Rokan

ROKAN

I buckled my worn leather belt with a satisfying click and shrugged on my jacket, the familiar weight settling on my shoulders. Just then, my communicator chirped to life, its screen illuminating the dim room.

Job for you.

A wave of relief washed over me. It had been too long since my last assignment, and the inactivity was making me restless. Sure, bounty hunting paid well, but it was the thrill of the chase that truly drew me in. Staring at the same four walls day after day made my very bones ache with a desperate need for action.

The warehouse that concealed our base wasn't far – we all lived clustered around Davor's command center. Maybe it was a lingering need for the camaraderie we'd shared during the war, or perhaps just practicality. Whatever the reason, we stuck together like burrs on a jacket.

I strode into the bunker, immediately noticing Arkon's presence. My eyebrow quirked upward; team assignments had become a rarity lately. But I wouldn't mind it. Arkon was good to have at your side in a fight.

"Arkon was just leaving," Davor explained, his gruff voice filling the space as he pressed a data chip into the giant's palm.

Most people would scoff at the idea of hunting as respectable work, but their opinions meant nothing to me. For a Vinduthi on Caroma, especially under Krelaxian rule, honest jobs were as scarce as water in the Crimson Sands. We'd carved our niche and dominated it. Still, not every gig was a sure thing.

Yeah, we could've split, left this fucking world. Plenty of our brothers did after the last battle. But Davor, our unit's leader, he'd dug in his heels here.

He had his reasons, and hell... none of us had much cause to try our luck in the wider galaxy. No place was gonna roll out the welcome mat. Might as well dance with the devil we knew.

"Good luck to you with yours." Arkon gave my shoulder a hearty pat as he shuffled past me and out the door.

"!" Davor boomed, arms spread wide in greeting. "It's been a while."

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Been a while since you had work for me."

Davor waved me closer, flipping through a weathered book filled with handwritten notes. The old man's preference for paper over datapads had always struck me as odd, but I supposed old habits die hard. Plus, it's a lot easier to burn incriminating paper evidence than to completely wipe a datapad.

"Well," he drawled, "if you pull this one off, you might not need to work again for quite some time."

I couldn't quite suppress the wicked grin that tugged at my lips. "Alright, I'll bite. What's the job, and why me?"

"The job is property acquisition," Davor replied, his eyes scanning a page he'd torn from the book. "And I'm sending you because you're my best tracker."

In a swift motion, I snatched the paper from his grasp, ignoring his irritated grunt. My eyes darted across the page, taking in the details.

"Property, huh?" I mused, noting the description of blonde hair. "Interesting choice of words."

Davor's expression hardened. "On this world? With these people? Yes. She's property that got away and needs to be tracked down. Is that a problem?"

I shrugged and looked away, my jaw clenching slightly. "No. Just... intrigued by the phrasing."

"His words, not mine," Davor clarified, his tone clipped.

As I continued reading, my eyes landed on the client's name: Gorin. A knot formed in my stomach, and I glanced up, fixing Davor with a dark look.

"I know," he said, anticipating my reaction.

"This cowardly piece of shit wants to hire a Vinduthi to do his dirty work?" I spat, disgust evident in my voice. But of course he did. They all did. It was the very foundation of our business.

Davor's eyes narrowed. "He's a cowardly piece of shit with deep pockets, and those credits are going to line yours. This is what we do – the work everyone else is too squeamish or self-righteous to touch. And we do it damn well." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Any other smart-ass observations, or are you going to get your ass to the rendezvous point?"

I folded the paper into a neat triangle and flicked it back to my boss. He snatched it out of the air, looking like he was seconds away from throttling me – a familiar sight indeed.

"Jayden's Canteen outside the Crimson Sand outpost. Got it," I said, my tone deliberately casual. I turned to leave, pausing only when I heard Davor clear his throat.

"And ..." he called after me, his voice oddly somber. "Go well prepared. Something tells me this job won't be over by sundown."

I looked over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. A silent understanding passed between us. I gave a curt nod and strode out, my mind already racing with preparations.

As I made my way back to my quarters, I mentally cataloged my gear. This wasn't going to be a simple snatch-and-grab. If Davor's warning was anything to go by, I'd need to be ready for an extended hunt.

My fingers traced the worn grip of my sidearm as I walked, a comforting ritual. Whatever this job threw at me, I'd be ready. After all, tracking down the desperate and the hunted was what I did best. And if this ‘property' thought she could outrun her fate, well... she was about to learn just how persistent a Vinduthi bounty hunter could be.

I stepped into the outpost bar later that day, the heavy doors creaking shut behind me. The seating area fell silent, a sea of hostile stares turning my way. It wasn't every day a fully armed Vinduthi walked into town, and I could practically taste the tension in the air. Some of these trigger-happy idiots were undoubtedly itching for a fight.

One man in particular caught my eye, his fingers caressing the barrel of his pistol with an unsettling intimacy. His gaze never left me as I scanned the room.

"Over here," a voice hissed, punctuated by the sharp snap of fingers. I spun to see a Krelaxian gesturing impatiently from a corner booth. With a resigned sigh, I made my way over to his not-so-private table – the closest thing to luxury this backwater dump could offer.

"You're the man Davor sent?" he asked, his beady eyes narrowing suspiciously.

I nodded, saying nothing.

The Krelaxian's face twisted into a sneer. "Well, you're not exactly subtle, are you? I swear, if you Vinduthi scumbags are trying to pull one over on me-"

"If I don't finish the job, I don't get paid," I cut in, my voice level. "And I have no interest in not getting paid."

I leaned back, taking in the pathetic excuse for a soldier before me. Gorin, like all the Krelaxians in this sector, had switched allegiances at the last minute, helping the Alliance win the war. They were all scum, and this slimy little greaseball wearing his shiny commendations with unearned pride was living proof.

"Of course you don't," Gorin muttered. "And this is how you're going to earn that payday." He placed a small holo player on the table and activated it. A still image of a human woman flickered to life.

I felt something catch in my throat. The woman's eyes bored right into me, tired and haunted beyond her years. A perfectly circular bruise ringed her throat, and light golden hair fell limply over her shoulders. She looked small, damn near frail.

Something lashed through my chest. A sudden urge to walk away, let this girl escape. It served this idiot right for letting someone so vulnerable slip through his fingers. But I'd learned long ago that I wasn't in the business of giving opinions or righting wrongs. There was too much darkness on this forsaken planet; I wouldn't know where to start.

Too bad for her.

"Her name is Arilee," Gorin seethed, his eyes bulging with barely contained rage. His nails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists. "She's twenty-four years old, and she belongs to me. She has momentarily forgotten that fact, and I will make sure she never does again."

"But first, you need me to catch her," I stated flatly.

Gorin nodded, struggling to compose himself. "I was here to inspect a... to oversee a confidential military project that no longer requires my expertise. I have to report back home to the base on Quixa and don't have time to chase after an unruly pet. That's where you come in."

He pushed a button, and the image switched to a map of the Crimson Sands.

"She started here," he explained, jabbing a finger into the hologram, "and by my figuring, she must have traveled north."

"What makes you say that?" I asked, intrigued. If he was correct, it would explain why he didn't want to pursue her himself.

"Footprints. Not many – the wind made sure of that – but enough to gauge her direction."

I frowned. "She went deeper into the desert?"

Gorin sneered. "She's pretty and, normally, obedient. But not intelligent. If she was, she wouldn't have run away." His voice lowered ominously. "But, and here's the important part, you need to bring her back alive."

I studied the terrain on the map, considering what I knew of the Sands and the dangers that lurked within.

"And what happens if I get there and find a pretty but stupid corpse?" I asked coolly.

Gorin's face darkened as he switched off the projector and shoved it into his pack. "You'd better hope that's not the case. And I doubt it is. Arilee is stupid, clumsy, and pathetic. It's not her fault, after all, she is a human woman," he added with a sage nod, as if imparting great wisdom.

"But she's also stubborn," he continued. "She cut through her tracking collar with a dull kitchen knife. It must have taken hours, and she left blood all over the floor. She's determined to get away. I fully believe she's still alive, even if only barely so."

I stroked my chin, contemplating the risk I was taking. The frail creature I'd seen didn't exactly scream ‘survivor.' But I'd been in combat. I'd seen firsthand what people were capable of when faced with life-or-death situations.

Maybe she was halfway across the galaxy by now.

"Alright," I said finally. "If what you say is true, I need to get moving. I'll get your ‘pet' back, don't worry."

Gorin slung his pack over his shoulder, clearly annoyed at having to do so himself rather than burdening a slave.

"You had better."

I left the outpost and boarded my shuttle, prepping for the hunt. Arilee might have been small, but the Sands held dangers that would make a Nulian desert rat look cuddly.

The landing site I selected sprawled just north of Arilee's last known location. Far enough to mask my approach, but close enough for a quick strike if needed.

As I disembarked, a bone-chilling snarl cut through the air. I'd managed to piss off the local wildlife within minutes of touching down. An alpha desert rat, its tentacles writhing menacingly, towered over me. Seems I'd interrupted dinnertime.

It shrieked, charging forward with surprising speed for its bulk. I stood my ground, mind racing through options.

These bastards had hides tougher than starship hulls and appetites to match. But they had one critical weakness – their own insatiable gluttony.

I plucked a pulse grenade from my belt, its weight reassuring in my palm. With a practiced flick of the wrist, I sent it sailing through the air. The rat, driven by instinct, snatched it mid-flight, cramming the explosive into its cheek pouch for later consumption.

Two lumbering steps later, it detonated. Chunks of rat painted the desolate landscape in a gruesome tableau. I peeled a quivering tentacle fragment off my jacket with disgust, wiped the gore away, and pressed on into the unforgiving wasteland.

My prey awaited, and the hunt had only just begun.