11. No Way Out

Despite all his apprehension, it was the first full night of sleep Niko had gotten in a long time. He’d had feverish dreams of Kestrel, ones that constantly shifted, intangible, ephemeral. He spoke with Kestrel, again and again. He dreamed he spoke to him in the indigo-tinted fields of Kaalan-10, sitting together under an old tree. He dreamed he talked with him aboard the So?adora Despierta, the two of them sitting in the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats. Kestrel was in his apartment, perched on the edge of Niko’s bed. He was on the warm beaches of Eanan, the ocean matching his eyes.

In every dream, Niko begged him not to go, tried to explain why it would only lead to his death. Kestrel was quietly adamant. Every time Niko finally came close to convincing him, the dream shifted once more to someplace else, and he had to start all over again.

He went through the motions that morning, before suiting up and meeting Zann and the other agents and investigators at the station. Fourier gave him a ‘Good morning, sunshine,’ that Niko didn’t bother responding to.

They spent two hours discussing the plan of action and strategy, with even the chief, Kamira Salas, who’d agreed to fund Niko’s work joining in. They stood leaning against the big oak table, blonde hair slicked back, hands in their slacks pockets. They nodded once to Niko and he returned the gesture. There had always been respect between them, since Niko had first begun hunting. Kamira knew Zann and Niko’s story, and had helped train Zann up to be the investigator he was to this day.

Blueprints and maps covered the conference room walls, and coffee was ordered and passed around in generous quantities. Zann looked again like he hadn’t slept all night. Niko watched him quietly as tactical placement of agents was discussed. If Zann had seen the files, he made no mention, and with the station in such an anxious frenzy in anticipation of finally trapping Kestrel, Niko was given no chance to speak with him alone.

Niko, for his part, was expected to play the role he always had: he would enter separately, and be left to his devices. He’d gained a reputation for being able to sniff out the elusive assassin with uncanny instinct alone, so he’d been given the task to locate him for Galapol.

He glanced around at the officers and agents gathered, at the old faces who he’d become so warmly familiar with over his years working to bring bounties in. How many knew about Kestrel’s files? How many in this room knew exactly what he was fighting for—and why? How many knew the grotesqueries the chancellor had committed, and were choosing to let him walk free—defend him from Kestrel, even?

Niko’s thoughts drifted to Kestrel and got lost there. He wondered what the other man was doing right now. Probably preparing for the speech, just as Galapol was. Was he nervous? Was he lonely? Did he even care at all?

This wouldn’t be like his other assassinations. He wasn’t going to make it back from this one. He didn’t stand a chance. Galapol was pooling everything they had into this effort, to try and end his deadly endeavor swiftly and for good.

Niko was going to have to see him be brought in—or killed. It didn’t matter which way it went down, in the end. Apprehending Kestrel led to the same grim fate, just drawn out with courts, fanfare, and his inevitable execution before the eyes of billions.

And Niko was going to have to help them do it. He might even have to be the one to do it himself.

The meeting concluded, the crowd in the room dispersing to their various roles and preparations. Niko had mere seconds with Zann before the other man had to leave as well.

Zann looked at him, his gaze flickering briefly to lock on Niko’s own. He reached out and grasped Niko’s shoulder, giving it a shake.

“We’ll talk.”

And then he was gone.

The speech was being held on the small, deep azure moon of Neema, a colony-world of the Dvaab. Its conference center lay beneath the thick, sweltering atmosphere of dense blue cloud cover. Its architecture was traditional Dvaab design—sleek and full of spirals and swirls, which the Dvaab greatly favored and considered holy, as they formed the very pattern of the lifegiving galaxy itself. Like the Quwa-quay, the Dvaab culture was steeped in religion. Whereas the Quwa-quay worshiped their Grand Sovereign as an incarnate of their god, the Dvaab found holiness in the universe itself, shunning the idea of mortal gods entirely. They considered all things sacred.

All things, Niko figured, except probably Elliott Kestrel.

Especially if the presence of a phenomenal amount of Dvaab authorities wandering the grounds of the conference center was any indication.

He knew Kestrel was here, waiting somewhere, alone and silent in the rafters, perched like some patient and predatory bird watching mice scurry below. Niko needed to see him. He just didn’t yet know what to do when he finally did. It was, after all, why he was here, and what Galapol was counting on him to do.

Niko glanced up at layers of spiraling walkways and stairs that gracefully orbited one another in a double helix, wondering if somewhere above, Kestrel was watching him now. Something in him ached at the thought.

He made his way up along the nearest winding staircase, climbing the great spiral from which warmly glowing ornate lamps hung low, and glanced back down at the people below. Niko had never seen so many Galapol agents at any event before. Between the agents, Dvaab security, and perpetual swarm of scattered bounty hunters, the place was a festering sharks’ den. All of it made Niko nauseous. He’d barely touched his breakfast that morning, too sick to eat.

This definitely wasn’t how he’d imagined things going when Zann had asked him to take up hunting again.

Niko reached the top of the curving stairs; they gave way to a walkway that circled the entirety of the grand room. All along its walls, beautiful lanterns hung, with ornate spiral patterns carved into their crystal. Security drones floated to and fro around the vicinity, but he knew they were as good as useless. They had been, on Uula. Niko glanced around quietly, looking for Kestrel. He hoped he didn’t see him. He hoped he hadn’t shown.

His life would be so much easier if he hadn’t.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it? The Dvaab always have beautiful architecture.”

The voice came from just beside him, familiar and handsome. Niko closed his eyes for a moment as his heart sank. He forced himself not to turn a reactionary glance towards the stealthed man. It would only bring attention. Instead, he cast his gaze slowly around, appearing to still be looking.

When he replied, it was in a murmur. “I was hoping you wouldn’t show.”

“I was hoping the same of you.”

“Seems we’re at an impasse, Elliott.”

“Why did you come, Niko?”

A million answers pushed for dominance in his mind.

I had no choice. That wasn’t true, though, was it? Zann might have been disappointed, but Niko could have recused himself, backed out of the hunt. It was no secret that he’d not been doing great since he’d begun pursuing Kestrel, too many old memories unearthed, too many old ghosts. And now, new ones to add to the haunted collection.

Maybe, instead, I wanted to see you one last time. It hurt too much for Niko to even get the words out, his chest constricting tightly, breathlessly, at the thought.

He settled on a frustrated, biting, “Why did you?”

“You know why,” Kestrel said.

He did know why. Because no one else would. Because no one had listened to Kestrel. Because he had committed to this stubborn plan and one way path, and was taking on a galaxy alone.

Niko glanced away, out at the walkway around him.

“Just… walk with me for a moment. We’ve got a while before this starts.”

He continued along the circling path, moving slowly, pretending to gaze around for the assassin who kept beside him. He could hear the quiet footfall of Kestrel, the only sign the other man hadn’t abandoned him completely. He wondered what was going through that beautiful, brilliant, headstrong mind right now.

Niko passed another hunter, an obnoxious young Xermotl who lit up her patterns in rippling, flashing rainbows—the uniquely Xermotl version of the middle finger. “That bounty is mine,” she said.

“Good luck with that,” Niko murmured. He kept walking.

Another drone floated by, pausing to scan Niko before continuing on. They had so little time. Niko had so many things he wanted to say, memories of his feverish dreams and their repeated arguments running through his mind. He had mere moments before Galapol would start wondering. Moments before the event would be getting underway and Iincha’cul would make his appearance.

“There’s no way out of this, Elliott,” Niko murmured. “Not this time.”

“Don’t give up on me so easily.”

Niko ached. Frustration swelled rapidly in him. He found himself instinctively turning towards Kestrel, then glanced around in paranoia to see if anyone was watching. “You might be able to leave now. If you do it before killing the chancellor, they’ll never know you were here. You can come back for him later, go to his home like you did with Jande Seiiren. You can survive this. We could—”

Something silver flashed past Niko and landed on the floor with a clink. He recognized it immediately: an EMP grenade. It was pure instinct to get away from it as quickly as possible; Niko didn’t want a repeat of Valaevanas, didn’t want to be left stranded, unable to walk.

It detonated, frying Kestrel’s shields and knocking him out of stealth. Niko pulled his gun without thinking, training it in the direction the grenade had come from, adrenaline pumping through his veins now as he readied instinctively for a fight.

No one was there.

A shot rang out from seemingly nowhere. Niko saw the bullet tear through Kestrel’s shoulder, a stream of blood flying through the air as it struck. Some of it spattered him. A second bullet lanced through his side, more dark blood spraying Niko. Kestrel jerked back from each impact. He dropped his sniper rifle; it clattered to the floor beneath him. He staggered, then collapsed, the ground sticky with pooling blood.

No. NO NO NO!

Niko’s pulse pounded in his ears, his entire body going numb as fear constricted him rapidly. He trained his gun quickly to the east, the source of the shots, ready to fuck up whoever had dared. He didn’t care at this point. Hunter, Galapol agent—Niko wanted to break them. It wasn’t another hunter at the business end of his barrel, though.

It was Zann.

Niko partially lowered his gun, confused and conflicted.

He’d appeared seemingly out of thin air, pistol aimed at the fallen Kestrel. Clipped to his belt was the same cloaking device Niko had often seen worn by Kestrel.

The Galapol agent.The one Kestrel had left cloaked and unconscious on Uula, when Niko had given him no choice. They’d retrieved it.

How long had Zann been listening? How much did he know?

Zann’s eyes bore a cold, obsidian glint. He approached Kestrel, his pistol aimed straight at the fallen man’s head, seeking to finish the job. Niko acted before he could think, all wild fury, passion, and instinct. He was running. He slammed into Zann with all his weight, hard as he could.

Zann’s pistol was knocked from his hand, where it fell off the edge of the walkway, down into the crowd far below. He held his own, to his credit, and staggered but remained standing.

“Wait!” Niko backed away from him. Zann backed warily away from Niko too, cool and untrusting eyes fixated on him now. Niko hated seeing that look aimed towards himself. “Don’t kill him,” he pleaded, his voice thick with fear as he fought to control the rapidly unraveling situation. “We can work with him on this, Zann. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“That’s bullshit, Niko. There’s no future for this guy and it’s time you come to accept that. He did this to himself.”

Zann reached into his coat and pulled a second pistol out, aiming it down at Kestrel. Instinctively, Niko’s own gun was up in an instant, trained on Zann. Zann quickly turned his pistol on Niko instead. Niko’s heart leapt into his throat, his blood turning to ice as he stared at his brother. Both men found themselves at a standstill.

“Don’t you fucking do this to me, Niko,” Zann said, voice a low warning, laced with pain. “Are you going to pull that trigger? You’re going to shoot me over this piece of shit?”

Niko’s pulse beat wildly in his ears. Sweat trickled down his neck. He hesitated, slowly lowering the rifle again. “I— No— No, just— Please. Please, don’t do this. Zann. The people he’s killing are monsters. It doesn’t get any worse than what they’ve done. I know you know that.”

“It doesn’t change what he’s done to galactic civilization as a whole. He’s taken justice for this into his own hands. He’s kept everyone fucking terrified. Nobody feels safe anymore. He’s ruined entire worlds, Niko. You’re defending a murderer! You know this, Niko!”

“How is that any different from you and me and what we did to Mom’s killers—”

Zann cut him off. “You told me to trust you. That you’d make this right.”

“I’m trying!” Niko pleaded.

“I trusted you, Niko! I waited for you to fucking do something about him. I watched you. You’ve had a clear shot of him this whole time and you didn’t take it. Instead, you’ve been chatting it up with him like you’re best friends now. Giving him advice on how to kill.”

“I—”

“Black market anonymity, my ass. I knew something was up with you. You were always better than this. I couldn’t figure out why you kept coming so close and letting him get away. Again and again and again. The Niko I know would have had Kestrel or any other murderer six feet under long ago.” Zann murmured into his earpiece. “I need backup. Upstairs. Top level.”

Fuck.

“This isn’t right, Niko. And it’s not good enough. You fucked up bad. If they find out you’ve been chumming it up with Kestrel, you’re fucked beyond belief. So just step away from him and keep your shit to yourself when the backup arrives.” He paused, then said, “I want this son of a bitch dead so he doesn’t tattle on you.”

Zann turned his gun towards Kestrel again, and Niko acted once more without thinking. He threw his weight into Zann again hard, all frenzy and movement. Zann’s shot missed, ricocheting off the floor.

“I’m sorry, Zann.” Niko punched him hard enough to knock him unconscious. Zann’s legs gave out from under him and Niko caught him mid-fall, gently lowering him to the ground. Niko pulled the cloaking device from him with trembling hands, but it had been damaged in his assault. Up close, the thing looked surprisingly fragile.

Damn it. It would have been useful. He tossed it over the edge of the walkway; it would break into pieces from the long, long fall. It was all he could do to keep anyone else from repairing and using it against them again.

He heard voices from below, dangerously close now.

“There!”

“He’s up there!” He was out of time.

Niko sprang up, running towards Kestrel now, and lifted the fallen man off the floor and into his arms. Kestrel was both somehow lighter and heavier than he’d expected. His head lulled back, face pale, eyelids fluttering but ultimately remaining closed.

Niko was beyond rational thought at this point, driven by mere reactions mixed in a slurry of adrenaline. He took off running across the high walkway, as hard as he could. It was a dead end—the only way to go was down. He hugged Kestrel tighter against himself.

Damn, this is going to suck.

Niko pushed the thought from his mind. It was better to just not think about any of it—the steep drop that lay below, and the now hostile crowds that mingled down there.

He leapt from the walkway, hugging Kestrel tightly to his chest, the dizzying rush of weightlessness gripping him as spiraling ramps and one story after another rushed by them in a blur. He struggled to switch Kestrel’s weight to his left arm, grabbing him tightly against himself, and fumbled for the compact grappling hook at his waist with his free hand.

Niko didn’t let himself think about how much this was going to hurt. He focused only on the task in front of him, on Kestrel heavy in his arm, on aiming the grapple at the lowest balcony.

He aimed, fired, and struck true, the thing clamping on tightly. The rope went taunt as they swung, Niko’s arm erupting in pain, muscles pulling from the sudden strain of bearing his own weight and Kestrel’s too. Kestrel was jerked around like a ragdoll in his arm. Niko almost lost him—his grip was beginning to slip against the other man’s blood.

I’ve got you, Niko promised him silently.

He released the grapple and landed among a gathering of wealthy Dvaab with a heavy thud. They froze, staring at him with shocked, green and leathery faces as their brains struggled to process what exactly they were seeing.

He was fortunate that understanding of what had transpired above hadn’t reached the civilians just yet.

Seeing an armored bounty hunter was hardly unusual at big events these days. But Niko was holding Kestrel against himself, and Kestrel was bleeding out, dark crimson smearing across Niko’s chestplate and gloves, dripping from him to the ground below.

Confusion spread to Galapol themselves, too—Zann had called for backup, had indicated the assassin was here. But he’d never said a word about Niko being involved, nor that Kestrel had been taken down. Niko found himself in a surreal moment as ground agents spotted him and began to make their way over—not as hostiles, but to try and aid him.

He had no interest in their help.

Niko inhaled, readying himself, and burst into a full run now, woe be to anyone in his path. He knocked people out of his way by brute force, other attendees ahead catching on and quickly getting out of his way. He drove straight through the crowd, only further sowing confusion and alarm. People were catching on that something wasn’t right, now. They just weren’t sure what. Murmurs surrounded him as he ran.

“Look, he’s got him.”

“Someone finally caught him.”

“What’s going on?”

Other voices came too, louder, more commanding than the guests’.

Galapol.

“Hunter, stop. We’re going to commence arrest now.”

“Niko!”

Niko ran, ignoring them all. He was close to the exit doors, close to getting outside. If he could make it to the So?adora, he’d be golden.

It was, of course, easier said than done. Niko felt the transition, the slow change in mood as all around him agents caught on that he wasn’t helping, but rather defying. Aiding the very one he’d been sent to bring in.

Their voices turned to shouts, warning him to stop, warning him that if he kept going, he’d be considered uncooperative with the law. Warning him they would open fire.

He kept going anyway, hugging Kestrel close to himself. He was too far gone to stop now. He’d made his choice. Niko burst through the front doors and sprinted through the ship parking deck, Galapol hot on his heels now. The warnings ceased as they made true on their promise—bullets pinged off the back of Niko’s armor, some so uncomfortably close to his head that they grazed his hair. An explosive round detonated against the back of him and he stumbled but managed to right himself.

Niko kept running.

Nothing would ever be the same again.

He could never return from this.

Niko could see the ship in the distance, pushing himself with all that he had to cross the final distance. He made it, climbing inside and locking the door behind him. Bullets and explosive rounds pinged and crashed against the windshield and the sides, but the So?adora Despierta was the best out there for a bounty hunter. It deflected them all, taking the onslaught like a trooper.

Niko quickly sat Kestrel in the co-pilot’s seat, where the man slumped into himself. He didn’t look good, his skin outright ashen now. Niko would have to apply what bandages and pressure he could from the ship’s quaint med kit when they were clear of this place, but right now, he couldn’t afford the time.

He seized the flight controls and within seconds was airborne, the ship wobbling unsteadily under the rapid handling and sloppy, adrenaline-guided driving.

Niko took off at a reckless speed. The gates to the parking deck began drawing closed, likely at Galapol’s command.

He’d have mere seconds to make it out.

He pushed the ship even faster, their surroundings hurtling past them in the windshield, grateful for the credits he’d poured into speed modifications in years past. He was flying only on instinct now, twisting the ship and dodging other lazily floating vessels that were coming in to park.

Security bots, Galapol ships, and quick-responding hunters who’d made it to their own crafts were fast on his tail now. The huge metal gates of the deck drew further and further closed with each beat of Niko’s pulse, until only a small sliver of blue cloud beyond peeked through.

He floored it.

The So?adora hurtled through the last remaining sliver between the gates, just in time. In the rear cameras, he watched them slam closed, effectively trapping anyone who was still inside. That would buy him some time.

He had to think quickly. Kaapra-19 would be anything but safe now. Within hours, his apartment would probably be searched inside out, turned upside down. Galapol worked quickly.

He could never go home again.

Niko was only just now beginning to grasp the level of truly fucked he’d made himself today. He’d made an enemy of his only living brother, had allied himself with public enemy number one. But he couldn’t bear to have stood by while Zann killed Kestrel. Stopping that had been worth every consequence.

I’m sorry, Zann.

Niko knew where to go. There was a place from his old days hunting, a safehouse for people like him who needed to lay low with no questions asked.

He scrolled through his list of old, old contacts from another lifetime, one spent in and out of black markets and strange places, with even stranger allies.

He opened the man’s contact when he found it, the Gheroun’s name floating in bright holographic blue before him.

Niko put a call through to Baouban.

After a few rings, Baouban answered, his voice breathless and awed.

“Holy shit. Niko? Is that you?”

“Yeah. It’s me. Listen, Baou, I’m going to need your help with something.”

It had been over three years since Niko last saw Baouban. The man looked a little older, his posture more slouched, the folds around his three eyes deeper than Niko remembered. He still favored patterned button-up, human-styled shirts, though, wearing a blue one now with a scattering of little orange cats on it. He maneuvered up the ramp into Niko’s ship once it landed, already at the old safehouse and waiting, tentacles grasping his way up into the So?adora.

Baouban and Niko looked at each other. “Wow, it’s been a while. I really did think you might be dead.”

“Felt like it, sometimes,” Niko said. He didn’t have time for old introductions, though. “Did you bring the RapiGel?”

“Yeah. And a lot more.” Baouban held up a small briefcase. “Where’s he at?”

“On the bed in the back.” Niko was already moving. “I patched him up, put pressure on the entry and exit wounds. I think he has a bullet in him though. And he’s still bleeding out a lot.”

“We’ll get it taken care of,” Baouban said, moving after Niko. His bulk and dozen tentacles filled up most of the free space of the ship. They approached the bunk, which was built into a small nook in the wall, and Baouban sighed. “Look, I hate to say this, but this might work better if he’s on the floor. Do you have a towel or blanket?”

“Yeah, I’ll use the ones from the bunk,” Niko said. His chest ached. He moved towards Kestrel, lifting him with gloveless hands enough to pull the sheets and blankets out from under him. They were already soaked dark with blood, the scent of copper thin on the air.

Niko spread them out on the floor, then moved to take Kestrel. Baouban crowded in beside him, snaking out four tentacles to wrap around Kestrel’s legs. “I got it, let’s move him.”

Together, both men carried him to the center of the cabin, then laid him gently on the floor, face up. Niko tried not to think about how pale Kestrel had turned.

“Alright,” Baouban said, awkwardly moving into a crouch. “Where are we gonna…”

Silence hung thick in the small ship, every one of Baouban’s eyes going wide, each one focused on Kestrel’s face now. Niko thought he saw him turn a paler shade of green.

He may have neglected to mention on the call exactly who he’d needed emergency treatment for.

“No shit,” Baouban murmured. Niko swallowed back a lump in his throat.

“Yeah. It’s him.”

“No shit,” Baouban said again. He looked nervous, drawing back from the unconscious man lying on the floor as though Kestrel might injure him just by existing.

Niko shifted his weight. “We’re still good, right?”

“This is nuts. You’re damn lucky I always liked you, kid. We’re alright,” the Gheroun said. “Hey, good for you, though. I’m not surprised that if anyone could get him, it was you.”

Baouban unlatched the briefcase and began digging through it.

“Let’s start with this one,” Baouban said. He unscrewed the vial of RapiGel and, after slipping on a sterile tentacle cover, pulled away the blood-soaked bandage Niko had tied on and began carefully administering globs of the translucent green gel down into the entry wound in Kestrel’s shoulder. Niko winced, trying not to think of how painful and invasive having someone’s tentacle jammed in a raw wound had to be, and was glad Kestrel wasn’t conscious for it.

He watched as the gel quickly hardened, forming into a thick and rubbery bond inside, stopping more blood from coming out. RapiGel was the colloquial name for the sticky secretions of a specialized gland found only in an endangered creature called the Kanau-vaanat. Its magic lay in an enzyme which naturally stimulated the healing of soft tissues. The fact that it also quickly plugged open wounds and stopped continuous bleeding was only a bonus.

RapiGel was nothing short of a miracle, and every black market peddler knew it. Each drop of this was about to drain whatever Niko had left in his account. A premium service from Baouban. He figured it didn’t matter anymore—Galapol would have a freeze on all his accounts and assets by the end of the day anyway. May as well put it to a good use.

“Turn him over and hold him there,” Baouban instructed. Niko did, gingerly lifting Kestrel and turning him over onto his side, where Baouban applied RapiGel deep into the exit wound. A single hook-shaped, old scar ran up Kestrel’s right shoulder blade. Niko had noticed it when applying his own sloppy bandages on him and had had no choice but to cut off Kestrel’s shirt. He’d tried his best to clean the blood off him.

“We’ll hit the next one first, then finish these up with gel and stitches. The gel’s good, but stitches give it extra hold.”

Niko nodded. Baouban fished through his briefcase before extracting a long pair of bizarre-looking forceps designed for use with tentacles.

“You jacked him up pretty good,” Baouban said. “Guy kinda deserves it, though.”

The white lights of the ship were too harsh, the walls too cramped. Niko wished he could be anywhere else.

Baouban repositioned himself—a notable feat, given the Gheroun’s size and what little space there was for him in the ship’s cabin—and unceremoniously plunged the forceps into the bullet wound at Kestrel’s ribs. Niko tensed. “Get ready with some of those sheets.”

He dug around with the forceps and Niko could hear metal on metal. Baouban started talking, his tone buoyant, like this was an everyday occurrence. For all Niko knew, it probably was.

“So, you back to working with Galapol now?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“It’s good to see you back, kid. You used to be the talk of the town once. Everybody was confused when you up and vanished. What happened?”

“I, uh,” Niko hesitated. “I finally caught the guy I wanted to catch. The one who got me into hunting in the first place.”

“Right, I remember you telling me about that guy. Well, what brought you back? It’s been years.”

“Galapol is desperate. They called me in, asking if I could take Kestrel down. They’re throwing everything they can to see what works.”

“Yep. Well, they found something. You. Everybody wanted their chance at him. I heard even the Legend is back from retirement trying to take this guy down,” Baouban said. He huffed in frustration. “Bullet’s being stubborn. I’ve almost got it, but it keeps worming deeper. Gotta be careful not to tear anything.”

Niko swallowed back a swell of rising bile at the thought.

He made himself ask it. “Do you think he’s going to make it?”

“Oh, sure,” Baouban said. “Didn’t hit anything vital, it looks like. Lucky for you. Bounty’s higher when you bring ‘em in alive. I’ve patched up dozens of guys worse off than this in my years. He lost some blood but he’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

“So, you back in the game now? People are gonna be real happy to hear about you.”

“I don’t know. This was kind of a special case.”

“Well, at least go let Lady D know you’re still kicking. She was especially vexed when you disappeared.”

Niko forced a wan smile. The former hunter everyone called Lady Death was someone he owed favors to and never had the chance to let her collect on. Of course she wasn’t going to be thrilled he had left that world behind—whether through retirement or the permanency of death. Letting her know he was back wasn’t Niko’s particularly favorite idea.

People tended not to like when their debts weren’t paid up.

“Got you, you son of a Toliai,” Baouban grunted, prying the bloodied bullet out of Kestrel. “Sheets.”

Niko didn’t have to be told twice. He rushed to press a fistful of sheets over the wound, fresh blood welling up from it now that the bullet had been freed. The whole ship smelled like copper now; it permeated everything. Niko’s hands were slick with blood.

“Alright, when I say ready, let him go,” Baouban said. A moment later, he hovered in again with the vial of RapiGel. “Ready.”

Niko let go and the Gheroun closed the gap, administering a dab of antiseptic before stuffing globs of the gel compound straight down into the wound. Several seconds later and the flow of blood stopped as the gel solidified within Kestrel.

“Stitches time.”

“I miss it,” Niko admitted as he watched Baouban start threading a suture now. How he managed to do such careful work without fingers always perplexed Niko. He realized he was sweating and wiped his forehead. “I’ve been missing it the whole time. Life isn’t really the same without hunting. It’s like I’ve just been sleepwalking.”

“You’re not the first guy I’ve heard say something like that,” Baouban said. “They try to leave the life behind, thinking peace and stability will be waiting for them on the other side. But all they get is emptiness. Most of ‘em go back. In the end, the dark market is always waiting.”

Niko didn’t comment, and Baouban spoke again. “You’ll always have a place here, Niko.” Once stitches were finished, Baouban slathered on another coating of RapiGel. He wrapped a fresh layer of clean bandages around Kestrel’s shoulder and ribs. And then he was done, sitting back on his tentacles.

“Thanks, Baou,” Niko said, relief washing over him. Kestrel wasn’t going to die. “Bill me whatever you need.”

“Just don’t forget me when you cash in that big bounty,” Baouban joked—or maybe he didn’t. The man was loyal until the end, but he still, as any denizen of the black market, had a special love for money. “Turn him over again.”

Niko gently turned Kestrel onto his side again so that Baouban had access to the fresh bandages over the exit wounds, but the other man ignored them entirely. Instead, the Gheroun seized Kestrel’s arms and bent them behind him, then produced a cable tie from his briefcase and pulled it tight around his wrists, binding them. It dug into his skin.

Niko froze.

Baouban scooted himself towards Kestrel’s legs now, gripping another cable tie.

“What are you doing?” Niko blurted out before he could think better of it.

Baouban paused, turning to eye Niko oddly. “You don’t want him running off on you or trying anything when he wakes up. Don’t give him that chance.”

The idea of Kestrel waking up somewhere unknown to him, bound and unable to move, sinking rapidly into panic and despair made Niko’s chest ache. He couldn’t help himself. It was probably smarter to let Baouban keep his assumptions, but the truth would be all over the news within hours anyway, if it wasn’t already.

“Baou,” Niko said. “No. Not like that.” He pulled a jackknife from his utility belt and sawed the tight binding from Kestrel’s wrists. It had already left a faint, red indent on the delicate veined skin.

Baouban stared at him, unmoving, heavy silence filling the small ship. Niko felt the other man’s gaze on him as he was looked up and down. Then Baouban merely shrugged, tucking the extra cable tie away back into his briefcase.

“Okay, sure. Whatever floats your spaceship. I won’t ask questions.”

They cleaned up together in silence, and Niko paid the bill. As he expected, it drained most of what he’d had left from years’ worth of savings, for the combination of a week at the safehouse and Baouban’s premium services. Niko saw his rates had increased significantly since he’d last worked with the Gheroun—or maybe Baouban was just double-charging him for giving the galaxy’s most wanted secret safe harbor. In the end, Niko didn’t care. He got what he needed, and no one would keep a secret like Baouban would. The man charged a hefty price and always had, but the cost earned an unbreakable trust. And a relief that Niko needed right now.

“Pleasure doing business with you again, Niko,” Baouban said once he’d packed up his briefcase again and moved to the door of the ship. He extended a tentacle, which Niko shook. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks again, Baou. I’ll take care of the place.”

“You were always good for that,” Baouban said. “You get a week. I can’t guarantee protection for you after that.”

“Got it.”

The other man left, his ship ascending—with a small and friendly wave—past the view from Niko’s windshield, and Niko was left with a silence he hadn’t realized he’d needed. He exhaled slowly, looking down at his bare hands. They were covered in dried blood.

He moved to the back compartment of the ship where Kestrel still lay, towards the tiny corner bathroom to wash them, catching his reflection in the mirror as he did. His forehead was smeared with blood, too, where he’d wiped at it. The man who stared back at him looked tired and a little lost: dark shadows under his eyes, a scattering of bruises, dark bronze skin turned paler now.

Hands clean, Niko moved back to where Kestrel lay, looking down at him. He was quiet and still, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing the only movement to him. He didn’t look peaceful. He looked worn down—far worse than Niko, even—with dark circles under his blond lashes, and skin an ashen white with loss of blood. Unruly strands of gold hung limp in his face.

Niko knelt and picked him up, gently as he could to not aggravate the wounds, and carried him down the ramp and outside of the ship. He was tired, but the weight felt good in his arms. The scents of petrichor and wood filled the air, towering blue-leafed trees half as thick as houses swallowing up the back of the small, simple cabin that stood before them. It was a rule to park around back—it kept the ship hidden from sight in the unlikely case anyone happened by.

Niko carried Kestrel around to the front, struggling to reach for the doorknob. The old, wooden sign still hung on the front door, same as it always had, though faded now from the elements.

WELCOME HOME, it said.