Page 1 of Marked By the Bounty Hunter

NALINA

The Rusted Horizon throbbed with the usual chaos of cheap alcohol and chatter from a dozen species.

The flickering light above table six needed fixing again. I added it to my mental list, right after “check the cillorl lines” and “order more Landorian ale.” Old habits from my maintenance days died hard, even if I made better credits pouring drinks than fixing this decrepit station up.

I wiped the same glass for the third time, while keeping an eye on the smuggler in the corner booth. His poorly concealed blaster wouldn’t normally bother me - his money was good, and weapons were common enough in a place like this.

House rules were more of a suggestion than law.

At least three of my regulars were carrying tonight, including the Dravari two seats down who could put a blade through an eye at twenty paces. The smuggler wouldn’t last ten seconds if he tried anything that interfered with the drinks.

A Cerulian near the bar drummed her blue fingers on the counter, making the rings on her knuckles chime.

“Another round?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.

“And one for yourself,” she slurred. Her three eyes blinked out of sync.

“Thanks, but I’m good.” I poured her drink, making sure to water it down. She was vacuum-headed already.

She stumbled a little, her glass slipping from the edge of the bar. I caught it automatically, setting it back without thinking.

The Dravari chittered softly. “Fast moves for a human. Didn’t think your kind had those reflexes.”

I shrugged it off with a smile, used to alien assumptions about human capabilities. My muscles ached, but that was normal after a long shift. “Just lots of practice.”

“...telling you, the shipment just vanished,” a gruff voice muttered two stools down. “Third one this month.”

“Keep your voice down,” his companion hissed. “You wantthemhearing?”

I kept my eyes on my work, but my ears pricked up. Missing shipments meant missing people. Nothing new, out here on the Edge.

The door wheezed open, letting in a gust of filtered air. I smiled as I saw Jevik. One of my closest friends from my days where I worked as a maintenance technician, Jevik had taken me under his wing.

But my smile faltered when I saw Jevik stumble in, his usually iridescent scales dull and flaking. My stomach dropped. Something was very wrong.

He staggered away from the door, gripping the bar like it was the only thing holding him up. His scales, usually iridescent in the dim light, had dulled to a sickly gray. Patches were flaking off near his gills, leaving raw flesh exposed underneath. His eyes had sunk deep in their sockets, but the pupils were dilated unnaturally wide.

“Water,” he rasped. “Please.”

I grabbed a clean glass, watching him from the corner of my eye. His gills fluttered weakly behind his ears, the movement fitful, uneven. The three Nazoks at the bar whispered to eachother, pointing. One of them slipped out - probably to make a call.

The door opened again. I might not have noticed the two figures in medical uniforms if not for how they moved - too precise, too purposeful for station medics who usually stumbled in exhausted after their shifts.

They paused just inside, scanning the room with the efficiency of hunters rather than healers. Matching hexagonal insignias gleamed on their collars - dark blue and silver, catching the dim light with an unnatural shimmer. One touched his collar, whispering something I couldn’t catch.

Fake medics?

But why?

I slid the water to Jevik, letting my fingers brush his wrist. His pulse raced under his scales.

“Out back,” I whispered. “Now.”

He shook his head minutely. “They’ll find me.”

My heart leaped into my throat. They hadn’t spotted Jevik yet, but their eyes swept the bar with precision.

I grabbed a fresh bottle of Yalniti liquor from under the counter, making sure to ‘slip’ as I lifted it. The bottle shattered against the floor, spraying bright blue liquid across the boots of three different patrons.

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