Page 16 of Marked By the Bounty Hunter

NALINA

The late shift crowd shuffled into The Rusted Horizon. I wiped down glasses with practiced efficiency, studying faces without looking up. The lights overhead flickered, casting odd shadows across the worn bar top.

“Those cillori lines acting up again,” Kell grumbled from behind the counter. “Need to call maintenance.”

“Yeah.” I stacked another glass, ignoring the urge to fix it myself. Too risky now. “Getting worse every day.”

Same problems. Same crowd. But not quite. There was something different, something wrong. And everyone seemed to know it.

A Merrith by the door shifted uncomfortably, mandibles clicking. “Third outage this week in Blue Section. Engineering says it’s routine maintenance.”

His drinking companion snorted. “Routine? Since when do they shut down whole corridors for routine work?”

I filed away the information while pretending to adjust the drink dispenser settings. More spaces being closed off. More people disappearing.

The door opened again, bringing the recycled station air and a familiar figure. My chest tightened. Vami, one of my quieterregulars. But something was wrong. The Selenthian’s silvery skin had dulled to a flat, lifeless gray. Her movements jerked and stuttered, none of the fluid grace her species was known for.

“Dwivelain whiskey.” She dropped onto a stool, her bioluminescent fingertips pulsing erratically. “Double.”

Around the bar, other Selenthian patrons shifted in their seats, their natural empathic senses picking up Vami’s distress. One moved several stools away, rubbing his temples.

I poured her drink, noting how her hands shook. “Everything okay?”

“No.” She downed half the whiskey. “It’s Netu. My child...”

Her voice broke. I leaned closer, pretending to wipe the bar.

“The changes started small. Headaches from the new ventilation in the learning center. Then the medical screenings - ‘routine check-ups’ they said. But after...” She gripped her glass. “The light inside them dimmed. Our bond - the connection every Selenthian shares with their children - it started... breaking.”

Ice slid down my spine. Breaking empathic bonds was like severing a limb for their species.

“Then yesterday, they said Netu was being transferred. An ‘advanced program.’” Her fingertips flared purple-white. “But there is no program. I checked every record. Nothing.”

“How many others?” I asked softly.

“Three families in our section last month. All the children showing the same signs. All gone now.” She looked up. “They said it was just mandatory screening at the learning center.” Her fingertips pulsed erratically. “For placement in their special program. But when I checked the education databases...”

Her words reminded me of Liseth mentioning similar ‘routine screenings’ in Blue Section, before she got sick. She’d been doing maintenance there, complained about new security checkpoints making her work take twice as long.

At the bar, two dock workers spoke in low voices:

“...Blue Section’s locked down tight...”

“...three new security points just this week...”

“...keep your eyes down and walk away...”

The bar’s entrance hissed open. Weber and Kash stepped in - I’d served them drinks for years, watched them joke and flirt with customers.

Their eyes tracked the room in perfect tandem. Gone was Weber’s characteristic slouch, Kash’s fidgeting hands.

They moved straight to Vami. “Ma’am, we need you to come with us.”

She recoiled. “No. I won’t. Not until someone explains what happened to my child.”

“Your child?” Weber’s head tilted at an odd angle. “Our records show no missing person report.”

“Because they claim Netu was transferred!” Vami’s fingers flared brighter. “To some special youth program. But there is no program - I’ve checked every database, every school listing-”

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