Hank...
Well, Hank was not happy.
There were a lot of reasons why Hank felt that way. Not the least of which was that he’d hired me, and there’s obviously no way the second-best scumbag would be able to take me down, even in the awful state I was in a good deal of the time. Or even the second and third best scumbags together, for that matter. But the second through sixth best? That would be a problem. And, thanks to Hank, it did become my problem.
I took to calling them the Cinque, just because I thought it sounded cooler if I was being chased by a posse by that name instead of just five regular scumbags. I’d been working with and against these guys for years, depending on the circumstances, with the exception of the guy who was Number Five with a bullet. Never met him because he was new to the business of doing what we do, but he was what you might call a “rising star.”
Plus, I didn’t actually know any of their names. I hadn’t bothered to learn them before, even when I was working with them, and I wasn’t about to start then. So I just referred to them as “Two” through “Six.”
Before I get into too much detail about these new scumbags, let me first tell you a little bit more about myself. I could tell you I had a horrible childhood, but that would be putting much too rosy of a spin on things. I was orphaned on a barren rock of a planetoid called Finnegan’s Centaur, way out in the middle of the Reach, which had been abandoned by the mining company because it hadn’t been turning much of a profit.
You’d think they’d let the miners and merchants who were there know, and maybe even provide some transport out of there. But that would be giving them too much credit. They decided it was cheaper just to leave everyone and everything there, figuring it would sort itself out one way or another.
And, boy, did it.
At first, everyone just thought the supply ships were running late. Maybe a schedule mix up or some such. But then it started to be a while, and supplies were running low, so the supervisors attempted to call out to headquarters to find out what was what.
But the comm stations were one of the few items that were actually worth anything on this miserable rock, and the last ships out had quietly taken them, along with anything else they thought was worth saving. From what I can gather, one of the crew thought my mom fit that category, because I never saw her after that last ship left. I’d like to think she was forced into leaving and pleaded for them to take me along too, but I wasn’t so young that I don’t remember what she was like, and I find that version of the story to be highly unlikely. The truth is, she was probably passed around the crew until they were tired of her, and then tossed out an airlock.
My dad was the closest thing to law enforcement that existed in our small community. He wasn’t a pleasant man, which actually helped him in his job, and he was highly proficient with a blaster. But when the truth about the company had been discovered and the rioting started, he was one of the first to be killed.
Which left me in quite a predicament. Because I was barely seven sols old.
Being the only kid on that godsforsaken rock actually had its advantages, including the fact that nobody ever thought to childproof anything. I don’t mean putting guard rails up and plugging empty sockets. I mean there were lots of ways someone my size could get in and around pretty much everyplace in that small settlement because nobody thought to make it otherwise.
I swiftly learned that I could go practically anywhere without being seen, and that meant I could take whatever I needed from whoever had it. And if what I needed to take was a person’s life, then I took that. Within a few months I was so good at sneaking up and slitting someone’s throat that they never even knew I was there.
Sneak.
Slit.
Steal.
Repeat.
That was my life for years—I lost track of how many—until there was no longer anything to steal, or anybody to steal from. Eventually, I was on my way to starving, and there was nothing that was going to prevent it. Truth to tell, I had become somewhat feral.
Then a ship showed up. From what I gathered, they needed to do some repairs that required them to land, and this was the closest place. While they were taking a look around, I stowed away aboard the ship.
I sometimes wonder if they might have treated me okay if I had just explained my situation, either before or after I snuck on board the ship. But after they discovered a couple of crewmembers with slit throats, there was no way they were going to welcome me.
Unlike the mining settlement, this ship was too small for me to stay hidden forever. The smell alone was enough to give me away.
I’ll give them credit. They didn’t just shoot me once they caught me. That’s what I would have done in their shoes.
But that might have been a favor compared to what happened next. They dropped me off at an Imperial hub and had me arrested. They showed holo-pics of the carnage at the mining town, and said I had murdered some of their men the same way.
Turned out I had actually killed more people than anyone they’d ever heard of. I didn’t even get why it was a big deal, considering it had been my life for so long.
Imperial trials being what they are, it didn’t take long for me to be processed, convicted, then tossed onto a prison station orbiting a gas giant. Nobody had ever escaped from this place in all the decades it had been spinning around the planet. Until me, that is.
But it took years for me to do it. By that time, I had grown a lot. I wasn’t the biggest, but I was big. And I wasn’t the toughest, but I was tough. Nobody could fight like me.
And nobody could beat me.
Of course, someone with my history doesn’t have a whole lot of options when it comes to a profession, so after I escaped I went with the one that came naturally. The polite way to describe me would be bounty hunter. A closer term would probably be assassin, at least in most cases. But the reality is that I usually get paid to be a cold-blooded killer.
So. Back to my story.
As I was saying, Xiomara and I were blasting around the galaxy, slobbering all over each other and having a grand old time.
Then the Cinque showed up.
They caught up to us on Synius Prime, out on the edge of nowhere. We had landed the Raptor on a plateau with an astonishing view of Broneah Falls—you’d have to see it to believe it—and had been holed up there for about a week, enjoying the scenery and each other, when these boys showed up in their ships.
The first thing we did was try taking the easy way out. I powered up the Raptor’s reactor in emergency mode—not the safest move in the world, but then, neither is being shot at by a quintet of the galaxy’s best bounty hunters. We were out of the atmosphere in seconds, and past Synius Prime’s orbit soon after. They were fast, but I own a modified Imperial recon vessel (I’ll explain that some other time—I don’t want to slow down the momentum), so we were going to be outrunning them right quick.
But one of their better shots—probably Four, from what I’ve seen—hit us with a blast from his ion cannon. We felt the ship jolt violently as the beam tore into our starboard engine. We weren’t going to be going anywhere for long.
I performed my fanciest flying maneuvers through that system, but I couldn’t shake them without the extra juice. And I’m a fairly decent pilot. May have even won some pretty big piloting competitions (oops, there I go tooting again). I whipped around asteroids, flew through the rings of a gas giant, and reversed course a few times to try to lose them.