Forsaken Realms (Bounty Hunters United Book 1) (2 page)

There were good reasons for that. In a galactic neighborhood that had recently become filled with a lot more neighbors, one needed to know exactly whom one was dealing with. What she wasn’t used to was being ignored or possibly treated like a threat by the very people who had not only engaged her to come to Naveen, but also begged her to make it snappy.

Naveen Corp had prudently decided it would be bad politics, to say nothing of bad business, if it became known the trespasser in question had been killed on their property. It would be equally bad publicity if news got out that the interloper had successfully penetrated Naveen’s supposedly faultless security and made it to the planetoid’s surface in the first place. It was fair to say that sort of information couldn’t and shouldn’t get out because it would embolden every angry anti-terraformist in the galaxy to do the same.

The target’s identity had not even been shared with her, which was highly unusual. Her duty was to discreetly “retrieve” the offender from the jungle where he’d taken refuge and whisk him away to face punishment on X57, far from any mention or suspected involvement with Naveen Corp. It had been made clear this was to be a straightforward capture and drop-off, with no hanging around to offer an affidavit or day in court. Naveen Corp had ordered her to vamoose into obscurity, after she had ditched the retrieval on the doorstep of X57 like baby Moses in the bulrushes.

But one annoying detail buzzed in her head like a hornet in a jar—why was a company like Naveen Corp, which was generally unapologetic about blasting intruders out of their airspace, suddenly squeamish about shooting
this
trespasser? They had a private army and presumably knew where he was. Ruthless corporations like Naveen’s were capable of making unwanted people disappear without repercussions. So, why did they even need a retrieval agent to sweep the floor and take out the trash? Even a lurid amount of money for doing a simple job couldn’t silence that genuine doubt from her mind.

Rudra descended. The shimmering turquoise and emerald surface of the planetoid looked like a miracle. She found it hard to understand why all the eco-purists were so up in arms about terra-engineering a dead moon. The ionized atmosphere made the front-viewing portal glisten with a multitude of fractured rainbows. It was a breathtaking and disturbing sight that signaled she’d already entered the exo-atmosphere and was approaching fast. In a few moments, making a safe turnaround would be impossible. Permission to land needed to come—
now.

A loud crackle burst through the headset and made her flinch.

A voice from the surface boomed into the earpiece. “Come in, come in. Why aren’t you answering? This is a serious matter. You are in Naveen airspace. Am I in contact with bounty hunter Gemmina Nayar?”

“Yes.” Still reeling from the flustering burst of static, she attempted to sound all business. “I’m awaiting permission to land.”

“We’ve been hailing you for ten minutes. Why didn’t you respond?”

“My scanners show no communications were attempted from the surface.”

“Agent Nayar, please stand down. You are already deep into Naveen airspace and must surrender the helm to our autopilots. We will take control of your ship and guide you in.”

She gritted her teeth. This was a typical power stunt loaded with negatives on her side, not least of which was Naveen’s autopiloting programs might not be compatible with her jerry-rigged-I-built-it-myself ship. Rudra could easily end up a smoldering pancake on the surface. “Hold on a moment! Give me clearance and a homing beam. I can fly the skimmer in myself.”

“Request denied. That will not be allowed. Deactivate all security programs that might interfere with our autopilot.”

“Well, that would be everything wouldn’t it?” Sarcasm drenched every word. “Am I supposed to let down my shields and allow Naveen Corp to load my ship with every self-replicating artificial intelligence virus known to man? I know how that stuff works; you can wipe the memory from your program grids, replace parts, and the virus still returns again and again like a stubborn wart. This is not a disposal single-use ship. I was invited here and shouldn’t have to submit to this. If I say ‘no,’ are you going to blast me out of the atmosphere?”

“Our security has to be taken into account. Your behavior on approach was not standard protocol.”

“It’s not my fault you forgot to give me a call. I had my identification ready.”

“We can’t take the chance you’ve possibly been compromised by pirates.”

“I’m taking a good look around, and I don’t see any freaking pirates aboard my ship. Who am I speaking with? I want to talk with your superior.”

“That’s a negative, Agent Nayar. I’ve been ordered to autopilot you in.”

“I don’t know who you are, but I’m going to pull rank and say I’m a licensed level-seven bounty hunter. Take a deep breath and allow that to soak in. Governments and corporations come to me when things get ugly. I’m a trained retrieval-specialist. I can handle the most difficult military, mercenary, and just plain fucking nasty criminals, and I’m guessing you’re some sort of glorified security guard whose biggest challenge is staying awake during the night shift.”

A man with a calm voice—who did sound like he was in charge—interrupted. “Don’t talk to my guard that way. There’s no need to be rude.”

The skimmer’s heat deflectors glowed white hot. The ship was coming in nose low and too fast, with no final coordinates to aim for.

“As I drop like a rock toward the surface—who am I speaking with?”

“Jason Naveen.”

“No way,” she halted. “Jason Naveen, the notorious eco-entrepreneur-recluse?”

Rumors ran wild about Jason Naveen; no one ever spoke directly to or saw him.

“Stop fooling around. I don’t have time for this.”

“Ms. Nayar, I am Jason Naveen.”

“Agent Nayar, please.”

“I prefer to use Ms. ‘Agent’ is so unapproachable. By the way you have a very sultry voice. Ms. Nayar my records show you have telepathic enhancements that assist you in the field. They don’t seem to be working too well today. I’m the man who’s paying your fee. So stop squabbling and allow my team to take control of your ship and pilot you in. When you get to the surface, I’ll explain.”

“Assuming you can safely pilot my ship from the ground, I know you’re going to set a slew of gremlins loose in the machine. I’m charging triple-triple for all the extra work and inconvenience for putting things right with Rudra.”

“Fair enough.”

“I want my fee in universal credits.”

“Fine. Who’s Rudra? You were asked to come alone.”

“Rudra’s the name of my skimmer. His image will come up on every virtual security gate when you start snooping through the ship’s main brain.”

“The Hindu deity? Oh, yes, I remember now. I spent a few lousy years in New Mumbai.”

“Watch your manners, my friend. I was born in New Mumbai. How do I even know you really are Jason Naveen?”

“You don’t, but you can meet me face to face in about five-minutes-thirty-seven-seconds and judge for yourself. For now, please deactivate all security programs.”

“Whatever.” Gemmina tried to remain calm as Naveen Corp’s ground signal locked onto the skimmer and made her control panel light up like a swarm of agitated fireflies. The image of Rudra with raised palm flashed an indignant warning on the control panel as Naveen’s nosy artificial intelligence programs invaded every nook and cranny of the ship, peeking at passwords and even drawing air sample readings, searching for any undeclared passengers aboard ship and reporting every minutia of data to headquarters like a tattletale sibling screaming “Mom!”

Fortunately, the descent into Naveen’s atmosphere was swift, smooth, and, except for the invasive breach of privacy, uneventful. As the skimmer flew low over a pale jade sea, she hoped it was possible the most annoying part of the assignment was behind her, and now she could move on to the good stuff—hunting.

No doubt Naveen would prove to be a major pain in the ass. Her consolation was she’d already racked up a juicy bounty fee and the clock hadn’t even started. A little jungle stalking was the frosting on the cupcake. It was especially satisfying to go after the rot-bones, the psychotic criminals, the ones who needed to be stopped. Hell, it was her sole reason for living.

The skimmer hovered above a shimmering, white beach and slowed for a soft landing. Naveen Corp headquarters were so well disguised that an untrained eye might never realize they were looking directly at a huge subterranean compound camouflaged as a sea cliff overgrown with banana trees, ferns, and coconut palms. For a fleeting moment, she had to admire them for being so ingenious and hiding in plain sight. The only thing that gave the location away was the sudden movement of a towering rock wall sliding aside to reveal a cavernous building large enough to park several troop ships.

Four armored guards approached with their faces covered in reflective blast shields. They marched toward the skimmer, then surrounded and scanned it with hand-held security sniffers from every angle with the same detached precision as an insect hive on task.

The way Naveen Corp continued to treat her like an unknown commodity was creepy. The landscape was breathtaking, and she was dying to pop the hatch, climb out, and see if this planetoid felt half as good as it looked. But she didn’t dare until she was given the all clear.

Gemmina eagerly reached for her gear pack, wishing formalities could be pushed aside and the hunt could start now. Her skin pebbled thinking about it. Primed to hunt, she felt her bio-enhancements take her senses to the next level. Bounty hunting brought her to life and was second only to the sleepy pleasures of an erotic dream. Holy moly, this was going to be good.

A handsome blond man with chiseled cheekbones and jaw entered the landing bay. In profile, he was an elegant figure draped in a flowing, midnight blue shirt paired with a pair of snug, white Capri trousers and odd snowshoe-like sandals. The man approached the skimmer with his delicate hands clasped in a dignified manner. As he drew closer, the shocking impression that she was looking at a wax doll overrode his gentlemanly demeanor. The man’s skin was as smooth and flawless as if he were brand new to the world. Not a golden hair on his head was out of place. His nose was so straight it appeared sharp, and, when he smiled, every blinding white tooth was aligned and so very perfect that he looked like an outdated parody from the twenty-first century, when perfect was longed for because it was so rare. Since then, overzealous cloning of ideal types had cured most everyone of their inability to embrace imperfections. Earth had experienced a huge social backlash against striving for so-called perfection. In fact, those who didn’t have a few interesting flaws to set them apart from the crowd knew they had better purchase a couple pronto. The concept of perfect was now unpopular and passé, but apparently the gentleman standing beside the skimmer hadn’t received the memo.

The man waved at her through the front portal and mouthed the words,
“
You may get out now.”

She stood, released the safety hatch, and hoisted the hunter’s pack over her shoulder. In a burst of energy, she leaped off the skimmer’s ladder and instantly sank to the ankles in what felt like quicksand. In a heartbeat, she lost her balance, buckled forward, and fell. Her hands sank to the wrists in what appeared to be a beach filled with sun-warmed, opalescent glass beads.

“Use caution, Ms. Nayar.” The man in blue pointed at his sandals. “Our footwear has been specially adapted for the beach sands of Naveen. You’ll have to move slowly and carefully, but, never fear, you’re in no danger. You won’t sink deeper than seventeen centimeters. The silica-based sands in front of my compound are still forming. This section of beach was installed only two months ago. The smaller, denser particles have shifted to the bottom as the top layers continue to erode.”

The top layer felt like a gritty multitude of wicked little ball bearings. Gemmina pulled herself to her knees and then to standing. “You might have warned me.”

The man grinned. "Sometimes it’s easier to walk into something and learn your lesson the hard way. Besides, I know your type.”

The comment was obviously designed to provoke. Choosing to remain civil she tamped down on her temper. “What’s my type? I’d love to hear it.”

“Stubborn, skeptical. If I had asked you to avoid the sand beads because you might get injured, I’m certain you would have stomped your boots into them to see if I told the truth. Am I right?”

Whoever he was, he was right. That was exactly what she would have done.

“Are you Jason Naveen? Am I meeting the legend?”

The man gazed at her with unlined, serene, and ridiculously blue eyes. “How old am I? Go ahead; take a guess.”

Oh, God! This was one of those vain gentlemen who had been chronically re-cloned, refashioned, and refurbished in bits and pieces until he looked twenty but most likely was at least sixty. Too bad no one on the outside of Naveen Corp knew anything about his real age or background. Money could erase the past. A quick background check had convinced her that accurate information about Naveen was difficult to obtain. Multiple contradictions were revealed, including two possible release dates from X57. A reclusive lifestyle on a tropical planetoid wasn’t helping matters. Likely Naveen planned it that way.

If she wanted that triple-triple bounty fee delivered with grace, she knew she had better curb her true thoughts. “I couldn’t guess. I’d say you’re ageless.”

Gemmina gazed longingly at the jungle beyond, thinking how good would it feel to be set loose to hunt. Steamy air, foliage, and damp earth waited. All dream conditions to hunt under and certain to bring out the tigress in her.

“Well?” Jason pouted.

Cleary he wasn’t happy with the term
ageless
and wanted a number. She choked down her rising agitation. “You must have been a child prodigy when you founded Naveen Corp because you don’t look a day past your twenty-first birthday.”

“Ha!” Jason shouted with delight. “I’m 152!”

“Wow.”

The immensity of his statement made her reel. Living to a hundred and forty was possible, but rare, and it was a hard go. Most “Quindecimarians” as those who managed to live fourteen decades were called, ended their days looking and sounding like dried grasshoppers. None of them possessed even a glimmer of youth approaching Naveen’s baby-faced gigolo appearance, but dare she call a weird, reclusive trillionaire a liar?