Bounty Hunt, Expanded
Polishing a rough-cut story
Many, many thanks to everyone who left constructive feedback on the previous version of this story.
Special thanks are due to
and : the former who copied the story into a word document and left detailed grammatical edits, and the latter who left detailed and constructive feedback in the comments. I am grateful to all of you who read and comment and I hope this second pass satisfies any unanswered questions from the previous iteration.I learned a LOT from revising this project and honestly enjoyed expanding on this world. I hope this is polished enough to stand on it’s own, but if you have any additional feedback, please do not hesitate! I don’t think I will make a third pass at this story—but rather, I will try and take any feedback with me into a future story.
Please enjoy!
Rymund Jones took a deep breath and counted to five. “You gotta help us, Jeevers. This was the agreement!” He pointed forcefully with his hands: “We get the goods, you fence them. We talked about this. You paid us an advance.”
Jeevers shook his head and tried to close his shop, but PR206 held the security gate open. “Look f-f-fellas you’re in over your head. I-I-I want to help, you know, but I c-c-can’t.”
“Will you at least tell us why not? It’s not like this is our first rodeo.”
“Oh, this is g-g-gonna be. You rookies, do you even know whose c-c-cargo was on that freighter? Do you even know what you stole? You don’t p-p-pay attention, Ry, you’re still acting like a small-time c-c-crook.”
“What? We stole mining supplies. Who is gonna come after mining supplies. The Union won’t even notice they are missing. It’s the perfect crime!”
“Ry, you’re n-n-not hearing me man!” Jeevers pleaded. “You knocked over a prison c-c-colony supply freighter, you know what that means? You’re reckless, stupid, c-c-confound it, man!” he slapped the table in frustration. “I c-c-can’t believe I helped you. Stupid Jeevers!”
“What? Prison colony, so what?”
“You’re on th-th-the List!”
My blood ran cold. “How? How do they know it was us?”
“Those p-p-prison sh-sh-ships man, they are f-f-filled with surveillance. How c-c-could they not know it was you?”
“How long ago was it posted?”
“I only s-s-saw yesterday, I don’t know. You g-g-guys gotta get outta here, man, please.”
“What are we gonna do with all this stuff? You’re our fence Jeevers!”
“T-t-tough luck, Ry.”
“See if we ever come to you when you need help, Jeevers,” I sneered.
PR206 released the gate and Jeevers slammed it shut with a metallic clang.
I looked at Peter and picked up the handle to one of the crate-carts. “We gotta go.”
Peter announced: “Cruising speed achieved. Destination is unspecified. Rymund, can we talk about what happened? This was not the plan. Now we still have the crates, and we don’t have the money to resupply.”
“We’re on the List, Peter. We’ll be lucky to sell anything at this point.”
“How do we get off the List?”
“We die, or we fake our deaths.”
“That does not compute.”
I laughed, “No, no it does not. We need to find a place we can fence this stuff. Is there a system in range?”
Peter’s eye-lights flickered for a moment while he made calculations. “Shastan is both close and a known fence-post.”
“Good call, we can disappear there pretty easily. Is there any bounty hunter activity nearby?”
More calculations.
“There are three.”
“Ok? Lay ‘em on me.”
“The farthest is Zebulon the Destroyer.”
“Hm. He could be problematic. He seems to like private contracts, we probably don’t have to worry about him.”
“Next is TR-4K.”
“Less good. He is relentless. Sometimes he brings people in alive though? Maybe you can reason with him as a fellow droid.”
“The closest is Black Zaelland.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What name was that?”
“Black Zaelland.”
“Oh no. Oh, that’s not good.”
“What do you know about Black Zaelland?”
“I know nothing about Black Zaelland, other than what I’ve heard. Some people say he’s a droid, some people say he’s human. Do you know what he does to people?”
“No.”
“I do.” I shuddered. “No, we do not want Black Zaelland on our tail. Are there any other fence-posts besides Shastan?”
“Not close. We might be able to make it as far as Dismaan, but it is a stretch.”
“We need to be quick on Shastan OK? Let’s get there and find a willing fence and get the heck out and as far away as possible.”
“Understood.”
Our ship was small, and cramped. The sleeping bunks were embedded into the walls immediately behind the bridge. Peter had a full charge and was navigating while he worked out details and logistics of our excursion to Shastan. I tried to get some sleep, but sleep did not come easy. The low orange glow of the flight console gave the ship an eerie feel. I looked out the cockpit at the stars drifting by and tried to count them.
I am back home on Justan III. I am waiting at the spaceport for my dad to come home from a business trip. I see a ship careen out of the sky and land heavily, sliding across the landing pad with sparks flying. A second ship—a black ship—descends calmly after and lands nearby. I see a man clamber out of the first ship—it is burning. He crawls out—his clothes are on fire. He rolls around and shrieks. He’s trying desperately to put out the flames. A black silhouette walks casually towards him from the black ship. The man doesn’t see him. The black silhouette—backed by the fire of the burning first ship—steps on the man. The man struggles against him but can’t move. The black silhouette kneels on his chest and leans close. My mother covers my eyes. “Don’t look, dear,” she whispers. Even from the spaceport, I could hear the man’s screams. “Don’t look.” I fight my mothers hand and get one last glance—I see the black silhouette dragging the man back to his ship, by the hand. A long, red, streak of blood trailing behind him. My mother turns me around and we walk away.
I woke up with a start—my heart pounded in my chest. I looked over at Peter—still piloting diligently. He didn’t acknowledge my outburst. He never has.
I allowed myself a moment of relief, despite the lack of sleep. “Good job, Peter, on finding that fence. That’s probably as good a take as we can get on that junk.”
“Orders executed as requested.”
“Oh you’re just being humble. Let’s grab a drink and a bite before we get the heck out of here.”
Peter nodded.
We approached some dismal looking bar. It had a wrap-around front porch, paint peeling off the wood-panels outside. The building was shaped like it used to be a general store.
There was a sparse crowd within. Fence-post bars were never places to be perfectly at ease nor entirely on edge. If you weren’t a regular it was better to just get in and get out.
“Whiskey, double, neat.” I say to the barkeeper, taking my seat.
He slid the glass expertly in front of me. “Tab?”
“No, cash.” I said.
“Your droid want anything?”
I looked over at Peter, he shook his head. “He’s fine, thank you.”
I held the spirit up to my nose and inhaled the toxic fumes. The first sip was like lightning—it warmed by body from the inside out, and cooled my nerves, which were frayed and exhausted.
I felt the door open behind me and a chill crawled up my spine. I saw the reflection in the glass—the black silhouette of a man in a helmet with a cape.
I reflexively dove across the bar and pulled Peter over with me. The bounty hunter started firing without any discussion.
Panic. I was hyperventilating. I couldn’t see straight. Peter put a hand on my shoulder, I looked at his eye-lights. “How did he find us?” I sputtered shakily.
Footsteps crunched on splinters and broken glass. I caught a glimpse of his gun as he peered over the edge of the bar. I pushed Peter forward and shouted “GO!”
Shots rang out as we ran down the bar and jumped back over. We ran past some tables and Peter jumped through the window. I followed after, barely registering the broken glass, and we ran towards our ship.
I couldn’t breathe, but I managed to shout, “Get to the ship, Peter! Go!”
Peter nodded and surged forward. I looked behind me—the dark figure was walking calmly towards me, his cape billowing behind him. I started zigging and zagging across the road, trying not to make an easy target—laser bolts flew past me, I could feel their heat on my skin as they went by. Too close.
I saw the engines of my ship flare to life. 100 yards… I told myself. I turn around and I saw the bounty hunter begin to run. Oh god oh god.
Peter had already started taking off and was an inch off the ground when I jumped onto the ramp.
“CLOSE THE DOOR, PETER!”
The bounty hunter paused and took out a long rifle.
“CLOSE THE DOOR!” My voice cracked in terror.
The ramp slowly eased shut. I heard a heavy impact on the other side of the door.
I lay there on the ground and hyperventilated. I am so tired.
I was quiet a long while. I let Peter fly wherever he decided to take us.
“What’s our status, Peter?” I asked from the floor of the ramp.
Peter’s electronic voice crackled to life. “We are cruising in interstellar space. Destination: Unspecified. Sublight fuel: 75%. Superluminal fuel: 2 Jumps. Food storage: Empty. Rymund, we need a plan.”
I sighed. I picked myself up off the ground and held my head in my hands. “I know. I know. And we have to act fast—if it’s not him it could be one of the others.”
“It is him.”
“You think I don’t know!” I shouted. In my anger I rose to my feet. “I know it is him. We have to lose him. OK?” I took a deep breath, and walked up to take my seat in the co-pilot chair.
“Where can we get to?”
Peter paused, his lights flickering. “There are six systems two jumps or less from our present location. The farthest is Dismaan.”
“Dismaan is no good, too civilized. If he doesn’t find us, others would and quickly. I’m looking for a low-development system, maybe a remote outpost, a mining colony, anything.”
“The Gaaban system has a workers colony. Gaaban IV.”
“Let’s try it. We will stay there long enough to refuel and get supplies, and then we’ll make our way to the Angel Nebula and sell our ship and try to disappear.”
“What if he follows us?”
“Let’s just get to Gaaban IV. Maybe we lost him. We rolled the dice and walked right under his nose. Maybe we were just a target of opportunity.”
“I do not think we are his top priority target.”
“Right, exactly. That kind of optimism is why I pay you the big bucks, Peter.”
“You do not pay me any—”
“It’s a joke.”
“Oh.”
Gaaban IV was an asteroid-based facility. The space station clung to the rock, and the spaceport was at the end of a giant arm, which counterrotated against the asteroids rotation so it always faced the sun. It was dark—the star Gaaban was red, dim, and distant. It was perfect, just the kind of uncivilized haunt that we could disappear into.
We set our ship down and the docking bay dilated closed and pressurized around it. Then we exited the ship and were met by a customs officer.
“We have no shipments scheduled for today, what’s your business here?”
“We are low on fuel and supplies,” I said, making a big show of courtesy. “If we can impose on your hospitality, we would like to rest and resupply, and then we will be on our way. We know your time and resources are precious. We don’t want to cause any inconvenience.”
“Can you pay?”
“Yes.”
The officer scoffed. “Fine. You’ve got one day.”
“Thank you, officer.”
The officer made me sign some forms and then lumbered away, leaving us to make our plan. “Quartermaster first, then rest?” I asked Peter.
Peter nodded.
“Let’s go.”
The halls of the space station were quiet and dark. There were windows—the sun (and the spaceport) rose and set every 45 minutes, giving an eerie red glow and surprisingly quickly moving shadows. Our footsteps echoed, and few individuals we passed bothered to look up to acknowledge us. It was a hard living on an outpost like this. I found myself counting how much time we had left before we could leave. But there was some safety in the misanthropy of this place. No one asked questions. No one cared who we were.
We had already found the Quartermaster and fueled up, so it was time for our rest. I let Peter charge first, and I was restless, so I decided to walk the halls.
I gravitated toward bars—places I could be invisible, I guess. But there were no bars on this station, parasitically attached to this asteroid. Nevertheless, there were places for congregation. There was a view room where one could watch the sun set and rise and set again. I found an empty seat in a quiet corner, I pulled my hood over my head, and sat down.
What are we going to do, I asked myself. The List is a death sentence. How could I have been so foolish? Peter doesn’t deserve this. Maybe he can escape and I can lead Black Zaelland on a goose chase. I’ve got enough money to last a while…
Futile thoughts, all. I shook my head and tried not to think about it, and focused instead on the scene unfolding in front of me.
The scene was unquestionably beautiful—even if it was periodically occluded by the spaceport which jutted out like a pier. It was serene—it didn’t move fast enough to be distracting, and was almost mesmerizing in it’s gradual dance across the field of view. The dark red sun gave a red hue to everything. Even the shadows were red, I told myself.
And when the sun set again, it was instant darkness—stars. Even on different worlds, lightyears apart, I liked to find my favorites. There was Sol, I think—the Motherstar. And there were the twins, Betelgeuse and Rigel.
A newcomer arrived to the gaggle of miners. He groaned loudly that the sun was down.
“Doc says I’m to get some sun and where is it? I made my appointment, where’s my ruby star?” he complained.
“Shut yer gob, mate, nothing new under the sun.”
“There’s no sun to be under!”
“Why gripe about it? Just wait a few minutes—it’ll be up again soon.”
“Not soon enough. I could use some good news.”
“What’s ailing you, Fred?”
“Bad omens, man. Bad omens. Had bad dreams yesterday, got kicked off the Driller this afternoon, sun’s not up, and I heard tell of two strange ships coming without invitation.”
I sat up straight.
“Just passers-by more likely. It happens from time to time,” the conversation continued.
“One, yes, but two ships on the same day?”
Two ships. I stood up quietly and walked away. My heart was racing. I had to go tell Peter. Two ships. Maybe we were the second and the first had already left. Maybe. Maybe the second had come after on unrelated business. Maybe we could still sneak away.
I rushed down the halls, my feet echoing on the metal plating. Suddenly every shadowy figure I encountered was the bounty hunter—my heart stopped until I got closer and could see their mining uniforms. The sun came back up right as I arrived at our quarters for the night.
I opened the door—it was chaos. The room had been trashed. Peter had been torn apart, his pieces were strewn about the room. Oh no. Oh no, please god. My heart was pounding, pounding, pounding in my chest. I didn’t even stop to get my things. I turned and I ran. I ran towards the elevator that would take me back to the spaceport.
The wait was agonizing for the elevator to let me in. The wait was agonizing for the elevator to let me out. God just please let me get to the ship. Let me get out of here. Please not today.
I got to the spaceport and I could see the ship. I opened the back hatch and—
“Been looking for you.”
He grabbed me by the collar and pulled me into the ship, closing the hatch behind me. I struggled against him but he injected me with something in my neck. My hands and feet went numb, eventually my arms and legs, and then my whole body went limp. My heart pounded in my ears. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run. I could only lay helplessly on the floor while the bounty hunter stood over me.
I could see my reflection in his highly polished helmet—I looked scared. My limbs were arranged awkwardly around me on the floor, but I couldn’t feel them.
“You have caused me a lot of trouble,” he said, his voice sounding faintly electronic.
My blood pumped desperately into my head, the only thing I could feel anymore.
He leaned close to my face and pulled out a knife. I could see beads of sweat on my face.
“So what’s it going to be, Rymund Jones? Dead or alive?”
I couldn’t move my lips. My mouth hung open. I could see my eyes darting frantically.
He leaned his head closer and turned to the side, as if to listen for a sound.
“Tell me, or I’ll decide for you.”
Please no. Please God no. Please anything but this. I thought. I moved my eyes side to side as if to say No. It was the only way I could communicate.
He let the point of the knife touch my skin, and slowly let it sink painlessly deeper into my chest. Blood spurted out, I felt my heart pumping louder and louder in my ears.
“Dead it is, then.” He grabbed the handle and pushed the knife in up to the hilt.
I wish I could have screamed.
Authors Notes & Feedback Requests:
When I expanded this, I worried that I lost some of the pacing that made the first draft of this effective. In the first draft, everything happens quickly. In this version, I’ve tried to expand on characters and motivations, and that takes time—but hopefully also serves as a tonal contrast to the intensity once the chase begins. Does the pacing still work, even with the expanded beginning?
I deliberately still have not provided a lot of background on the Bounty Hunter, who now has a name: Black Zaelland. I want him to remain mysterious and scary still. I’ve added elements that make him sound legendary, and a personal witness from Rymund Jones that should justify his fear. I do worry that Black Zaelland doesn’t have a strong motivation to hunt Rymund now, there was literally one line (maybe two) in the previous story that hinted that they had been continuously hunted, but that has changed to being a first encounter between them. Is the bounty hunter still effective and scary, despite these potential weaknesses?
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
The story was fascinating to begin with but you out did yourself here sir. I too was thrilled by the dream sequence and felt like the pacing was excellent.
But I really can’t get over the open feedback and critique that helped to elevate you here.
“No man is and island,” right? We can’t write on our own. Seeing this play out partially in the open is the wholesome content I’ve always wanted from the internet. And I’ll be mushy enough to say it gives me hope. As I’m dipping my toes into fiction writing here I’m encouraged to actively see writers lifting each other up and producing stories like this. The future is indeed bright here.
YES. JUST YES. This version really seriously works for me. The expanded emotional core, the introduction of who we're running from, the absolutely gut-punch ending.
BRAVO.👏