A Terran's Justice

To hunt the hunter

A light drizzle bounced off of Nightbringer’s hull as it slowly descended toward Highbrook city.

“Welcome to the most dreary city in the galaxy,” Jacque grumbled as he gazed out the window.

“Yeah, well, my friend isn’t interested in the cityscape,” Francis replied as he aimed Nightbringer’s nose toward the landing pad. “You got your seatbelt on this time Azaz’kul?” he asked.

“Yes,” the Azrael replied curtly. Nightbringer shakily planted itself on the solid concrete and shut its engines down. Francis groaned as he saw a dock officer approaching the ship with two security guards flanking him.

“What does he want?” he grumbled.

“They charge you to land here,” Jacque piped up.

“Are you kidding? How much?”

“Depends. Sometimes they charge you 100 units, other times they charge you 500. Really depends on what mood the dock officer is in.” Francis muttered some expletives and opened a small compartment above his chair. He withdrew a small wallet containing about one thousand units and put it in his pocket. “Alright then, let’s go.” Azaz’kul got out of her seat, along with Jacque and Hannibal. Francis quickly fastened his pistols around his waist and followed them down toward the exit ramp. He pressed the exit button and with a hiss of hydraulics, the entrance ramp lowered itself to the damp landing pad, the face of a stern dock officer waiting for them on the other side.

“Should I kill them master?” Hannibal asked.

“What? No!” Jacque cried, “Shut up Hannibal.” The dock officer looked a little agitated after the drones comment, but managed to pull himself together.

“How many passengers?” he barked.

“Three organics and one drone,” Francis replied.

“Any cargo?”

“No.”

“Can I see your visa?”

“Sure,” Francis produced the necessary documents from his jacket and handed them to the official. The officer skimmed over them and grumbled to himself. After a few seconds, he gave the papers back to Francis.

“Alright, enjoy your stay here in Highbrook city. A word of warning though, two massive crime lords just got taken out last night so the streets are alive with law enforcement, and their respective thugs. Each gang blames the other and so we are looking at a full scale gang war on our hands.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Francis replied. The officer nodded to them, then turned on his heel and left, his guards close behind him.

“Your friend?” Jacque asked once the authorities were out of earshot.

“Probably,” Francis muttered in reply as they made their way toward the dock exit and into the streets. The entire city looked like it was holding its breath. All over the place worried citizens ran from shop to shop and air traffic was greatly reduced. The authorities were also out in force, myriad police cars flew through the air whilst heavily armed riot control officers roamed the streets in groups of four.

“That dock officer wasn’t lying,” Jacque commented as they crossed the street and made for a secluded alleyway somewhere.

“What’s the plan then?” Azaz’kul asked.

“Well,” Francis began, “The city looks like it’s about to blow, so that means Harry will be looking for trouble.”

“Harry?” Jacque asked.

“My friend,” Francis replied.

“Master,” Hannibal asked, “is this ‘Harry’ my friend too?”

“I guess so,” Jacque replied.

“Anyway, first off we need to figure out if you’re still wanted here or not,” Francis continued.

“And how do we do that?” Azaz’kul asked.

“Look in any tavern and we should be able to find a wanted list of some kind.”

“Why not just go look in a police station?” she countered.

“Because if Jacque is still wanted we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

“But you’re a bounty hunter,” Azaz’kul replied, “Just stroll in on your own and find out.”

“The witch has a point,” Jacque added.

“Fine,’ Francis grumbled. “Wait here.”

About twenty minutes later, Francis was walking away from the police station, a printed wanted list in his hands. He scanned the three pages of names until he finally saw Jacque Matthews’ staring back up at him. He quickly crossed the street and made his way back to where the rest of the group was hiding.

“Well then?” Jacque asked, “am I a wanted man?”

“That you are,” Francis replied, showing the other man the wanted list.

“Great,” Jacque grumbled in reply.

“What is our plan then?” Azaz’kul asked.

“Well, I think we need to get Jacque’s face noticed around here. Harry is really well connected and if he learns another criminal has just slid his way onto the planet, let alone in his city, he will leap at the chance to turn you in, or worse.” Francis let that unspoken threat echo around in Jacque’s mind.

“Right…” Jacque replied.

“Don’t worry master,” Hannibal piped up, “I’ll protect you.”

“Thanks Hannibal.”

“How do you propose we get Jacque’s face seen around here?” The Azrael cut in again.

“Jacque,” Francis began, “just go into taverns or gambling houses and start cheating. Word will soon get around.”

“And where do we find these places?” she asked.

“One sec,” Jacque replied. “Hannibal?”

“Yes master?”

“Hack into the wireless network and see if you can locate some real criminally pubs.”

“One moment please,” the drone replied. The robot stood stock still for about a minute. “I have found seven establishments that match the requested search criteria.”

“Give us the closest one,” Francis replied, “We’ll start there and make our way to them all in turn.”

About ten minutes later, Jacque and Hannibal were walking through the doors of a particularly run down establishment.

“Oi!” The bartender yelled at them when they entered.

“What?” Jacque yelled back, putting on his best ‘tough guy’ act as he did so.

“No personal synthetic companions allowed in my bar!”

“What?” Jacque repeated.

“Your Drone!” the bartender replied, “He’ll have to wait outside, we don’t want him here!”

“Ugh,” Jacque sighed turning to Hannibal, “Just wait outside with the others,” he said quietly.

“Affirmative master,” The drone replied merrily as he turned on his heel and walked back out the way they had come. Jacque walked over to the bar and rested his elbows on its surface.

“I’ll have a pint of Alexaon ale,” he said to the bartender. The Xenoct grabbed a pint glass with one arm and placed it under the tap. The smooth yellow liquid began to pour into the glass. As it did so, the Xenoct used its other set of arms to operate the till.

“That’ll be ten units,” he said. Jacque grumbled to himself as he produced his wallet and handed over the cash. The Xenoct took the money and handed Jacque the ale.

“Thanks,” he said as he took the drink and made his way toward the back of the room where a group of people were playing cards. They were playing Dressenian backstab. Jacque waited until the round was finished before speaking.

“Care to deal me in boys?’ he asked smoothly. There was a moment of silence before the entire table began to laugh. Jacque was rather confused and when the laughing had died down, he asked them,

“What’s so funny?” A large Xaon man pointed to the wall behind Jacque, who turned around to see a wanted poster with a striking resemblance to him.

“That’s… not me,’ Jacque replied unconvincingly.

“Really?” the Xaon asked in a mocking tone.

“Says here,” a large craniumed Dressenian began as he turned to read the sign, “that his name is Jacque Matthews and that he is wanted for fraud, cheating, and theft.”

“Listen boys,” Jacque started in his smooth ‘gambly’ voice, “that was along time ago.”

“Once a cheat, always a cheat,” a human said with a smirk.

“How about,” the Xaon said threateningly, “you turn and walk out the way you came and we forget we saw you here…” Jacque bit his lip.

“Right,” he said clicking his fingers and pointing them at the Xaon, “good call.” He quickly turned and made a hasty exit out of the bar. The light drizzle bounced off of his hair as he ran across the slowly darkening street to where the others were hiding.

“Well,” he began as he entered the alley Francis, Azaz’kul, and Hannibal were inhabiting, “there was a wanted poster of me in the bar and so I was thrown out.”

“I guess that’s a good sign,” Francis muttered.

“Alright then, we got another seven of these joints to hit, I’m gonna be so drunk by the end of the night!” Jacque exclaimed with false eagerness.

They were on the sixth tavern. Jacque had been thrown out of all but one of them. Francis and Azaz’kul sat in yet another narrow street, rain falling on them, as they waited for Hannibal and Jacque to come back.

“You clearly want to ask me something,” the Azrael woman commented, taking note of the way that Francis kept on opening his mouth and then closing it again.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Spit it out then.”

“How do you do that thing where you throw lightning around and stuff?” She smiled at the question.

“It is part of my condition in The Order,” she replied.

“Conditioning?”

“When you join The Order, no matter the age, they take you to The Maw of Morascius. It is a massive event horizon that occurred when a black hole began to swallow an entire solar system. They take you there and leave you for a day. Slowly, the energies of the horizon begin to… mess with your mind. You begin to see the universe for what it truly is. Your mind is expanded irreversibly. The ordinary sentient species tunes out about 75% of the universe. When exposed to The Maw, you begin to experience the full 100% of what is around you. For example, I can see energy. I can see it lancing everywhere. I can reach out,” she outstretched her hand, “and touch it…” a brief flash of blue light appeared at the tip of her index finger, “then I can pull it forth into this world…” her hand became a claw and a writhing coil of electricity flashed into existence within it. She held it there for a few seconds before letting it disappear.

“So…” Francis began, a little stunned.

“So…” Azaz’kul replied.

“I really don’t see the universe as it is?”

“Not at all. The universe is in fact more of a mess of energy. Your brain simply sorts it out into material objects, like this wall, or the rain that you feel spitting on your head.”

“But, if you go from seeing the world… like I do, to seeing it as you do…” Francis mused.

“Ah, yes,” Azaz’kul muttered, “it does take something getting used to.”

“Doesn’t it just drive you mad?”

“It does to some. They become riders of the red harvest, bringers of war and the harsh judgment The Order bestows upon enemies of a militant nature. It enlightens others and they become riders of the white harvest, missionaries that bring the ‘light of The Order’ to all people. To some it corrupts them. They become riders of the black harvest. They bring plague and famine to the sinful. They are the hammer for threats that the red riders cannot deal with. Sadistic pricks that relish the agony of those weaker than they. Finally, for some, it raises their mind. It raises it above silly ideals like honour or morality. They become riders of the pale harvest. It is their job to keep the universe in line and ensure the necessary cycle of life and death continues. A practise that they and I had… conflicting ideas about…”

“So which one were you?” Francis asked.

“Oh, don’t be a fool,” the Azrael replied with a laugh, “I’m a nihilistic b***h who wants to stop the universe from being destroyed by an order of pricks whose ideas conflict with mine… of course I’m a rider of the Pale harvest.”

“Of course…” Francis grumbled.

“We actually tried to bring our religion to Terra a long time ago. We sent a white rider to speak to some man named John, but I’m not sure he quite got the right idea…”

“Are there any humans in the order?” Francis asked.

“No,” Azaz’kul replied, “nor Krakors or Uglets. Too violent and a little too primitive. Drives your lot irreparably insane.”

“Ah.”

“I can show you what it is like, however.”

“I’m not too sure,” Francis said hastily, but Azaz’kul had already placed her fingers to his forehead. A flash of energy zipped between them and suddenly Francis did not see the world anymore. All he saw was a vaguely geometric space filled with writhing masses of energy, beams of light, and vaguely humanoid spectres all around him. He began to cry out, the images literally paining him. Azaz’kul withdrew her fingers and Francis toppled to the ground.

“You see the entire world like that?” he gasped. “All the time?”

“Pretty much,” the Azrael responded, “you eventually learn how to tune it back out again.” She suddenly snapped her head up and looked across the road. “There,” she pointed, “we have a shadow.” Francis glanced at where she was pointing. He was just in time to see a black figure duck behind a chimney pot of a building across the street from them.

“Right, when Jacque gets back, we need to tell him that we’ve attracted some attention,” he said. It did not take long. A few minutes later, Hannibal and Jacque came leisurely strolling round the corner.

“Really sketchy place,” he began, “didn’t give a damn that I was wanted. Filled with thugs and other less than desirable company.”

“Harry has taken notice of you,” Francis said quietly, “or at least I hope it was Harry.”

“Great,” Jacque replied, “’cause I just love having murderous vigilantes after me.”

“What’s the plan then?” Azaz’kul cut in.

“Okay,” Francis began, “visit the next tavern on the list. Leave quickly and pretend to be drunk as hell. Start singing in a ‘drunk-man’ sort of way about how you escaped the law and love ripping people off and the like. Slowly lead him into a location where we will be waiting for him.”

“What building do you propose?” Azaz’kul asked.

“Hannibal,” Jacque said to the drone, “project a map of the surrounding buildings by the next establishment we need to visit.”

“One moment,” the drone replied. There was a sound from within the robot’s head, shortly followed by a beam of red light from each eye that slowly formed a bird’s eye view of the surrounding area of the next tavern on their list. The group gathered around.

“Hannibal, give me details about this building,” Jacque said, pointing to a small structure about 100 metres from the tavern.

“The structure appears to be an old drug house,” the drone replied. “It was hit by the authorities about two weeks ago. Abandoned ever since.”

“It’s a good a spot as any,” Francis said.

“Great,” Jacque mumbled.

“So, Azaz’kul and I will be waiting in the warehouse for you to lead Harry in there.”

“What about Hannibal?” Jacque asked.

“Yes,” the Drone said icily, “what about me?”

“You need to hide somewhere out of sight, but where you can see the tavern from. If Harry moves to immediately kill Jacque, stun him.”

“I could just kill him…” the drone muttered.

“Stun,” Francis repeated. Hannibal glanced at Jacque.

“Yeah, we don’t wanna kill this guy,” he said to drone.

“If I might voice my professional opinion,” the drone began.

“Silence, machine,” Azaz’kul spat, “It is almost night and we are no closer to Azarg.”

“Let’s go,” Francis muttered.

Harry sat and watched the man exit the tavern, stumbling all over the place and hollering at the top of his voice about how good a con man he is. Not quite the usual target he went after, but if what he had read was true and this ‘Jacque Matthews’ really had scammed so many people out of money and gotten away with it, he needed to be turned into the authorities. The drunk man stumbled toward an abandoned drug house that had been hit by the police about two weeks ago. Harry slunk off of the roof and began to follow his target. He drew hit shotgun, still keeping it concealed by his cloak however. He quickly charged into the drug house, only to see the drunken man was no longer drunk. He also saw that the not-so-drunken man was holding a pistol in his right hand and was aiming it right at Harry. He also heard the door slam shut behind him.

“Don’t move organic,” a synthesised, but weirdly cheerful voice resounded. The vigilante glanced behind him to see a white robot pointing a large disruptor at his head.

“I do hope it is Harry behind that mask.” Harry turned to his left only to see Francis Markis’s hairless, scar riddled visage staring back at him.

“Ooh, you bastard,” the vigilante muttered.