough sway with Volkovax to have the massive xenos forgive him, regardless.

Dirk touched a small receiver on his wrist, which caused Jocasta's datascreen to grind against her hip, indicating she wrap it up and join him.

Jocasta's head snapped sideways in the middle of the description of how she had single handledly dragged a wounded Dirk to saftey while fighting off another score of pirates.

"Anyway long story short, I am a hero," she announced and then took the shot that she had been using to represent the main building. The drinkers cheered and heckled as she stepped away, then paused, ducked back, picked a half burned lux stick took a drag then dumped it into a mostly empty tumbler with a sharp hiss of quenching heat.

"Jocasta Ap'Gwyn," Valgrayne said as she approached.

"My completely deserved reputation preceeds me," she said as she cleared the alert Dirk had beamed to her implant. She took a seat across from the smartly dressed man.

"I was just suggesting to your partner here that I had a job for him, but he pointed out that as a member of the Guild he was not at liberty to take it. You aren't a member of Guild I take it?" Valgrayne asked.

"I'm not a member no, I have .....uh... background check issues," she admitted. Valgrayne arched an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"It seems to me that if an unaligned operative were to take a job and Mr Crimson here was able to render some assistance it might not be seen as a violation of any Guild regulation," Valgrane explained.

"Ok... seems like alot of small talk to go through before asking me out," Jocasta said, "What is this job and how much does it pay?"

"Yeah, they did a background check, and they found issues." Dirk added, drawing a look from Jocasta. Valgrane let the statement go by, but decided it more prudent to interrupt before Jocasta and Dirk had a verbal sparring match.

"As I was explaining to your associate, we have two million credits each for a simple job. No need to captured him. It's just a kill mission." He said, letting the requirement sink in. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a holo-slate, sliding it to the center of the table. He pressed a single button at the bottom of the device, and a holographic image erupted from the screen. Hundreds of thousands of light tendrils formed to create the likeness of a slight man with sharp features, a small scar on his nose and deep, sunken eyes. It was hard to appraise his age, but he seemed around thirty to forty standard years.

"This is Voldargu 'Vol' Hyrakeraen. A petty thug who has.... insulted my master."

"Phyraelon Deadstar," Dirk said, letting Jocasta hear the name. He didn't look her way to gauge her reaction, but if she knew anything of the urban legends she would be intrigued.

"Correct. If you accept the commission, I'll place the coordinates in your datasheets, but I can tell you the planet is Tarsus." The aide said, referring to a world of with an atmosphere comprised of more than 96 percent carbon dioxide, with molecular nitrogen and other lesser gases summing up the rest. Dirk knew this because he had gone hunting on the planet twice before. You couldn't go out on the surface. Tarsus's population were house in what the locals called 'Spires.' Great towers that breached the clouds, with the tops spreading out into large domed plateaus where the wealthy lived. Other platforms reached out all across the tower's length, but they were smaller and less regulated, and certainly less sanitized. "If you accept, I am granted to give you each five hundred thousand credits now, with the rest being provided when you offer proof the job is completed."

"And if we were to take the money and run?" Jocasta asked, a smile on her lips.

"Then I'm afraid, I would need to turn this unofficial contract into a guild problem." He reasoned, and Dirk knew that while it would be his reputation on the line, Jocasta would not be safe from reprisal.

Phyraelon Deadstar. Jocasta was sckeptial that such a person even existed. It was common enough for urban ledgends to be bandied about to give weight and meanance to the actions of other men. Still if there were half a million credits to be had, she supposed she didn't mind who she was allegedly working for.

"Alright, I think I can probably keep my eyes open for this Vol, and if I happen to see him, make sure he has an appropriate accident."

Bohemond cleared his throat, casting a look between the two bounty hunters.

"It should not be subtle, my employer requires that his displeasure be obvious," the agent explained. Jocasta reached out and wrapped a fist on Dirks armor, the blow ringing musically from the augmented steel.

"Well you have come to the right place," Jocasta snickered.

_____

"It makes a girl whistful for the radioactive wastelands," Jocasta observed as the Dragonfly coasted in towards the Prime Spire of Tarsus. The land beyond the spire was dull, brown, and apparently lifeless. In fact a single celled algae grew over nearly every exposed surface, rendering it slimy and slick. The wealth of Tarsus, such as it was, was in mineral seams and geothermal vents which extended far below the surface of the spires. As these seams were empied out they were converted into part of the spire, spreading below the surface like the mycellia of great fungus.

"Why can't you ever take me anywhere nice?" she complained.

"I took you to a resort paradise and, according to you, you single handledly shot your way out of it," Dirk replied. Jocasta shrugged demonstratively.

"Well, I didn't even get a chance to wear a bathing suit," she complained.

"You'll find an opportunity to get scantily clad. You always do," Dirk remarked, a sardonic tone to his voice as he banked the dragonfly to the south. As they were still a team, Jocasta had given him a small run-down on the controls and navigation gear of the dragonfly and Dirk had picked up on it quickly. He had gotten his hands on numerous interplanetary ships in the past, the dragonfly was manueverable and its sub-light handling was a bit more sleek than most anything else he had flown, but it did not take long for him to put the familiar pieces together and get a feel for the controls he wasn't used to.

"I think you have her confused with me," her little AI said, popping up on the display in a bathing suit and a small hologram of a lounge chair behind her.

Dirk ignored it, sending the dragonfly in a nose dive, passing by rockcrete spires and antenna to wheel round into a lesser, dilapidated docking bay. Even from hundreds of meters away, one could see the various building materials the architects had to make do with to fit the pieces of the landing pads together. Small cybernetic service bots hobbled this way and that on the scrapped-together steel platforms as small freighters and planetary speeder vehicles zoomed back and forth through the air.

"So what's the plan?" Jocasta asked, making sure her weapon was locked and loaded. "Quick and messy or slow and sensual?"

"We'll need the lay of the land, first. If the information on the datasheets are correct, we're five floors above the habs this guy frequents, and if we want to make a quick getaway, we need to make sure we have a clear path back to the dragonfly. Let's find a service elevator."

"That doesn't seem very discreet..." She opined.

"The elevator would just get in the way. If we find one, we pry it open and I jet us up. No would could follow unless they had similar equipment, and I can handle that if it comes to it." He said, unstrapping his seat belt and getting ready to step out of the landing bay. From the window they could see the dockmaster waiting expectantly, no doubt there to squeeze them for every credit they were worth.