Hunter – Mark Bilsborough

Hunter

by Mark Bilsborough

Kyle Hunter had been miserable ever since they’d left Earth orbit. Maybe it was the body count. Three so far and probably more to come. Or maybe it was the moral ambiguity. He hated moral ambiguity.

He cracked his knuckles and stared at the wall. Follow the chain, secure the line. Easy. Except someone else was following the chain too, and link by link it was breaking. He’d had a feeling this one was going to go wrong.

His employer was a rich guy whose son was dying, only kept alive by a rare and valuable drug which shouldn’t exist at all. Then the supplier turned up with a hole in his head. And when the guy next up in the chain was spotted face down in the river, the rich guy panicked and called in Kyle.

The chain led to this ship, a leisure cruiser on the slow route to Solaria. He spent ten long and uneventful days watching the guy eat, get drunk every night, and try to pick up women. Then on the eleventh, he started getting twitchy. Kyle was sitting at a table in a dark corner of a bar. The guy was at the counter. He took a call from someone. Odd, because nobody could call from outside the ship, and the guy was traveling alone.

Then the guy ran out into the corridor. Kyle was quickly out of his seat but the bar was full and he couldn’t get through. He cursed at his stupidity. His instincts were off, probably because he was bored. Always stand between the mark and the door. Always.

Ten minutes later the guy floated past the aft portholes. He wasn’t wearing a space suit.

That was two days ago, which had left Kyle plenty of time to wonder why a routine seek and find assignment was throwing up so many dead people.

The ship’s background hum shifted slightly. They were about to dock.

The security line was a long one. Kyle found himself deep in conversation with a small round woman with an animated face and a beaming smile. In truth, he had things to think about and plans to make, but the woman wanted to talk and Kyle was happy to let her.

“ID,” said the border guard, looking past Kyle’s left shoulder and frowning. Kyle smiled at him. The guy looked like he was having a bad day.

“I think my good friend Vera here was first. You have a nice day now, Vera. And don’t forget to give those grandkids of yours a big hug.” He winked for effect.

Vera’s smile was infectious. By the time Kyle took his place at the head of the line the guard had softened enough for full eye contact.

“Such a nice lady, don’t you think?” Kyle said. “Here to see her family. She had photos. So cuuute.”

The guard barely looked at the ID as he passed it through the reader. “Welcome to Solaria,” he said, already looking past Kyle to the next man in line. A light flicked from red to green, and he was through.

He waited for his luggage to catch up. The station was old, practically antique, and by the sound of the wheezing coming from the luggage platform’s antigrav, full of junk way past its use by date. Kyle sniffed the air. Dry, stale and old, with the unmistakable harshness of a million recyclings. Its filters were failing too, he thought, probably well past their specified lifespans.

He walked down the metal ramp in the centre of the crowded chamber. He made the call.

“Boss,” said Suarez, in his implant.

“Bar in thirty,” Kyle said and closed down the link.

Suarez got there first. Kyle spotted her as soon as he walked in. She was sitting at a bar stool, and some guy was hitting on her. Kyle wasn’t surprised: she got that sort of attention everywhere, despite the fact that she appeared hard enough to crack rocks just by looking at them. Maybe that was the appeal. Dyed-red spiky hair, tight leather, and Angels’ gang tattoos didn’t do it for Kyle, but he guessed some men would warm to the challenge. Some women, too. Certainly with Suarez on the team, life was never dull.

Kyle sidled up to the bar and took his seat two stools down from the guy, with Suarez on the opposite side. He caught her eye and winked.

He was on his second drink when the guy finally left, alone. Suarez moved on up. “I’m supposed to meet him later, on his yacht. Can’t wait.” She rolled her eyes.

“Be nice, Suarez,” said Kyle.

“He wants to take me down to the planet. To see the aliens. Apparently they’re quite cute. Clever, too.”

“Yeah, well, they’re supposed to be off limits,” said Kyle. “Not that that ever stops you.”

“There might be a connection between the aliens and the guy we’re looking for. Seems unlikely, but that’s what I hear.”

“You found him yet?”

Suarez gestured to the barman, who brought over a beer. It was bottled, some fancy South American import. Kyle was always astounded that sort of thing could travel so far and sell so cheap. “Not quite.” Suarez took a deep swig. “But he’s here.”

“He’s left traces?”

“No traces.”

“Then how can you tell he’s here? You psychic?”

Suarez was amused. “Because he left no traces,” she continued, swigging her beer again. Two swigs, one empty bottle. She gestured for another.

“So where is he?”

Suarez looked sheepish. “Working on it.”

“So. We’re going to have to do this the old fashioned way then.”

“Excellent,” said Suarez, draining her drink.

“Starting with checking the ships’ manifest. Who’s loaded what, and when.”

“Not so excellent. That sounds dull.”

“Depends how we do the checking,” said Kyle. “And what we find when we do.”

They headed for the station director’s office.

“Yes?” The girl looked bored. She didn’t look up. They were in a large antechamber, furnished with expensive-looking wooden furniture, fancy pictures, and silk hangings in delicate shades of crimson and russet. Beyond the girl’s overlarge desk were carved, oak doors. She was partially hidden behind a potted plant, reading something on a hand-screen. Everything looked new, brightly lit, and freshly painted, right down to the streak of red across the girl’s lips and the bright white streaks in her jet black hair.

“We’d like to see the station director,” said Kyle. Suarez was shifting impatiently from foot to foot next to him.

The girl leaned back in her seat, looked him up and down, glanced sideways at Suarez, and then went back to her screen. She was young and hot, and Kyle just knew she was more interested in chewing her gum than helping him out. “Not happening.”

He sighed. Suarez tensed. He considered smiling but you needed eye contact for that and besides, she was young; therefore he was invisible. Kyle held Suarez back gently with his hand. “I’m here on behalf of station control,” he said. “The director asked for our help.”

She looked up. “Unlikely for two reasons,” she said. “First, he never asks for help. He doesn’t need it. And second I don’t know about it. And I know everything.” She looked down again.

“You’re very sure of yourself, Miss. . .”

“You don’t need to know my name. ”

“Miss Paula Kendrie. At least that’s what your name plate says.”

She peered at her hand-screen. “And according to this you’re Mr. Carson Yeung. At least that’s what the ID you passed through security says. Trouble is, the bioscan I’ve just done on you says you’re Kyle Hunter. Now what am I to believe?”

Kyle shrugged. “If you know who I am you know I need to see the director.”

She looked as though she was about to say something else, but then Kyle heard a click and the great oak doors swung open. A small man in a dark blue suit poked his head out.

“I’ll take it from here, Paula.”

And they were in.

Ronan Prentiss was a short, stocky man in an expensive suit. He was sweating. Kyle guessed his bulk was flab, not muscle. Maybe he was used to zero gee and he was finding the artificial gravity tough. Maybe he was just fat.

Prentiss smiled and held out his hand. “Mr. Hunter. Always a pleasure to get a visit from Control. And Miss?”

Hunter took the proffered hand and Prentiss turned to Suarez. Kyle could see the effort she was making to force a smile.

“His assistant.” Suarez stared at him hard.

Prentiss kept eye contact and silently assessed her for a few seconds before gesturing for them to sit down on a large, blue sofa. Prentiss sat close, on a matching armchair. Kyle looked around. The room was a real contrast to the rest of the station. It was big, for one thing, whereas everything else he’d seen had looked crammed and busy. This place wasn’t busy. It was serene and gently air-conditioned with none of the staleness that pervaded the rest of the station. He wondered how Prentiss managed that. Expensive air filters, probably. The whole place was newly decorated, certainly, with some fine pictures on the wall and opulent furniture artfully scattered in all the right places. He wondered how much it all cost.

They exchanged small talk, as if they were on a social call. Kyle looked around, following where his bionics told him the hidden cameras and recording devices were. It was idle curiosity, really. He would have been surprised if he hadn’t found any. Still, he was slightly alarmed at the extent and sophistication of the devices he was discovering. A look at Suarez suggested she was feeling the same.

And then Prentiss was ready to talk. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Hunter?”

“You’ve probably guessed we’re on a security mission.”

Prentiss nodded and smiled. Kyle waved airily. “Just routine. We’re checking out the movements to and from the station.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “We think there might be people passing through the station who really shouldn’t be, if you know what I mean. Criminals, and illegals, looking for a new life on Minerva.”

Prentiss sat back in mock shock. “Surely not, I mean, how would they get past our border patrols?”

“I did,” said Kyle. “Or at least Carson Yeung did.”

“Point taken,” said Prentiss. “My office is at your disposal, of course. What can I do to help?”

“Thank you, but we can handle it. This is a courtesy call. Naturally, we’ll let you know if we find anything.”

They got up to leave. At the door Kyle turned. “Oh, one thing you could help us with. Cargo manifests for the last two weeks. Probably useless but we’ve got to be thorough, right?”

Paula Kendrie was filing her nails as they passed her desk. She didn’t smile.

“What was that about?” said Suarez as they headed down the corridor.

“Switch to English,” said Kyle. She nodded. “We can’t assume this place isn’t rigged for audio. Actually we can assume it is, judging by the level of the surveillance equipment in Prentiss’s office. Seeing Prentiss means we’re tagged now.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Inevitable. Besides, we’ve got our target now.”

“Yeah he does kind of flaunt it. Don’t suppose we’ll get the cargo manifests off him though.”

Kyle shook his head. “Oh, we’ll get them all right. Suitably doctored, of course. That should confirm things.” He smiled. “I can’t believe we’ve been so lucky. I mean, there I go, hoping to get some help from the station director to catch the bad guys and turns out he probably is the bad guy.”

“Easy money, Boss.”

Kyle stopped walking. “One thing I’ve learned, Suarez. It’s never easy.”

Kyle needed to think, so he left Suarez to work though the manifests and headed for the observation deck. Because the station was rotating, it looked like the great crimson ball of Minerva was spinning around him, over his head and back round past his feet. That was unnerving, and probably explained why he was the only person on the deck. He got himself a coffee from the automated dispenser and sat on a bench facing the window.

Kyle wondered if he should be protecting Prentiss. After all, he needed him alive, if only so that he could follow him to whoever was next up the chain. He must be near the source now. To get so far only to fail would be frustrating.

The drug was medicinal, using a substance discovered twenty years ago. The team who presented it to the world wouldn’t say what the source was, only that it was extremely rare. Everybody assumed it probably came from whatever was left of the Amazon rainforest, but the secretive team of scientists wasn’t around any more to confirm that because they’d all died in a plane crash.

Life, the media had called the drug, for that’s what it was. Unexpected plane crashes aside, Life seemed to stop whatever you were dying from in its tracks. It was a cell-regenerating, anti-viral, age-defying miracle.

And, until he was contacted to do this job, he believed it had been lost along with the scientists. Gradually people forgot about the drug that briefly promised the impossible. But some supplies were clearly getting through from somewhere. Why would anyone want to prevent that?

In the still of the observation deck, a butterfly floated past. He was astounded. They were extinct, or at least they were on Earth. He watched, fascinated, as it darted about looking, it seemed, for a way to escape. It was beautiful, an iridescent mix of pale blue and gold, shimmering on tiny wings. But it was fragile, too, and its flight was panicky and futile.

Climate change and pesticides had killed off the butterflies. But they weren’t the only reasons for species removal on Earth. He remembered reading that people used to use tigers penises and rhinoceros horns in traditional Chinese medicine. Now there were no tigers or rhinos left.

He began to get an uneasy feeling about the source of Life.

Suarez was asleep when Kyle got to the suite they’d rented for the mission. Actually “suite” was a serious case of overselling. But it had beds, chairs, a desk for Suarez to do her stuff and, something Kyle thought was particularly important at this juncture, a mini-bar.

“All that hard work worn you out?”

She stretched and yawned. “Just taking a well-deserved nap.”

“You were snoring,” he said, getting out a couple of beers. He passed one to Suarez.

“Yeah, well, we’ve kind of cracked this one, don’t you think? All we have to do is catch our guy in the act. And I’ve got that one sorted too.”

Kyle wasn’t smiling. “We’re missing something here. This is too easy.”

“Yeah, well, easy or not, there’s something in Bay Thirteen that you should take a look at. A shipment, waiting for pickup.”

“From the contact?”

“The one who got spaced? The very same. I’ve got a time too. You need to be there in twenty minutes.”

Kyle shook his head. “Haven’t you noticed that there are security cameras covering every inch of the station? Wasn’t it you who told me that in the first place? We’d never get anywhere close.”

“Good job you’ve got a computer genius on the team who can hack the station’s security systems and subvert all the camera feeds then.”

“Can you really do that?”

“Done it.”

“Then I’m on my way.”

Suarez stayed in the room on the monitors and the comms. Kyle went alone. He had no weapons. He could have sneaked some through security—hell, he could have sneaked a tank through Solaria’s security—but he chose not to. Guns only lead to trouble, Kyle thought. More than that, they make you lazy. You think you’re invincible whereas in reality you’re the same bag of flesh and bones you always were. No, not carrying a gun keeps you sharp.

The door gave with a slight tug of equalising pressure and a low hiss of onrushing air as atmosphere from the station drifted into the thinner mix in the bay. It was cold in there. Normal for a cargo hold, of course, but there was something else about this chill.

The lights took a few seconds to come up to full illumination, and at first, Kyle could only see piles of unopened storage crates neatly stacked against the far wall. Then as his eyes adjusted he noticed something else. A body, slumped against the crates.

Whoever it was had half his face missing. Messy. He knew their boy must enjoy his work, judging from the amount of mayhem he’d caused, but this was just distasteful. Kyle looked away.

And then, the cargo bay got mighty crowded. Director Prentiss stood at the doorway in full silhouette, flanked by four security guards carrying very big guns. A set up, thought Kyle, just like he’d expected. One guard is precautionary, two is comprehensive, three is paranoia but four? Four is a tip-off.

Prentiss ambled forward, stopping inches from Kyle’s face. “You’re being arrested for the murder of whoever this is. But you know that, right?”

He turned to his men. “Take him away.”

Kyle was led to a small, grey, featureless room with a plain table in the middle. On one side was a comfortable chair which Prentiss sat in. On the other was a stool which the guards pushed Kyle onto. He tried his implant and cursed when he got nothing but static. The guards left the room.

Kyle smiled. “Aren’t you worried I’m going to lean across the table and take you out?”

Prentiss smiled back and leaned forward, prodding the air between them with his finger. It shimmered with the unmistakeable sheen of a force field. “No. You’re going to kill yourself in a minute Mr. Hunter. Nasty business. Not a lot I could do about it sitting over here. I guess I’m just going to have to watch you die. Could be painful, could be not. Depends.”

“On?”

“How co-operative you are.” He leaned back, as if contemplating which question he should ask. “Who are you working for?”

Kyle smiled. “You know I’m not going to tell you that.”

Prentiss looked vacantly through him, and Kyle guessed that he was activating something with his implant. The air in Kyle’s part of the room started to get noticeably thinner. “Are you sure?”

Kyle shifted uncomfortably. “I’m freelance. Following a trail. To you.”

“Me?”

“We both know what you’re doing.”

Prentiss laughed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The air started to get thinner still. “You obviously want to die the painful way.”

“I’m not keen on dying at all. Look. Why would I kill the guy in the cargo bay then stand over the body? And what did I kill him with? I wasn’t carrying a gun or you would have found it on me.”

“You stashed it somewhere, obviously.”

“Did I? Don’t you have video footage of me entering the room, without a gun? Come to that, don’t you have footage of me in the room, finding him dead?”

“No. The cameras in the room malfunctioned. I need you to tell me how you managed that.”

Kyle was having difficulty breathing. “Half right, Prentiss,” he gasped. “Someone is killing everyone in your distribution chain. But it’s not me.”

Kyle could hear sounds from outside the room. Prentiss turned, distracted. Something thudded to the floor. Then Kyle heard a gunshot, and another. And then the lights went out.

The door opened. The corridor was dark too, but faint emergency strips gave off a low sullen glow. As Prentiss shifted in his chair, a small round figure walked in, picked up the gun lying on the table, and looked at it as if not quite knowing which end to point.

And then she sliced a neat hole in the back of his head.

Vera. She glanced over at Kyle and smiled, nodded her head and walked out the way she’d come in, casually dropping the gun on the floor.

The lights went back on. And the force screen was down. “Suarez!” he called through his implant as he ran down the corridor. He almost tripped over one of the guards lying dead on the ground—Vera’s work, he guessed. He felt the familiar static pulse. With Prentiss dead his implant was operational again.

“Boss!”

“No time. I need to you close down all movement off this station. I don’t even want a maintenance drone leaving.”

Suarez whistled. “That’s some major league hacking you’re asking for.”

“You’re always telling me you like a challenge.” The contact went dead for a few seconds.

“Done.”

“Okay so all movement on and off the ship is stopped.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Then how would you get off?”

She hesitated before replying. “I’d head for the hangar they keep the private yachts in. Of course I’ve already disabled them. Apart from the one about to dock, that is.”

“Hangar doors?”

“Closed.”

Kyle cursed.

“Overridden,” said Suarez. “You should have faith.”

“Where?”

“Deck five. You’re right on top of it.”

Kyle dived into the nearest elevator. He was out of breath when he got to the hangar. The doors were partially open, and Kyle could see a white pleasure yacht hovering outside. Vera stood in the middle of the vast open hangar space, looking up at the stars.

“Fascinating isn’t it, the way that it looks as though we’re completely exposed to space. And yet a little screen of force is keeping all that nasty hard vacuum out there and keeping us safe and warm in here.”

“You’re the killer.”

“Yes. They deserved it, I guess. Though my employers didn’t much care what happened to them as long as the shipments stopped.”

Kyle nodded. “They won’t stop, you know. Whoever is handling things down on the planet will set up another distribution chain.”

“Yes but I’m following things back to their source, remember?”

The hangar doors were almost completely open now and the yacht began its slow glide through the force screen and onto the deck. It large, sleek and white, modelled after the old sailing ships it was named after.

“Do you know what they extract the drug from, Hunter?”

Kyle shook his head. “Plant. Rock. Dunno.”

“From the spinal cords of the intelligent life form down there. It’s a painful process. They keep them alive and in agony for days until they’re eventually sucked dry. Then they let them die, and they go to find another victim.”

Kyle was still absorbing that when his implant pinged.

“Movement, Boss. From the other hangar.”

“I thought you had it all shut down?”

“This is on a separate circuit. Put in for the Director. Just in case.”

“But he’s dead.”

Vera winked as she boarded her yacht. Kyle looked on, thought about small trusting aliens dying in agony, and decided to let her go.

In Prentiss’s escape flyer, Paula Kendrie settled back and let calm soothing music wash over her. It was a setback, to be sure. But there were other ways to get the shipment off planet. Working close to Prentiss so she could get his executive system access codes had been useful but let’s face it, Prentiss was an ass, and the station was boring. She missed being close to the action. She enjoyed seeing the look of incomprehension on those little alien faces as her guys held them down so she could plunge the needle into their weedy little backs.

And because she was drifting off to sleep she didn’t notice Vera’s yacht creep up slowly behind her.

Mark writes Science Fiction and increasingly weird things surrounded by fields, foxes, and pheasants in the middle of rural England.

 

Hunter - Mark Bilsborough, 4.3 out of 5 based on 8 ratings