In the case of the stolen, modified fuel cells, IGBA had to step in- one of the faulty cells ended up in and IGBA ship and two of our Bounties were dead. The issue was personal and every Bounty felt the sting.

  My track record was second to one, but Bounty Morlins wasn’t available, so the head of the IGBA had pulled me off my current mission in the Xandros sector. He’d given me a ten minute, pissed-off briefing and here I was- in a god-awful café speaking with my very favorite snitch.

  Pretty smiled and started talking- he didn’t take my cue in switching to Tularian.

  “Well, G…I haven’t seen Chi-Yeta in…ohhhhh a couple of cycles or so.” Pretty spoke real slow, dragging out his vowels and being obviously vague.

  “Well, Pretty, when was the last time you saw the inside of an IGBA interrogation pod? I can arrange a visit if you’d like. I’m sure you’re growing homesick by now.” I watched the unattractive, furry face war between disgust and amusement.

  On the one hand, Pretty was such a routine face around IGBA headquarters that dragging him in there was less a threat and more an invitation to his occasional vacation home. On the other hand, Pretty ran a tight, albeit illegal, ship and a two day recess from his operation would really prove detrimental to profits. It was difficult for the IGBA to really ‘interrogate’ him in the normal way anyway- we counted on his snitch nature far too much to torture him.

  The IGBA was very clear that Pretty was never to be brought in for criminal activity unless the wrong doing was so public that IGBA was forced to interfere. I waited for Pretty to respond.

  In the end, money won out. Threatening a currency greedy criminal with revenue loss was an effective strategy.

  “Alright G. Let me settle up here and we’ll talk.”

  The fact that Pretty wanted to relocate to a more private location meant that he had something really juicy to divulge.

  Ten minutes later and a short star jump we were sitting in Pretty’s ’office’ on the surface of a surviving Tulaté moon- the world having been rendered inhabitable by a Chernobyl-esque world cataclysm. The Tulatés were Newtonian in brain power, but infantile in their common sense.

  The planet’s demise actually gave Pretty his big break in business- even a dead planet had lucrative mining opportunities. Once the minerals ran out, he switched to shadier fare.

  The majority of the surviving Tulaté populace was scattered to the stars. Only a small group remained in the dead world’s region and all of those remaining worked for Pretty. I listened raptly as Pretty spoke.

  “Chi-Yeta was a mistake. She was a complete pain in my pretty ass. Late on her shipment, later on her payment, and then she disappeared before her final delivery. I lost a lot of inter-space currency to a displeased buyer. My associates have been looking for her also. The last information I received was she was holed up on some POS anti-GRUP planet called Earth.”

  It was difficult, but I managed to control my reaction. The only individual of any galaxy species that knew my home planet was a singular member of the IGBA resource department- my handler.

  Once you become IGBA, you were IGBA for life. All operatives are wiped of identity and considered advocates of the known galaxy with no world or political associations.

  “Really? Earth? Small green and blue blip smack dab between Venus and Mars? I thought the Galactic Order had banned alien immigration to that system. It seems Chi-Yeta is a walking laundry list of Galactic rule breeching.” My voice was steady, betraying no emotional connection.

  “Yeah. I want her as bad as the IGBA does… I’ll feed you any information I get.” Pretty held his hands on his laps, his fingers playing menacingly with one another. The hairs on the backs of his hands stood erect with displeasure.

  “Thanks Pretty. You know how to reach me.”

  On the way out I info-synced with my mission handler at IGBA and updated them on the direction my investigation had taken. A journey to Earth was against IGBA regulation.

  Section 2, Page 10, Line 9: No operative will lead a mission into home planet territory.

  You would think that ‘hey, it’s an entire planet! What are the chances you’ll be recognized?’ Trust me, it’s happened. It’s as inevitable as running into a really hot ex-boyfriend while on a blind date with your mother’s boss’ acne-ridden and caustic son named Eugene. You’re mortified and your ex is snickering at your descent on the social ladder.

  Then again, in my case that is, it was highly doubtful that I would run in to anyone who’d finger me in a crowd. My generation was long gone and any relatives that knew me were dead.

  The only way I’d get into trouble was if some random descendent happened to have a random year book from the 2020’s. The rule was more to protect those operatives newer to IGBA that still had living, immediate relatives. Still, I doubted IGBA would break a fundamental rule.

  I knew the regulations and so did IGBA. I thought cueing in my handler marked the end of my involvement, but I was as wrong as bacon grease and pork rinds in a pig food trough.

  GRUP

  I headed home to my living pod in central city on planet GRUP- the Galaxy Recognized Ultra-Power. Right off the bat, it was easy to tell that GRUP was run by narcissists. GRUP was the self-proclaimed center of the extensively mapped galaxy. Any system not recognizing the political superiority of GRUP was tagged as Anti-GRUP and monitored for potential uprisings. One thing I did miss about Anti-GRUP Earth, besides the obvious friends and family, were proper baths.

  GRUP’s idea of bathing is a quick stint in a sanitation booth. I looked at the small booth then stepped in with a sigh.

  After I was filth free, but still feeling like a hot mess, I popped my food order into the delivery system and waited for my rations.

  When the food arrived, I ignored the colorless and unappealing exterior and popped a cube into my mouth. It still amazed me that so many flavors could be engineered into a 2 inch cube.

  Five cubes later, I had my nutritional intake for the evening met. Six minutes later, my wall-25 mounted info-link buzzed.

  “This is G.”

  “G, HQ says you are a go for Earth. Do you understand?”

  I knew better than to ask questions, but couldn’t help myself.

  “Is HQ aware of my connection to…” I didn’t get to finish. The line clicked and then my brain clicked. I was headed to Earth. Shit.

  I received the case file on Chi-Yeta about an hour later. The info-bead arrived in the normal manner- beaming into a small diameter hole and rolling forward into a slot adjacent to my info-link. It was obsidian black and branded with a series of raised bumps. It resembled Earth braille and when processed thru IGBA data-corp, would serve as the filing label.

  My first thought when perusing Chi-Yeta’s file was that I’d gleaned more about the case from Pretty than I was going to learn from the little, ebony bead. My second was why the hell would Chi-Yeta hide on Earth?

  Digha-Waa was a fresh water planet and its inhabitants built for primarily water life. Digha-Waa was a 92% ratio water to land area. Digha-Waas were very gelatinous in appearance and their structure wasn’t supported by a carbon-based bone. In fact, the entire structure defied gravity and was supported by hundreds of air pockets that varied in size, but resembled bubble wrap. It was actually amazing to see a Digha-Waa transition from an aquatic to an air environment. You could actually see the air pockets inflate. The creatures basically had built in BCDs (buoyancy compensator devices).

  Earth wouldn’t be the most convenient-environment wise. We had lots of water, but over 90% was salted. The ice caps had melted a bit more or the ratio would be even higher.

  It struck me then that the very improbability of hiding there was likely why Chi-Yeta chose it.

  Every time I encountered the strange water species, I had to reign in my urge to drop kick the creature to the ground, pounce on the flaccid, jellylike flesh and begin making the ‘pop, pop, pop’ sound that was wholly satisfying and amusing as a small child. There were so many things I missed about Earth, bubble wrap being one of them… yet…I truly did not want to return to my home planet. On Earth, a Digha-Waa would stick out like skewered pork at a vegan buffet.

  There was really only one logical place for Chi-Yeta to hide on Earth and I was so not looking forward to ‘deep-water’ fishing.

  Earth

  I dragged ass packing my black duffel.

  Pants. Check. Belt. Check. Shoes…got some on my feet. Check. Underwear…nah. Well, maybe one pair. I stuffed a pair of black hipsters into a side pocket. Maybe one more pair… to be safe.

  After zipping the bag, I sat on my bunk. I wasn’t flashy. I didn’t need the fancy type of apartments advertised in the city center. I was more than happy bunking in an IGBA employee dorm. I was fine eating nutrition cubes and electrolyte-laced melt strips. My room was minimalist- a bunk, a sanitation booth, storage closet and postal slot. I didn’t ask for much, but I’d mentally asked the powers at be to never ever make me go back to Earth.

  What can I say: the O GOD works in strange ways.

  It had been easy to retain my Christian sensibilities in space. (Ironically, it had been easier in space than on Earth). There were many varied belief systems and non-belief systems, but the O GOD was the most wildly respected patron of inter-space theology. The principle of “One Galaxy, One Deity” was amazing in its relativeness to ancient Earth doctrine. The Intergalaxy Biblical Text had been lovingly preserved for centuries, each word now translated into Interspace English for the masses.

  I carried a black document bead of the IG Biblical Text on me at all times- super accessible and always ready to pop into my wrist communicator.

  My hand played with the small, ebony bead strung around my neck on an infinity cord.

  The cord would never break and was touch sensitive to my exact chemistry. Next to the ebony bead was a scarlet bead which contained my comprehensive G.M. life history- from birth to current location and assignment. It was my lifeline to the past and my dog tag to the current.

  If I failed in a mission (meaning I better have died and not return in shame), the bead would be processed by my handler and my remains discretely sent to my home planet- not that there’d be anyone to claim it.

  I looked down at both beads side by side. I was basically looking at my life next to the book that should guide my life. It was one thing to call myself a Christian, it was another thing to work as a bounty hunter and sometimes assassin. The two lifestyles didn’t exactly mesh well.

  Sitting. Sitting. Procrastination was one of my most finely honed skills…and it wasn’t a skill I’d picked up in ‘how to catch a fugitive’ training. I debated getting up and heading to the IGBA flight deck, but decided that reluctant lingering could last a bit longer. I was studiously calculating the decades since I’d last touched home planet soil when my communicator blinked green. Green for go…yippee. Guess headquarters had my paperwork in order. I glanced at myself in the small six by six inch mirror mounted above my postal slot. The red hair was so festive and bright. I glanced down at my wrist and accessed the disguise panel. Jet black. The mirror regarded me now, in all my gothic glory. My skin looked even paler, but I was pleased to have an exterior that mimicked my interior feelings. The long locks of black looked coordinated against the cobalt and black material of my regulation uniform.

  My shuttle was set to launch at the lowest latitude of GRUP’s fourth moon- at a time when many would be sleeping. I walked slowly, taking a mental picture of the GRUP central city below.

  In my fifth year as a bounty apprentice, the anti-gravity mechanics holding the IGBA facility at 1200 elevation failed. I’d been on street duty at the time. The poor Prigbees I’d been arresting for transport crapped all over their holding cages. Admittedly, I’d ended up with a small, wet stain on my IGBA uniform. But come on! The sight of a six acre platform rapidly falling towards me was more than enough reason to lose control of bodily functions.

  Despite my procrastination and mental musings, I was locked and loaded (mentally unprepared) and standing in headquarters with time to spare. I normally arrived early, but by the grace of my nerves I arrived especially early today. Early enough in fact to see the HEAD of headquarters himself, IGBA official Briscoe. Like most IGBA officials, Briscoe was a transplant from another political sector of GRUP.

  Originally he’d worked in GRUP corporate affairs. I never had been able to understand how easing company transitions during hostile mergers prepared him to run mission control, but I’m just an underling…no need to understand the ‘big picture.’ My handler constantly reminded me that the IGBA ‘don’t ask, don’t tell policy’- adopted during the ill handling of illegal experimentation on planet Cartica- was effectual for the foreseeable future.

  I momentarily and conveniently forgot my handler’s words of wisdom and marched myself up to Briscoe for a little heart-to-heart.

  “Head-Bounty Briscoe, nice to see you this morning.” I tried so hard to sound polite. It just wasn’t something I did well.

  “Bounty G.M.” He acknowledged me with two words and a head nod. Smug jerk. I planted myself in front of him, feet spread, unmoving.

  He regarded me. “Can I help you with something?”

  I hadn’t met many Diecorians, but if Briscoe was the run of the mill brand, I was planning on staying clear of planet Diecor. His frame was tall, but heavily muscled. He towered over me.

  His skin was an amazing and pale shade of lilac. If I ever bought my own living pod, I’d like to take him to a home goods complex and throw him under the color analyzer. I squared my shoulders and looked at him solidly.

  “Actually, I do have a quick question. Why is control sending me on mission that is in direct violation of section 2 of IGBA regulation?” He gave me an odd look and then began speaking.

  “There is no violation concerning your new assignment. The planet is anti-GRUP, correct?”

  Briscoe glanced down at his wrist and pointedly checked his watch. I’m so sorry for wasting your time oh high and mighty one. Grrr. This man really burned my grits.

  I was a-freaking absolutely sure where he was going with this.

  “Yes, I think it is. What does that have to do with my assignment to…”. He cut me off with an exasperated sigh.

  “Bounty G.M., allow me to remind you that due to recent terrorist activity in the Xandros sector, all anti-GRUP natives are being extradited to their home systems. Having been recently assigned to a bounty detail in the Xandros sector, you are well aware of this. IGBA has even done a thorough sweep of those in its employ. As far as we are concerned, you are a native of a pro-GRUP planet and that is the only reason that you are still on active duty and not rotting on a POS bit of space junk.” He continued to regard me. I would have to be an idiot to not understand the meaning of his statement. “So you understand now. There is no violation of IGBA regulation. Your mission is sanctioned and cleared. Good luck G.”

  He walked away not waiting for a response. I stared at his back. I was pissed, but there was not a frapping thing I could do about it. A shrill voice called my name. I walked up to a tinted service window and reached for the single orange paper held by ancient looking fingers.

  Alien form could be deceiving. I’d be willing to bet a month’s worth of entertainment points that the hand belonged to a Garquat and not an old ‘person.’ Earth. The reality started to sink in.

  I was headed to home-sweet-home. I’d ignored most of the Earth news that drifted into headquarters. And being Anti-GRUP, Earth was monitored heavily. So there was always news and it was always depressing- thus the ignoring.

  If anyone ever doubted my home of origin, all they need do is see my defense mechanisms in action. Talk about a true species trait. Last night, in light of my upcoming trip to my home planet, I’d opened the IGBA file on the planet and began to read. The more I read, the more I realized that I was not going back to the earth of my childhood. Venezuela, a former third world province, was now the capital of the planet.

  My home country was no longer a world power thanks to a war between the US and China that began in 2031 and lasted until 2040.

  The United Nations had dissolved by then; there were no allies to come to either side. Funny enough, the US and China canceled each other out, fell from grace and all the other countries sat back and watched. Convenient?

  The USA was now known as simply the NAC or North American Continent. Personally, I preferred USA, but it was hard to retain that name after Texas broke off and unified with the Central Americas. And then the California governor decided to purposefully disrupt the major fault line that ran the length of the state and finish the job of sending the sunshine land floating off into the bright, blue ocean (the great earthquake of 2056 started that job). Nope, the great U.S. of A was just a little bit smaller with no US.

  Space had been an interesting transition for me. It was a bit of a stink- my leaving home to travel off world. The inter-space travel commission (an innovation brought about after GRUP made contact with Earth) was very new and I wanted in. My parents were appalled at my choice to relocate. I could understand my parents’ point of view…to a certain extent. My leaving and jumping star systems meant that they’d likely be long incinerated and used for ash meal in the National Composting System (NCS).

  Yeah, some Earth locals still bitched about the 2015 initiative to clean the planet with the NCS. I guess I could see their points too. Every land fill had been emptied, every grave exhumed. When folks were used to retaining some tangible proof that their relatives had once lived, it was a hard pill to swallow that their loved ones’ bodies were now crushed into fine, organic powder. And I could understand how the NCS might seem a little…well, sick.

  But personally, it didn’t bother me one bit that the sterilized ashes of my loved ones were used as binder in the plant food that helped grow the national produce. Circle of life and all that jazz.

 

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