Crossroads

It was a fast descent to an early grave. In what seemed to be an appropriate location, too: a large scrapyard full of derelict ships and industrial equipment that had likely been picked clean long ago. What was left was too unstable to be safely, or profitably, salvaged.

Now there would be one more ship in this graveyard.

Krenn’s Talon smoldered and sparked as clouds raced by his field of view. All sorts of alarms were yelling at him as if he wasn’t already aware of the danger he was in. The Tevarin pirate tried to wrestle his ship into control but could do nothing to slow his fall.

With no better solution available to him, and as much as he didn’t want to abandon his cargo, he decided to abandon ship. As he ejected the pod, his console lit up with warnings. The cockpit of the Talon was supposed to separate from the rest of the vessel, but the damage to his ship had impacted the latches. They didn’t detach properly, but the cockpit tried to fire anyway. The force of the ejection ripped the latches out of place and sent his cockpit spinning wildly.

Krenn only caught glimpses of the rest of his ship hurtling deeper into the field of scrap as his cockpit crashed through piles of loose metal. Hitting the ground, he tumbled end over end before finally coming to a stop seated upside down.

The pirate caught his breath and ripped his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground. His skull stung as air touched the freshly bleeding wound upon his head.

His cockpit was in tatters, the canopy shattered, and the walls pierced in multiple places by loose scrap. Worst of all, a large piece of shrapnel was embedded in his left thigh, pinning him to his seat.

Krenn slowly gripped the shard of metal and wrenched it free. Immediately, blood began flowing from the wound, spilling down into his cockpit. He tossed the shard of metal aside and tried to detach his seat straps, but they refused to disengage. Frustrated, he reached behind his seat and pulled the bakor from its lodging.

The bakor was about the size of a hatchet, but instead of a single axe head the weapon had three edges: the standard axe head and then a small fluke jutting out opposite the main blade, as well as a short, sharpened spike extending from the top of the weapon between the two blades. It was uncommon, but the traditional Tevarin weapon was the pirate’s favorite tool.

Krenn cut the seat straps away and fell to the ceiling of his cockpit, wincing as his wounded leg screamed at him. He looked at the injury, still pulsing blood, and then cut his seat straps again, using the material to fashion a makeshift tourniquet which he tied around his leg to staunch the bleeding. Immediate death now held temporarily at bay, he pulled himself out of the shattered remains of his cockpit and into the dumping ground around him. For as many fights as he’d been in before, the pirate was sure he had never looked this bad. He sheathed his bakor in the holster at his waist.

The sound of a ship’s engines, distant but growing closer, sent Krenn’s adrenaline spiking. He ducked out of sight.

The bounty hunter was coming.

The hunter’s approach stirred a strong wind that carried through the junkyard, eliciting a chorus of groaning metal in response as the unstable ships throughout teetered, threatening to topple over. Krenn watched the Avenger pass over him and head towards a plume of smoke that was slowly rising into the sky.

His crashed ship.

Where, hopefully, his cargo remained. That cargo was the whole reason he had gotten into this mess. Infiltrating the security post hadn’t been any more difficult than usual, but after that everything had gone to hell. Not only had his exit been even bloodier than planned, but then Jorg Tala, that damn bounty hunter, had come out of nowhere, isolated Krenn from his crew, and sent him crashing down here.

Jorg had been systematically hunting down members of the Ashen Haunt for the last few months, but Krenn hadn’t thought he’d become this much of a problem. Based on the fanatical way Jorg was targeting his gang, he had no doubt the hunter was another xenophobe trying to relive Humanity’s glory days triumphing over an alien species.

The pirate watched as the bounty hunter’s ship descended out of view, landing near the smoke. The hunter would undoubtedly investigate his Talon’s crash site and Krenn was determined to not let that bastard get his hands on what he had worked so hard to steal.

In a way, Krenn figured he was lucky. Were their roles reversed, Krenn would’ve fired a missile at the wreck as soon as he had it in sight. That lack of decisiveness on the bounty hunter’s part was a distinctly Human quality.

The pirate took stock of his situation: a pistol more than halfway through its last battery, a single grenade that managed not to blow up when he crashed, his bakor blade, and most importantly, that nasty gash in his leg. The tourniquet was slowing his blood loss, but he needed a more permanent solution. Adrenaline would keep the pain at bay for now, but he wouldn’t stand a chance if he bled out or lost circulation in his leg.

Krenn searched the scrap around him, then limped his way down the small dirty alleys that weaved between the forgotten ships until he found what he was looking for. A large freighter sat up ahead. It looked to be a more recent addition to the wreckages here, relatively speaking. The ship’s hull had already been ripped away, exposing a large set of pipes from its inner workings to the open air. Pipes that were slowly leaking green fluid.

Krenn entered the ship through the hole in the hull, followed the pipes to their natural point, and – jackpot – found a large coolant tank. He smirked, knowing exactly how proud Ragwheel would be when he heard this story. It was proof that Krenn actually listened to the old mechanic, even when he pretended not to.

Krenn took a deep breath and drew the bakor. He was about to make a lot of noise, but he needed to get this done. If Jorg heard him, then so be it. Krenn stabbed the bakor’s center spike into the tank. The metal shrieked in protest at the impact, but sadly remained intact. Krenn adjusted his grip and struck with greater strength. He was rewarded with a stream of green fluid pouring from the fresh hole. With no time to lose, Krenn steeled himself and pushed his leg forward into the path of the liquid.

It took every shred of willpower he had to force himself to remain where he stood, gritting through the pain until the caustic chemicals burned his wound, cauterizing it. Then he had to turn his leg and burn the other side, where the scrap had pierced through.

When the wound was sealed, Krenn yanked his leg from the chemical and buckled on the spot. The sickening metallic scent of his blood melded with the acrid sting of the coolant, making his head swim. Looking down at the ruined flesh of his leg, he wasn’t sure he’d ever walk the same, but at least he had stopped the bleeding.

Limping heavily, Krenn exited the freighter the same way he came and found the smoke trail of his ship, which he used as a guiding star as he continued deeper into the scrapyard. The collection of shattered ships grew messier the deeper he ventured. More and more the paths dead-ended into mounds of rusty metal. Unwilling to risk the noise he’d make clambering over the scrap, he blindly continued through whatever paths he could find, taking a circuitous route towards his ship. He kept his steps as light as he could with his injury, but despite his efforts, it proved impossible to be totally silent.

The proof? A bullet ripped through his shoulder.

The sudden impact dropped him behind a heavy sheet of metal. A burst of additional gunfire followed and impacted centimeters in front of his face against his impromptu cover. Clearly, Jorg had found him. The fact he had found him so quickly did at least give the pirate hope about one thing – maybe his cargo was still safe.

“Krenn,” the bounty hunter called out. He sounded far away. “Time to give it up. It’s over.”

Krenn pushed himself against the metal plate and put his hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet had pierced through completely and seemed to have avoided causing any major damage. As the chant says, do not let misfortune distract from your blessings.

He peeked out from behind his cover and caught a glimpse of Jorg, wearing a green set of heavy armor. He was perched atop the remains of a Carrack, using the vantage point to great effect. Even from this distance, Krenn could spot a laser pistol on the bounty hunter’s hip along with what he thought might be a knife, as well as the assault rifle to blame for his latest injury.

“Come on,” Krenn shouted, trying not to sound too winded. He glanced around for a good escape route. “You should know by now that I’m not really the ‘come quiet’ type.”

Krenn took off, careful to stay low and keep as much cover as he could between himself and the hunter. Maintaining a crouched stance proved even more difficult thanks to his mounting injuries.

“If you give up, I can get you medical attention,” Jorg replied from his perch. “I’d rather you not die if I can avoid it.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re trying very hard!”

“The bounty for capturing you alive is higher than turning you in dead,” Jorg said. “But not by much. The Haunt doesn’t have many friends.”

Krenn ignored him, continuing to move until he found himself at an impasse. There were two routes available to him. One was over a hill of scrap but attempting to climb it in his current state was sure to draw Jorg’s attention. The other was through a clearing and would leave him an easy target.

Krenn carefully pulled a loose length of pipe from the scrap pile and peeked at Jorg. The hunter was looking down the sights of his rifle, searching for any sign of movement. As soon as Jorg’s head was turned away, Krenn tossed the pipe as far as he could.

The sound of metal hitting metal drew Jorg’s attention and Krenn used the momentary distraction to step out of hiding, draw his laser pistol, and unload the last of his battery at the Carrack Jorg was standing on.

The shots found their target and with no small amount of luck, the Carrack collapsed, the tower of a ship falling in on itself, consuming Jorg within it.

His battery empty, Krenn tossed his blaster aside and ran across the open space as fast as his injured leg allowed.

It wasn’t fast enough.

A cacophony of metal from behind him drew his gaze and Krenn turned to see Jorg pushing out of the remains of the fallen ship. He seemed to have lost his rifle in the fall but was otherwise unharmed, his armor only scuffed and scratched from the fall. Krenn cursed. He’d stand no chance against Jorg until that damn armor was dealt with.

Jorg drew his pistol and shot at Krenn, but the injured pirate managed to just make it to the other end of the clearing, breaking Jorg’s line of sight.

Krenn was sure that he’d never outpace the hunter in a straight chase, so he quickly dislodged the debris he ran past, creating an avalanche of trash behind him. Soon a jagged obstacle course of metal shards lay between them.

“You really think you can get away,” Jorg called out, more annoyed than anything. He charged ahead, vaulting over and under the debris. “You’re going down just like the rest of your pitiful gang,” Jorg taunted.

Spotting an opportunity ahead, Krenn slowed just enough to make sure Jorg saw him, “You think you’re so much better than us? Must be so easy for you, only seeing the ‘verse in black and white.”

Jorg raised his pistol to fire, but Krenn ducked around a corner again, just barely escaping him.

Jorg followed, gaining speed, and rounded the-

BOOM!

The old “grenade around the corner” trick. It wasn’t the first time Krenn had used the tactic and he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time either. As the chant goes, hunger can make even the most dangerous predator blind.

Unwilling to give Jorg even a moment to recover, Krenn drew his bakor and rushed into the dirt cloud kicked up by the grenade’s detonation. As the dust began to dissipate, Krenn saw the hunter already regaining his footing. The blast had done its job though. Jorg’s armor was now charred and heavily damaged.

The pirate swung his bakor at the hunter’s pistol first, knocking the weapon aside and followed by raking the axe towards Jorg’s head. Krenn’s aim was true, but the deadly blade didn’t quite penetrate Jorg’s helmet, though the force of the swing sent the hunter stumbling back.

Krenn immediately went for Jorg’s fallen pistol, turned it towards the hunter, but froze before he could finish squeezing the trigger. Where his axe had struck Jorg’s helmet, the visor had cracked, revealing the face beneath.

A Tevarin face.

“Not what you expected to see?” Jorg laughed, still held at gunpoint.

“You… why?” Krenn asked. “You could be hunting anybody else but you’re going after us? After your own kind?!” Krenn felt his blood boiling, anger surging within him like a tidal wave. “Working for the bastards who took everything from us?!”

“The Humans need to see that we’re worthy of respect.”

“And this is how? By having us hunt each other down?”

“You and your gang are holding our entire people back,” Jorg replied, with deadly conviction.

Krenn didn’t know what to say. How could a Tevarin believe this? After their people had endured so much, suffered so much, and here-

A flash of movement snapped Krenn back to the present. A thrown knife cut through the air, aimed at his throat. Krenn barely dodged it, the knife drawing blood as it grazed him. Then Jorg charged him.

Krenn stumbled back fighting to bring the pistol to bear, but Jorg slammed Krenn’s wrist against the hull, breaking the pirate’s grip on the pistol.

The weapon fell at their feet, but Krenn kicked the pistol with the heel of his foot before Jorg could reach for it, hearing it clang as it disappeared under a large pile of scrap.

With the inch of space he had gained, Krenn swung his axe down, but the hunter leapt away to avoid being cut by the blade. Krenn pressed forward, swinging the axe again and again.

Seconds stretched on and Krenn’s stamina began to give out as the fight continued. Any strength advantage Krenn might have had was quickly being sapped by his blood loss, and as much as the pirate hated to admit it, Jorg was clearly better trained. If Krenn was going to defeat the hunter, he needed to end things soon.

Krenn let loose a guttural roar and raised his bakor high, ready to smash down into the hunter. Jorg reached for the axe and Krenn grinned. The feint worked. He redirected the spike of the bakor into Jorg’s leg, stabbing it through a gap in the armor left by the grenade explosion.

Jorg fell where he stood, crumpling over the injured leg.

The pirate had the hunter at his mercy… and yet did nothing. For as much as Krenn hated Jorg for hunting down his pack, he was still Tevarin.

Jorg tried to push himself up, but his leg couldn’t hold his weight and he fell right back down.

Bakor pointed at Jorg, Krenn spoke. “I’ll give you a chance. But just one,” he began. “Don’t ever come after me again.”

Krenn turned away. He heard Jorg struggle after him and then collapse again, unable to pursue him.

Krenn tried to come to terms with his new understanding of Jorg when he finally reached the end of the smoke he had been following all this time.

There, he found what he was looking for: his Talon and, just beyond it, Jorg’s Avenger.

Krenn’s own ship was wrecked, already at home in the landfill of scrap metal, but at least it seemed his smuggling compartment hadn’t been compromised.

He used his bakor as a prybar, stabbed it into a gap between his ship’s engine plating, and began to push. It didn’t give immediately, but with enough force, the leverage did its trick. Krenn pried the plating away, revealing his ship’s engines. Sitting amidst all the inner workings was a hidden compartment. Inside there was a small, reinforced chest, only a little larger than his hand.

Krenn breathed a sigh of relief and carefully removed the chest from its position.

A pipe struck the back of his head and sent him, the cargo, and the bakor sprawling to the ground.

“I was wondering where you were trying to go,” Jorg said, “I thought you wanted my ship, but…”

Vision blurry, Krenn watched as Jorg bent down and picked up the small chest.

“This is what you got from the security outpost?” Jorg asked. “The reason so many people there had to die?”

Krenn groaned, vision still swimming. “They were in the way,” he said, voice uneven.

“That’s it?” asked Jorg. He tossed his pipe aside and retrieved Krenn’s fallen bakor. “Do you know what happens with every crime you pull?” Jorg waited for an answer. When none came, he continued. “You validate all the terrible ways they treat us. Reinforce their belief that we’re just problems that need solving.”

“And you blame us for that?” Krenn asked, incredulous, trying to speak through the pain. “They leave no room for us in their world. We have nothing to lose by fighting back.”

“We have our future,” said Jorg. “Our lives.”

“You call this a life?” Krenn asked. Frustration, anger, and sadness all raged within him. “All their systems – all their laws – they’re designed to keep us weak. And you know what happens if we do show the Humans any signs of strength? They call us criminals. Convince the universe we’re somehow a threat to be hunted when all we want to do is survive. Well fine. I welcome it. If they want me to be a criminal, I’ll be the best one I can be. I’ll show them exactly what our people are capable of.”

“What’s in here?” Jorg held the box up in between them. “What’s worth all that misery?”

“See for yourself. The code is 2610.”

Krenn watched Jorg’s expression carefully as the hunter entered the code and unlocked the box. If he recognized the number, he gave no sign of it. Jorg opened the lid and, immediately, his brows furrowed, clearly confused.

He reached inside the box. “What is this?” Jorg asked, holding up the data stick that had been kept secured in the small, shielded chest.

“Lives,” said Krenn.

“I don’t understand…” Jorg said.

“They’re fresh starts. Clean identifications used to smuggle Tevarin off-world,” Krenn clarified. “From places they wouldn’t be allowed to travel for whatever bullshit reasons the local governments used to mark them as criminals.”

As the silence settled between them, Krenn saw a crack in Jorg’s expression. He pressed his advantage. “All this time, you’ve been hunting me and the others in the Haunt, but we haven’t been stealing for ourselves. We’ve been stealing for this.”

“Where do you take them?” Jorg finally asked.

“To Branaugh,” Krenn said.

The pirate saw the realization on the hunter’s face. “Outside the Empire.”

Krenn just smiled. “The Empire knows what we’re doing. I may hate them, but they aren’t stupid. Why do you think our bounties are so high? They can’t stand to see Tevarin help each other.”

“There are other ways,” Jorg replied, voice more unsteady than it had been. “You don’t have to murder to save others.”

“We do the only thing we can. If some Humans have to die to save my people, then so be it.”

“That’s not-“ Jorg started. “Those aren’t soldiers on the stations you attack. They’re innocent people. You’re not fighting a war.”

“Of course I am.”

The thunder of ship engines pierced the atmosphere as Krenn’s crew exited quantum over the scrapyard. They had finally tracked him down.

Jorg’s surprise at their entry gave Krenn just the opportunity he needed. He charged at Jorg and threw all his weight into the hunter, taking advantage of every pound he had over the smaller Tevarin.

He pushed and pushed until… Jorg took a sharp breath.

Krenn stopped and saw that Jorg’s chest was shaking. His breathing pained. A metal rod was sticking out through his chest, slick with blood.

Krenn stepped back from the bounty hunter. His hoarse breaths rose and fell. Still clutching the bakor, he looked down at the wound, the shock clearly holding the pain at bay for the time being.

“Well,” he managed in a ragged whisper. “Definitely not worth the extra credits.”

Krenn watched him for a few moments. The hatred that had driven him to this point was surprisingly softened.

“The Humans,” Krenn started. “Why do you care about them so much?”

For a moment, Krenn wasn’t sure Jorg would answer. Then, the hunter closed his eyes, grimacing in pain. “They’re not all the same…”

Krenn searched Jorg’s expression for something that wasn’t there. “That’s not what I asked. Why do you care?”

The pause was longer this time. Jorg’s breathing slower. “When I was young… I was alone,” he said. “A Human took me in. Showed me another way. They could be allies. If you didn’t treat them all like enemies…”

Jorg’s words spun in Krenn’s mind. The sheer conviction with which Jorg spoke troubled him.

“…You had your imprint scanned recently?” he asked.

Jorg nodded. It was a slight movement. To Krenn, it seemed all he could manage.

“Then…” Krenn said. “Maybe you can tell me about it when we meet again.”

The words took time to land, but when they did Krenn registered the surprise on Jorg’s face. “Fine. Next time…” Jorg said, weak, his eyes closing.

Krenn nodded and stayed there, watching as Jorg Tala died.

Krenn retrieved his bakor and gave the hunter one last look. He knew Jorg would be back. One of the benefits of the lawful life was an easier time regenerating. Well, easier in that you wouldn’t be arrested right when you woke up. The headaches were the same no matter what. Krenn caught himself hoping Jorg’s regeneration was painless and stopped midthought, surprised by his own sentimentality.

In the distance he saw his crew flying low over the scrapyard. Likely looking for any sign of him or his ship. He wasn’t looking forward to all the flack he’d catch for his current state but… He looked at Jorg’s Avenger.

He could at least avoid the worst of the grief by returning with a new ship.

Jorg would be angry when he’d learn it was gone, but Krenn told himself that even though the hunter wasn’t a convert yet, it was never too soon to make a small donation to the cause.

Es war ein schneller Abstieg in ein frühes Grab. Und das an einem scheinbar passenden Ort: einem großen Schrottplatz voller ausgedienter Schiffe und Industrieanlagen, die wahrscheinlich schon vor langer Zeit ausgemustert worden waren. Was noch übrig war, war zu instabil, um sicher oder profitabel geborgen werden zu können.

Jetzt würde es ein weiteres Schiff auf diesem Friedhof geben.

Krenns Talon glühte und funkelte, während Wolken an seinem Blickfeld vorbeizogen. Alle möglichen Alarme schrien ihn an, als ob er sich der Gefahr, in der er schwebte, nicht schon bewusst wäre. Der Tevarin-Pirat versuchte, sein Schiff unter Kontrolle zu bringen, konnte aber nichts tun, um seinen Sturz zu verlangsamen.

Da ihm keine bessere Lösung zur Verfügung stand und er seine Fracht nicht aufgeben wollte, beschloss er, das Schiff zu verlassen. Als er die Kapsel abwarf, leuchtete seine Konsole mit Warnungen auf. Das Cockpit der Talon sollte sich eigentlich vom Rest des Schiffes trennen, aber der Schaden an seinem Schiff hatte die Verriegelungen beeinträchtigt. Sie lösten sich nicht richtig, aber das Cockpit versuchte trotzdem zu feuern. Die Wucht des Ausstoßes riss die Verriegelungen aus ihrer Position und ließ sein Cockpit wild herumwirbeln.

Krenn konnte nur noch erahnen, wie der Rest seines Schiffes immer tiefer in das Schrottfeld stürzte, während sein Cockpit durch Haufen von losem Metall krachte. Als er auf dem Boden aufschlug, überschlug er sich und kam schließlich kopfüber sitzend zum Stehen.

Der Pirat schnappte nach Luft, riss seinen Helm ab und ließ ihn auf den Boden fallen. Sein Schädel brannte, als die Luft die frisch blutende Wunde an seinem Kopf berührte.

Sein Cockpit lag in Trümmern, die Kabinenhaube war zerbrochen und die Wände waren an mehreren Stellen von losem Schrott durchlöchert. Das Schlimmste aber war, dass ein großes Stück Schrapnell in seinem linken Oberschenkel steckte und ihn an seinen Sitz fesselte.

Krenn griff langsam nach dem Metallsplitter und riss ihn heraus. Sofort begann das Blut aus der Wunde zu fließen und ergoss sich in sein Cockpit. Er warf den Metallsplitter beiseite und versuchte, seine Sitzgurte zu lösen, aber sie ließen sich nicht lösen. Frustriert griff er hinter seinen Sitz und zog den Bakor aus seiner Verankerung.

Das Bakor hatte in etwa die Größe eines Beils, aber anstelle eines einzelnen Axtkopfes hatte die Waffe drei Schneiden: den normalen Axtkopf und eine kleine Schneide, die gegenüber der Hauptklinge herausragte, sowie einen kurzen, geschärften Dorn, der zwischen den beiden Klingen aus der Spitze der Waffe ragte. Es war ungewöhnlich, aber die traditionelle Tevarin-Waffe war das Lieblingswerkzeug der Piraten.

Krenn schnitt die Sitzgurte ab und ließ sich an die Decke seines Cockpits fallen, wobei er zusammenzuckte, als sein verletztes Bein aufschrie. Er betrachtete die Verletzung, aus der immer noch Blut pulsierte, und schnitt dann erneut die Sitzgurte durch und benutzte das Material, um eine behelfsmäßige Aderpresse herzustellen, die er um sein Bein band, um die Blutung zu stillen. Nachdem er den Tod vorübergehend in Schach gehalten hatte, zog er sich aus den zerschmetterten Überresten seines Cockpits auf die Müllhalde um ihn herum. So viele Kämpfe er auch schon hinter sich hatte, der Pirat war sich sicher, dass er noch nie so schlecht ausgesehen hatte. Er steckte sein Bakor in das Holster an seiner Taille.

Das Geräusch der Schiffsmotoren, das in der Ferne zu hören war, aber immer näher kam, ließ Krenns Adrenalinspiegel in die Höhe schnellen. Er duckte sich außer Sichtweite.

Der Kopfgeldjäger war im Anmarsch.

Die Annäherung des Jägers ließ einen starken Wind aufkommen, der durch den Schrottplatz wehte und einen Chor von ächzendem Metall hervorrief, während die instabilen Schiffe überall schwankten und umzukippen drohten. Krenn sah, wie der Avenger an ihm vorbeifuhr und auf eine Rauchfahne zusteuerte, die langsam in den Himmel stieg.

Sein abgestürztes Schiff.

Wo hoffentlich seine Fracht verblieben war. Diese Fracht war der einzige Grund, warum er in diesen Schlamassel geraten war. Das Eindringen in den Sicherheitsposten war nicht schwieriger gewesen als sonst, aber danach war alles zum Teufel gegangen. Nicht nur, dass sein Abgang noch blutiger war als geplant, sondern dann war auch noch Jorg Tala, dieser verdammte Kopfgeldjäger, aus dem Nichts aufgetaucht, hatte Krenn von seiner Crew isoliert und ihn hier runtergeschickt.

Jorg hatte in den letzten Monaten systematisch Jagd auf Mitglieder der Ashen Haunt gemacht, aber Krenn hatte nicht gedacht, dass er zu einem so großen Problem werden würde. Angesichts der fanatischen Art und Weise, mit der Jorg seine Bande ins Visier nahm, hatte er keinen Zweifel daran, dass es sich bei dem Jäger um einen weiteren Fremdenfeind handelte, der die glorreichen Tage der Menschheit beim Sieg über eine fremde Spezies wieder aufleben lassen wollte.

Der Pirat beobachtete, wie das Schiff des Kopfgeldjägers aus dem Blickfeld verschwand und in der Nähe des Rauchs landete. Der Jäger würde zweifellos die Absturzstelle seines Talons untersuchen und Krenn war entschlossen, diesen Bastard nicht in die Hände bekommen zu lassen, wofür er so hart gearbeitet hatte.

In gewisser Weise konnte Krenn von Glück reden. Hätten sie die Rollen getauscht, hätte Krenn eine Rakete auf das Wrack abgefeuert, sobald er es in Sichtweite hatte. Dieser Mangel an Entschlossenheit des Kopfgeldjägers war eine ausgesprochen menschliche Eigenschaft.

Der Pirat machte sich ein Bild von seiner Lage: eine Pistole, deren letzte Batterie mehr als zur Hälfte verbraucht war, eine einzelne Granate, die beim Absturz nicht explodiert war, seine Bakor-Klinge und vor allem die böse Wunde in seinem Bein. Der Druckverband verlangsamte seinen Blutverlust, aber er brauchte eine dauerhafte Lösung. Adrenalin würde den Schmerz vorerst in Schach halten, aber er hätte keine Chance, wenn er verblutet oder die Durchblutung in seinem Bein ausfällt.

Krenn suchte den Schrott um sich herum ab und humpelte dann die kleinen schmutzigen Gassen hinunter, die sich zwischen den vergessenen Schiffen schlängelten, bis er fand, was er suchte. Vor ihm lag ein großer Frachter. Es sah aus, als wäre es ein neueres Wrack hier, relativ gesehen. Der Rumpf des Schiffes war bereits weggerissen worden, so dass eine große Anzahl von Rohren aus dem Inneren des Schiffes ins Freie führte. Rohre, aus denen langsam grüne Flüssigkeit austrat.

Krenn betrat das Schiff durch das Loch im Rumpf, folgte den Rohren bis zu ihrem natürlichen Punkt und - Jackpot - fand einen großen Kühlmitteltank. Er schmunzelte und wusste genau, wie stolz Ragwheel sein würde, wenn er diese Geschichte hörte. Es war der Beweis dafür, dass Krenn tatsächlich auf den alten Mechaniker hörte, auch wenn er so tat, als würde er es nicht tun.

Krenn holte tief Luft und zog das Bakor. Er war im Begriff, eine Menge Lärm zu machen, aber er musste das erledigen. Wenn Jorg ihn hörte, dann war es eben so. Krenn stieß den mittleren Stachel des Bakors in den Panzer. Das Metall kreischte beim Aufprall auf, blieb aber leider unversehrt. Krenn passte seinen Griff an und schlug mit größerer Kraft zu. Er wurde mit einem Strom grüner Flüssigkeit belohnt, die aus dem frischen Loch floss. Da er keine Zeit zu verlieren hatte, stählte sich Krenn und stieß sein Bein in den Weg der Flüssigkeit vor.

Es kostete ihn jedes Fünkchen Willenskraft, sich zu zwingen, stehen zu bleiben und den Schmerz zu ertragen, bis die ätzenden Chemikalien seine Wunde verbrannten und ausätzten. Dann musste er sein Bein umdrehen und die andere Seite verbrennen, wo der Schrott durchgedrungen war.

Als die Wunde verschlossen war, riss Krenn sein Bein aus der Chemikalie und knickte auf der Stelle ein. Der ekelerregende metallische Geruch seines Blutes vermischte sich mit dem beißenden Geruch der Kühlflüssigkeit und ließ seinen Kopf schwimmen. Als er auf das zerstörte Fleisch seines Beins hinunterblickte, war er sich nicht sicher, ob er jemals wieder so laufen würde, aber zumindest hatte er die Blutung gestoppt.

Schwer humpelnd verließ Krenn den Frachter auf demselben Weg, auf dem er gekommen war, und fand die Rauchfahne seines Schiffes, die ihm als Leitstern diente, als er tiefer in den Schrottplatz vordrang. Die Ansammlung zerschossener Schiffe wurde immer unübersichtlicher, je tiefer er vordrang. Mehr und mehr endeten die Wege in Haufen von rostigem Metall. Da er den Lärm nicht riskieren wollte, den er verursachen würde, wenn er über den Schrott kletterte, ging er blindlings weiter durch alle Wege, die er finden konnte, und nahm einen Umweg zu seinem Schiff. Er ging so leise, wie es ihm mit seiner Verletzung möglich war, aber trotz seiner Bemühungen war es unmöglich, völlig lautlos zu sein.

Der Beweis? Eine Kugel hatte sich in seine Schulter gebohrt.

Der plötzliche Einschlag ließ ihn hinter ein schweres Blech fallen. Es folgte ein weiterer Schuss, der nur wenige Zentimeter vor seinem Gesicht in seiner improvisierten Deckung einschlug. Offensichtlich hatte Jorg ihn gefunden. Die Tatsache, dass er ihn so schnell gefunden hatte, ließ den Piraten zumindest auf eines hoffen - vielleicht war seine Fracht noch in Sicherheit.

"Krenn", rief der Kopfgeldjäger. Er klang weit weg. "Zeit, aufzugeben. Es ist vorbei."

Krenn drückte sich gegen die Metallplatte und legte seine Hand auf seine Schulter. Zum Glück war die Kugel vollständig durchgedrungen und schien keinen größeren Schaden angerichtet zu haben. Wie der Spruch sagt: Lass dich nicht vom Unglück von deinem Segen ablenken.

Er lugte hinter seiner Deckung hervor und erhaschte einen Blick auf Jorg, der eine grüne, schwere Rüstung trug. Er hockte auf den Überresten einer Karacke und nutzte den Aussichtspunkt mit großem Erfolg. Selbst aus dieser Entfernung konnte Krenn eine Laserpistole an der Hüfte des Kopfgeldjägers erkennen, zusammen mit dem, was er für ein Messer hielt, sowie dem Sturmgewehr, das für seine jüngste Verletzung verantwortlich war.

"Kommen Sie", rief Krenn und versuchte, nicht zu erschöpft zu klingen. Er schaute sich nach einem guten Fluchtweg um. "Sie sollten inzwischen wissen, dass ich nicht gerade der Typ bin, der leise ist.

Krenn rannte los, wobei er darauf achtete, so tief wie möglich in Deckung zu gehen und so viel wie möglich zwischen sich und dem Jäger zu halten. Die geduckte Haltung aufrechtzuerhalten, erwies sich aufgrund seiner zunehmenden Verletzungen als noch schwieriger.

"Wenn Sie aufgeben, kann ich Sie medizinisch versorgen lassen", antwortete Jorg von seinem Sitzplatz aus. "Mir wäre es lieber, Sie würden nicht sterben, wenn ich es vermeiden kann."

"Sieht nicht so aus, als ob Sie sich besonders anstrengen würden!"

"Das Kopfgeld, das auf Sie ausgesetzt ist, wenn Sie lebend gefangen genommen werden, ist höher als wenn Sie tot eingeliefert werden", sagte Jorg. "Aber nicht viel. Das Haunt hat nicht viele Freunde."

Krenn ignorierte ihn und bewegte sich weiter, bis er in eine Sackgasse geriet. Es gab zwei Wege, die ihm zur Verfügung standen. Der eine führte über einen Schrotthügel, aber der Versuch, ihn in seinem jetzigen Zustand zu erklimmen, hätte mit Sicherheit Jorgs Aufmerksamkeit erregt. Der andere führte über eine Lichtung und würde ihn zu einem leichten Ziel machen.

Krenn zog vorsichtig ein loses Rohrstück aus dem Schrotthaufen und spähte zu Jorg hinüber. Der Jäger blickte in das Visier seines Gewehrs und suchte nach einem Anzeichen von Bewegung. Sobald Jorgs Kopf abgewandt war, warf Krenn das Rohr so weit wie möglich.

Das Geräusch von aufschlagendem Metall lenkte Jorgs Aufmerksamkeit auf sich und Krenn nutzte die momentane Ablenkung, um aus seinem Versteck zu kommen, seine Laserpistole zu ziehen und den letzten Rest seiner Batterie auf das Carrack, auf dem Jorg stand, zu entladen.

Die Schüsse fanden ihr Ziel und mit nicht wenig Glück stürzte die Karacke in sich zusammen, der Turm des Schiffes fiel in sich zusammen und verschlang Jorg in sich selbst.

Mit leerer Batterie warf Krenn seinen Blaster beiseite und rannte so schnell es sein verletztes Bein zuließ über den offenen Raum.

Das war nicht schnell genug.

Ein kakophonisches Geräusch von Metall hinter ihm zog seinen Blick auf sich und Krenn drehte sich um, um Jorg zu sehen, der sich aus den Überresten des abgestürzten Schiffes herausschob. Er schien bei dem Sturz sein Gewehr verloren zu haben, war aber ansonsten unverletzt, seine Rüstung war nur aufgeschürft und zerkratzt von dem Sturz. Krenn fluchte. Er würde keine Chance gegen Jorg haben, solange diese verdammte Rüstung nicht beseitigt war.

Jorg zog seine Pistole und schoss auf Krenn, aber der verletzte Pirat schaffte es gerade noch bis zum anderen Ende der Lichtung und durchbrach damit Jorgs Sichtlinie.

Krenn war sich sicher, dass er den Jäger bei einer direkten Verfolgungsjagd niemals überholen würde, also räumte er schnell die Trümmer beiseite, an denen er vorbeirannte, und löste damit eine Mülllawine hinter sich aus. Bald lag ein zerklüfteter Hindernisparcours aus Metallsplittern zwischen ihnen.

"Du glaubst wirklich, dass du entkommen kannst", rief Jorg, mehr verärgert als alles andere. Er stürmte voran, sprang über und unter den Trümmern hindurch. "Du wirst genauso untergehen wie der Rest deiner erbärmlichen Bande", spottete Jorg.

Krenn witterte eine Gelegenheit und verlangsamte sein Tempo, um sicherzugehen, dass Jorg ihn sah: "Ihr glaubt, ihr seid so viel besser als wir? Es muss so einfach für Sie sein, wenn Sie das Universum nur in Schwarz und Weiß sehen."

Jorg hob seine Pistole, um zu feuern, aber Krenn duckte sich wieder um eine Ecke und entkam ihm nur knapp.

Jorg folgte ihm, gewann an Tempo und umrundete die...

BUMM!

Der alte "Granate um die Ecke"-Trick. Es war nicht das erste Mal, dass Krenn diese Taktik anwandte und er hoffte, dass es auch nicht das letzte Mal sein würde. Wie das Sprichwort sagt, kann der Hunger selbst das gefährlichste Raubtier blind machen.

Nicht gewillt, Jorg auch nur einen Moment Zeit zu geben, sich zu erholen, zog Krenn seinen Bakor und stürzte sich in die Staubwolke, die durch die Detonation der Granate aufgewirbelt wurde. Als sich der Staub zu verziehen begann, sah Krenn, dass der Jäger bereits wieder auf die Beine kam. Die Explosion hatte jedoch ihren Zweck erfüllt. Jorgs Rüstung war nun verkohlt und schwer beschädigt.

Der Pirat schwang seine Bakor zuerst nach der Pistole des Jägers, schlug die Waffe beiseite und schlug dann mit der Axt nach Jorgs Kopf. Krenn zielte richtig, aber die tödliche Klinge durchdrang Jorgs Helm nicht ganz, obwohl die Wucht des Schwungs den Jäger zurückstolpern ließ.

Krenn griff sofort nach Jorgs fallender Pistole, richtete sie auf den Jäger, erstarrte aber, bevor er den Abzug betätigen konnte. An der Stelle, an der seine Axt Jorgs Helm getroffen hatte, war das Visier gesprungen und hatte das Gesicht darunter freigelegt.

Ein Tevarin-Gesicht.

"Nicht das, was Sie zu sehen erwartet haben?" Jorg lachte, immer noch mit der Waffe in der Hand.

"Sie... warum?" fragte Krenn. "Sie könnten jeden anderen jagen, aber Sie sind hinter uns her? Hinter Ihrer eigenen Art?!" Krenn spürte, wie sein Blut kochte und die Wut wie eine Flutwelle in ihm aufstieg. "Sie arbeiten für die Bastarde, die uns alles genommen haben?!"

"Die Menschen müssen sehen, dass wir es wert sind, respektiert zu werden."

"Und wie soll das gehen? Indem wir uns gegenseitig zur Strecke bringen?"

"Sie und Ihre Bande halten unser ganzes Volk zurück", antwortete Jorg mit tödlicher Überzeugung.

Krenn wusste nicht, was er sagen sollte. Wie konnte ein Tevarin so etwas glauben? Nachdem ihr Volk so viel ertragen, so viel gelitten hatte, und hier...

Eine blitzartige Bewegung riss Krenn in die Gegenwart zurück. Ein geworfenes Messer schnitt durch die Luft und zielte auf seine Kehle. Krenn konnte gerade noch ausweichen, das Messer zog Blut, als es ihn streifte. Dann griff Jorg ihn an.

Krenn stolperte zurück und versuchte, die Pistole in Anschlag zu bringen, aber Jorg schlug Krenns Handgelenk gegen den Rumpf und brach den Griff des Piraten um die Pistole.

Die Waffe fiel ihnen vor die Füße, aber Krenn trat die Pistole mit dem Absatz seines Fußes weg, bevor Jorg sie erreichen konnte. Er hörte sie klirren, als sie unter einem großen Haufen Schrott verschwand.

Mit dem Zentimeter Platz, den er gewonnen hatte, schwang Krenn seine Axt nach unten, aber der Jäger sprang weg, um nicht von der Klinge geschnitten zu werden. Krenn drängte nach vorne und schwang die Axt wieder und wieder.

Die Sekunden zogen sich hin und Krenns Ausdauer begann zu schwinden, als der Kampf weiterging. Jeder Kraftvorteil, den Krenn gehabt haben mochte, wurde durch den Blutverlust schnell aufgezehrt, und so sehr der Pirat es auch hasste, es zuzugeben, Jorg war eindeutig besser trainiert. Wenn Krenn den Jäger besiegen wollte, musste er die Sache bald beenden.

Krenn stieß ein kehliges Brüllen aus und hob seinen Bakor hoch, bereit, auf den Jäger einzuschlagen. Jorg griff nach der Axt und Krenn grinste. Die Finte funktionierte. Er lenkte den Stachel der Bakor in Jorgs Bein und stach ihn durch eine Lücke in der Rüstung, die die Granatenexplosion hinterlassen hatte.

Jorg fiel, wo er stand, über das verletzte Bein zusammen.

Der Pirat hatte den Jäger in seiner Gewalt... und tat dennoch nichts. Denn so sehr Krenn Jorg auch dafür hasste, dass er sein Rudel zur Strecke gebracht hatte, er war immer noch Tevarin.

Jorg versuchte, sich aufzurichten, aber sein Bein konnte sein Gewicht nicht halten und er fiel wieder zu Boden.

Bakor zeigte auf Jorg, Krenn sprach. "Ich werde Ihnen eine Chance geben. Aber nur eine", begann er. "Kommen Sie mir nie wieder hinterher."

Krenn wandte sich ab. Er hörte, wie Jorg nach ihm rang und dann wieder zusammenbrach, unfähig, ihn zu verfolgen.

Krenn versuchte, sich mit seinem neuen Verständnis von Jorg zu arrangieren, als er endlich das Ende des Rauchs erreichte, dem er die ganze Zeit gefolgt war.

Dort fand er, wonach er gesucht hatte: sein Talon und gleich dahinter Jorgs Rächer.

Krenns eigenes Schiff war ein Wrack, das bereits auf der Schrottdeponie lag, aber zumindest schien sein Schmuggelraum nicht kompromittiert worden zu sein.

Er benutzte seinen Bakor als Brechstange, stieß sie in einen Spalt zwischen der Maschinenpanzerung seines Schiffs und begann zu drücken. Sie gab nicht sofort nach, aber mit genügend Kraft tat die Hebelwirkung ihr Übriges. Krenn hob die Verkleidung ab und gab die Triebwerke seines Schiffes frei. Inmitten des ganzen Innenlebens befand sich ein verstecktes Fach. Darin befand sich eine kleine, verstärkte Truhe, die nur ein wenig größer war als seine Hand.

Krenn atmete erleichtert auf und nahm die Truhe vorsichtig aus ihrer Position.

Ein Rohr traf ihn am Hinterkopf und ließ ihn, die Ladung und den Bakor zu Boden stürzen.

"Ich habe mich schon gefragt, wo Sie hinwollen", sagte Jorg, "ich dachte, Sie wollten mein Schiff, aber..."

Mit verschwommener Sicht sah Krenn, wie Jorg sich bückte und die kleine Truhe aufhob.

"Das haben Sie vom Sicherheitsaußenposten bekommen?" fragte Jorg. "Der Grund, warum dort so viele Menschen sterben mussten?"

Krenn stöhnte, seine Sicht war immer noch verschwommen. "Sie waren im Weg", sagte er mit unebener Stimme.

"Das war's?", fragte Jorg. Er warf seine Pfeife zur Seite und holte Krenns heruntergefallenen Bakor zurück. "Wissen Sie, was bei jedem Verbrechen passiert, das Sie begehen?" Jorg wartete auf eine Antwort. Als keine kam, fuhr er fort. "Sie bestätigen all die schrecklichen Dinge, mit denen sie uns behandeln. Sie bestärken sie in ihrem Glauben, dass wir nur Probleme sind, die gelöst werden müssen."

"Und dafür geben Sie uns die Schuld?" fragte Krenn ungläubig und versuchte, durch den Schmerz hindurch zu sprechen. "Sie lassen keinen Platz für uns in ihrer Welt. Wir haben nichts zu verlieren, wenn wir uns wehren."

"Wir haben unsere Zukunft", sagte Jorg. "Unser Leben."

"Das nennen Sie ein Leben?" fragte Krenn. Frustration, Wut und Traurigkeit tobten in ihm. "All ihre Systeme - all ihre Gesetze - sind darauf ausgelegt, uns schwach zu halten. Und wissen Sie, was passiert, wenn wir den Menschen auch nur ein Zeichen von Stärke zeigen? Sie nennen uns Kriminelle. Sie überzeugen das Universum davon, dass wir eine Bedrohung sind, die gejagt werden muss, obwohl wir nur überleben wollen. Nun gut. Ich begrüße es. Wenn sie wollen, dass ich ein Krimineller bin, dann werde ich der beste sein, der ich sein kann. Ich werde ihnen genau zeigen, wozu unser Volk fähig ist."

"Was ist da drin?" Jorg hielt die Kiste zwischen ihnen hoch. "Was ist dieses ganze Elend wert?"

"Sehen Sie selbst. Der Code lautet 2610."

Krenn beobachtete Jorgs Gesichtsausdruck aufmerksam, als der Jäger den Code eingab und das Kästchen öffnete. Wenn er die Nummer erkannte, gab er kein Zeichen davon. Jorg öffnete den Deckel und sofort runzelte er verwirrt die Stirn.

Er griff in die Schachtel. "Was ist das?" fragte Jorg und hielt den Datenstick hoch, der sicher in der kleinen, abgeschirmten Truhe aufbewahrt worden war.

"Lebewesen", sagte Krenn.

"Ich verstehe das nicht..." sagte Jorg.

"Es sind Neuanfänge. Saubere Ausweise, mit denen man Tevarin aus der Welt schmuggeln kann", erklärte Krenn. "Von Orten, an die sie nicht reisen durften, aus welchen schwachsinnigen Gründen auch immer, die die lokalen Regierungen benutzt haben, um sie als Kriminelle zu kennzeichnen."

Als sich das Schweigen zwischen ihnen legte, sah Krenn einen Riss in Jorgs Miene. Er spielte seinen Vorteil aus. "Die ganze Zeit über haben Sie mich und die anderen im Haunt gejagt, aber wir haben nicht für uns gestohlen. Wir haben für das hier gestohlen."

"Wo bringen Sie sie hin?" fragte Jorg schließlich.

"Nach Branaugh", sagte Krenn.

Der Pirat sah die Erkenntnis auf dem Gesicht des Jägers. "Außerhalb des Imperiums."

Krenn lächelte nur. "Das Imperium weiß, was wir tun. Ich mag sie hassen, aber sie sind nicht dumm. Was glauben Sie, warum unsere Kopfgelder so hoch sind? Sie können es nicht ertragen, wenn Tevarin sich gegenseitig helfen."

"Es gibt andere Wege", antwortete Jorg, und seine Stimme war noch unsicherer als zuvor. "Man muss nicht morden, um andere zu retten."

"Wir tun das Einzige, was wir können. Wenn einige Menschen sterben müssen, um mein Volk zu retten, dann soll es so sein."

"Das ist nicht..." Jorg fing an. "Das sind keine Soldaten auf den Stationen, die Sie angreifen. Es sind unschuldige Menschen. Sie kämpfen nicht im Krieg."

"Natürlich tue ich das."

Das Donnern der Schiffsmotoren durchbrach die Atmosphäre, als Krenns Crew das Quantum über dem Schrottplatz verließ. Sie hatten ihn endlich ausfindig gemacht.

Jorgs Überraschung über ihr Eindringen gab Krenn genau die Gelegenheit, die er brauchte. Er stürzte sich auf Jorg und warf sich mit seinem ganzen Gewicht auf den Jäger, wobei er jedes Pfund, das er gegenüber dem kleineren Tevarin hatte, ausnutzte.

Er stieß und stieß, bis... Jorg scharf einatmete.

Krenn hielt inne und sah, dass Jorgs Brustkorb zitterte. Sein Atem schmerzte. Ein Metallstab ragte blutverschmiert aus seiner Brust.

Krenn trat einen Schritt von dem Kopfgeldjäger zurück. Seine heiseren Atemzüge stiegen und fielen. Den Bakor immer noch umklammernd, blickte er auf die Wunde hinunter, wobei der Schock den Schmerz vorerst unterdrückte.

"Nun", flüsterte er mühsam. "Definitiv nicht die zusätzlichen Credits wert."

Krenn beobachtete ihn einige Augenblicke lang. Der Hass, der ihn zu diesem Punkt getrieben hatte, war überraschenderweise gemildert.

"Die Menschen", begann Krenn. "Warum interessieren Sie sich so sehr für sie?"

Einen Moment lang war Krenn nicht sicher, ob Jorg antworten würde. Dann schloss der Jäger die Augen und verzog das Gesicht vor Schmerz. "Sie sind nicht alle gleich..."

Krenn suchte in Jorgs Gesichtsausdruck nach etwas, das nicht da war. "Das habe ich nicht gefragt. Was kümmert Sie das?"

Die Pause war dieses Mal länger. Jorgs Atmung wurde langsamer. "Als ich jung war... war ich allein", sagte er. "Ein Mensch nahm mich auf. Zeigte mir einen anderen Weg. Sie können Verbündete sein. Wenn man sie nicht alle wie Feinde behandeln würde..."

Jorgs Worte wirbelten in Krenns Kopf herum. Die schiere Überzeugung, mit der Jorg sprach, beunruhigte ihn.

"...Sie haben Ihre Prägung kürzlich scannen lassen?", fragte er.

Jorg nickte. Es war eine leichte Bewegung. Für Krenn schien das alles zu sein, was er schaffte.

"Dann..." sagte Krenn. "Vielleicht können Sie mir davon erzählen, wenn wir uns wiedersehen."

Es dauerte eine Weile, bis die Worte fielen, aber als sie kamen, registrierte Krenn die Überraschung auf Jorgs Gesicht. "Gut. Nächstes Mal..." sagte Jorg schwach und schloss die Augen.

Krenn nickte und sah zu, wie Jorg Tala starb.

Krenn holte seinen Bakor und warf dem Jäger einen letzten Blick zu. Er wusste, dass Jorg zurückkommen würde. Einer der Vorteile des legalen Lebens war, dass man sich leichter regenerieren konnte. Nun, leichter insofern, als dass man nicht gleich nach dem Aufwachen verhaftet wurde. Die Kopfschmerzen waren in jedem Fall dieselben. Krenn ertappte sich dabei, wie er hoffte, dass Jorgs Regeneration schmerzfrei verlief und hielt mitten im Gedanken inne, überrascht von seiner eigenen Sentimentalität.

In der Ferne sah er seine Crew im Tiefflug über den Schrottplatz fliegen. Wahrscheinlich suchte sie nach einem Zeichen von ihm oder seinem Schiff. Er freute sich nicht auf die Kritik, die er für seinen derzeitigen Zustand einstecken musste, aber... Er sah zu Jorgs Avenger.

Er konnte zumindest das Schlimmste vermeiden, indem er mit einem neuen Schiff zurückkehrte.

Jorg würde wütend sein, wenn er erfuhr, dass es weg war, aber Krenn sagte sich, dass es, auch wenn der Jäger noch nicht konvertiert war, nie zu früh war, eine kleine Spende für die Sache zu leisten.

It was a fast descent to an early grave. In what seemed to be an appropriate location, too: a large scrapyard full of derelict ships and industrial equipment that had likely been picked clean long ago. What was left was too unstable to be safely, or profitably, salvaged.

Now there would be one more ship in this graveyard.

Krenn’s Talon smoldered and sparked as clouds raced by his field of view. All sorts of alarms were yelling at him as if he wasn’t already aware of the danger he was in. The Tevarin pirate tried to wrestle his ship into control but could do nothing to slow his fall.

With no better solution available to him, and as much as he didn’t want to abandon his cargo, he decided to abandon ship. As he ejected the pod, his console lit up with warnings. The cockpit of the Talon was supposed to separate from the rest of the vessel, but the damage to his ship had impacted the latches. They didn’t detach properly, but the cockpit tried to fire anyway. The force of the ejection ripped the latches out of place and sent his cockpit spinning wildly.

Krenn only caught glimpses of the rest of his ship hurtling deeper into the field of scrap as his cockpit crashed through piles of loose metal. Hitting the ground, he tumbled end over end before finally coming to a stop seated upside down.

The pirate caught his breath and ripped his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground. His skull stung as air touched the freshly bleeding wound upon his head.

His cockpit was in tatters, the canopy shattered, and the walls pierced in multiple places by loose scrap. Worst of all, a large piece of shrapnel was embedded in his left thigh, pinning him to his seat.

Krenn slowly gripped the shard of metal and wrenched it free. Immediately, blood began flowing from the wound, spilling down into his cockpit. He tossed the shard of metal aside and tried to detach his seat straps, but they refused to disengage. Frustrated, he reached behind his seat and pulled the bakor from its lodging.

The bakor was about the size of a hatchet, but instead of a single axe head the weapon had three edges: the standard axe head and then a small fluke jutting out opposite the main blade, as well as a short, sharpened spike extending from the top of the weapon between the two blades. It was uncommon, but the traditional Tevarin weapon was the pirate’s favorite tool.

Krenn cut the seat straps away and fell to the ceiling of his cockpit, wincing as his wounded leg screamed at him. He looked at the injury, still pulsing blood, and then cut his seat straps again, using the material to fashion a makeshift tourniquet which he tied around his leg to staunch the bleeding. Immediate death now held temporarily at bay, he pulled himself out of the shattered remains of his cockpit and into the dumping ground around him. For as many fights as he’d been in before, the pirate was sure he had never looked this bad. He sheathed his bakor in the holster at his waist.

The sound of a ship’s engines, distant but growing closer, sent Krenn’s adrenaline spiking. He ducked out of sight.

The bounty hunter was coming.

The hunter’s approach stirred a strong wind that carried through the junkyard, eliciting a chorus of groaning metal in response as the unstable ships throughout teetered, threatening to topple over. Krenn watched the Avenger pass over him and head towards a plume of smoke that was slowly rising into the sky.

His crashed ship.

Where, hopefully, his cargo remained. That cargo was the whole reason he had gotten into this mess. Infiltrating the security post hadn’t been any more difficult than usual, but after that everything had gone to hell. Not only had his exit been even bloodier than planned, but then Jorg Tala, that damn bounty hunter, had come out of nowhere, isolated Krenn from his crew, and sent him crashing down here.

Jorg had been systematically hunting down members of the Ashen Haunt for the last few months, but Krenn hadn’t thought he’d become this much of a problem. Based on the fanatical way Jorg was targeting his gang, he had no doubt the hunter was another xenophobe trying to relive Humanity’s glory days triumphing over an alien species.

The pirate watched as the bounty hunter’s ship descended out of view, landing near the smoke. The hunter would undoubtedly investigate his Talon’s crash site and Krenn was determined to not let that bastard get his hands on what he had worked so hard to steal.

In a way, Krenn figured he was lucky. Were their roles reversed, Krenn would’ve fired a missile at the wreck as soon as he had it in sight. That lack of decisiveness on the bounty hunter’s part was a distinctly Human quality.

The pirate took stock of his situation: a pistol more than halfway through its last battery, a single grenade that managed not to blow up when he crashed, his bakor blade, and most importantly, that nasty gash in his leg. The tourniquet was slowing his blood loss, but he needed a more permanent solution. Adrenaline would keep the pain at bay for now, but he wouldn’t stand a chance if he bled out or lost circulation in his leg.

Krenn searched the scrap around him, then limped his way down the small dirty alleys that weaved between the forgotten ships until he found what he was looking for. A large freighter sat up ahead. It looked to be a more recent addition to the wreckages here, relatively speaking. The ship’s hull had already been ripped away, exposing a large set of pipes from its inner workings to the open air. Pipes that were slowly leaking green fluid.

Krenn entered the ship through the hole in the hull, followed the pipes to their natural point, and – jackpot – found a large coolant tank. He smirked, knowing exactly how proud Ragwheel would be when he heard this story. It was proof that Krenn actually listened to the old mechanic, even when he pretended not to.

Krenn took a deep breath and drew the bakor. He was about to make a lot of noise, but he needed to get this done. If Jorg heard him, then so be it. Krenn stabbed the bakor’s center spike into the tank. The metal shrieked in protest at the impact, but sadly remained intact. Krenn adjusted his grip and struck with greater strength. He was rewarded with a stream of green fluid pouring from the fresh hole. With no time to lose, Krenn steeled himself and pushed his leg forward into the path of the liquid.

It took every shred of willpower he had to force himself to remain where he stood, gritting through the pain until the caustic chemicals burned his wound, cauterizing it. Then he had to turn his leg and burn the other side, where the scrap had pierced through.

When the wound was sealed, Krenn yanked his leg from the chemical and buckled on the spot. The sickening metallic scent of his blood melded with the acrid sting of the coolant, making his head swim. Looking down at the ruined flesh of his leg, he wasn’t sure he’d ever walk the same, but at least he had stopped the bleeding.

Limping heavily, Krenn exited the freighter the same way he came and found the smoke trail of his ship, which he used as a guiding star as he continued deeper into the scrapyard. The collection of shattered ships grew messier the deeper he ventured. More and more the paths dead-ended into mounds of rusty metal. Unwilling to risk the noise he’d make clambering over the scrap, he blindly continued through whatever paths he could find, taking a circuitous route towards his ship. He kept his steps as light as he could with his injury, but despite his efforts, it proved impossible to be totally silent.

The proof? A bullet ripped through his shoulder.

The sudden impact dropped him behind a heavy sheet of metal. A burst of additional gunfire followed and impacted centimeters in front of his face against his impromptu cover. Clearly, Jorg had found him. The fact he had found him so quickly did at least give the pirate hope about one thing – maybe his cargo was still safe.

“Krenn,” the bounty hunter called out. He sounded far away. “Time to give it up. It’s over.”

Krenn pushed himself against the metal plate and put his hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, the bullet had pierced through completely and seemed to have avoided causing any major damage. As the chant says, do not let misfortune distract from your blessings.

He peeked out from behind his cover and caught a glimpse of Jorg, wearing a green set of heavy armor. He was perched atop the remains of a Carrack, using the vantage point to great effect. Even from this distance, Krenn could spot a laser pistol on the bounty hunter’s hip along with what he thought might be a knife, as well as the assault rifle to blame for his latest injury.

“Come on,” Krenn shouted, trying not to sound too winded. He glanced around for a good escape route. “You should know by now that I’m not really the ‘come quiet’ type.”

Krenn took off, careful to stay low and keep as much cover as he could between himself and the hunter. Maintaining a crouched stance proved even more difficult thanks to his mounting injuries.

“If you give up, I can get you medical attention,” Jorg replied from his perch. “I’d rather you not die if I can avoid it.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re trying very hard!”

“The bounty for capturing you alive is higher than turning you in dead,” Jorg said. “But not by much. The Haunt doesn’t have many friends.”

Krenn ignored him, continuing to move until he found himself at an impasse. There were two routes available to him. One was over a hill of scrap but attempting to climb it in his current state was sure to draw Jorg’s attention. The other was through a clearing and would leave him an easy target.

Krenn carefully pulled a loose length of pipe from the scrap pile and peeked at Jorg. The hunter was looking down the sights of his rifle, searching for any sign of movement. As soon as Jorg’s head was turned away, Krenn tossed the pipe as far as he could.

The sound of metal hitting metal drew Jorg’s attention and Krenn used the momentary distraction to step out of hiding, draw his laser pistol, and unload the last of his battery at the Carrack Jorg was standing on.

The shots found their target and with no small amount of luck, the Carrack collapsed, the tower of a ship falling in on itself, consuming Jorg within it.

His battery empty, Krenn tossed his blaster aside and ran across the open space as fast as his injured leg allowed.

It wasn’t fast enough.

A cacophony of metal from behind him drew his gaze and Krenn turned to see Jorg pushing out of the remains of the fallen ship. He seemed to have lost his rifle in the fall but was otherwise unharmed, his armor only scuffed and scratched from the fall. Krenn cursed. He’d stand no chance against Jorg until that damn armor was dealt with.

Jorg drew his pistol and shot at Krenn, but the injured pirate managed to just make it to the other end of the clearing, breaking Jorg’s line of sight.

Krenn was sure that he’d never outpace the hunter in a straight chase, so he quickly dislodged the debris he ran past, creating an avalanche of trash behind him. Soon a jagged obstacle course of metal shards lay between them.

“You really think you can get away,” Jorg called out, more annoyed than anything. He charged ahead, vaulting over and under the debris. “You’re going down just like the rest of your pitiful gang,” Jorg taunted.

Spotting an opportunity ahead, Krenn slowed just enough to make sure Jorg saw him, “You think you’re so much better than us? Must be so easy for you, only seeing the ‘verse in black and white.”

Jorg raised his pistol to fire, but Krenn ducked around a corner again, just barely escaping him.

Jorg followed, gaining speed, and rounded the-

BOOM!

The old “grenade around the corner” trick. It wasn’t the first time Krenn had used the tactic and he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time either. As the chant goes, hunger can make even the most dangerous predator blind.

Unwilling to give Jorg even a moment to recover, Krenn drew his bakor and rushed into the dirt cloud kicked up by the grenade’s detonation. As the dust began to dissipate, Krenn saw the hunter already regaining his footing. The blast had done its job though. Jorg’s armor was now charred and heavily damaged.

The pirate swung his bakor at the hunter’s pistol first, knocking the weapon aside and followed by raking the axe towards Jorg’s head. Krenn’s aim was true, but the deadly blade didn’t quite penetrate Jorg’s helmet, though the force of the swing sent the hunter stumbling back.

Krenn immediately went for Jorg’s fallen pistol, turned it towards the hunter, but froze before he could finish squeezing the trigger. Where his axe had struck Jorg’s helmet, the visor had cracked, revealing the face beneath.

A Tevarin face.

“Not what you expected to see?” Jorg laughed, still held at gunpoint.

“You… why?” Krenn asked. “You could be hunting anybody else but you’re going after us? After your own kind?!” Krenn felt his blood boiling, anger surging within him like a tidal wave. “Working for the bastards who took everything from us?!”

“The Humans need to see that we’re worthy of respect.”

“And this is how? By having us hunt each other down?”

“You and your gang are holding our entire people back,” Jorg replied, with deadly conviction.

Krenn didn’t know what to say. How could a Tevarin believe this? After their people had endured so much, suffered so much, and here-

A flash of movement snapped Krenn back to the present. A thrown knife cut through the air, aimed at his throat. Krenn barely dodged it, the knife drawing blood as it grazed him. Then Jorg charged him.

Krenn stumbled back fighting to bring the pistol to bear, but Jorg slammed Krenn’s wrist against the hull, breaking the pirate’s grip on the pistol.

The weapon fell at their feet, but Krenn kicked the pistol with the heel of his foot before Jorg could reach for it, hearing it clang as it disappeared under a large pile of scrap.

With the inch of space he had gained, Krenn swung his axe down, but the hunter leapt away to avoid being cut by the blade. Krenn pressed forward, swinging the axe again and again.

Seconds stretched on and Krenn’s stamina began to give out as the fight continued. Any strength advantage Krenn might have had was quickly being sapped by his blood loss, and as much as the pirate hated to admit it, Jorg was clearly better trained. If Krenn was going to defeat the hunter, he needed to end things soon.

Krenn let loose a guttural roar and raised his bakor high, ready to smash down into the hunter. Jorg reached for the axe and Krenn grinned. The feint worked. He redirected the spike of the bakor into Jorg’s leg, stabbing it through a gap in the armor left by the grenade explosion.

Jorg fell where he stood, crumpling over the injured leg.

The pirate had the hunter at his mercy… and yet did nothing. For as much as Krenn hated Jorg for hunting down his pack, he was still Tevarin.

Jorg tried to push himself up, but his leg couldn’t hold his weight and he fell right back down.

Bakor pointed at Jorg, Krenn spoke. “I’ll give you a chance. But just one,” he began. “Don’t ever come after me again.”

Krenn turned away. He heard Jorg struggle after him and then collapse again, unable to pursue him.

Krenn tried to come to terms with his new understanding of Jorg when he finally reached the end of the smoke he had been following all this time.

There, he found what he was looking for: his Talon and, just beyond it, Jorg’s Avenger.

Krenn’s own ship was wrecked, already at home in the landfill of scrap metal, but at least it seemed his smuggling compartment hadn’t been compromised.

He used his bakor as a prybar, stabbed it into a gap between his ship’s engine plating, and began to push. It didn’t give immediately, but with enough force, the leverage did its trick. Krenn pried the plating away, revealing his ship’s engines. Sitting amidst all the inner workings was a hidden compartment. Inside there was a small, reinforced chest, only a little larger than his hand.

Krenn breathed a sigh of relief and carefully removed the chest from its position.

A pipe struck the back of his head and sent him, the cargo, and the bakor sprawling to the ground.

“I was wondering where you were trying to go,” Jorg said, “I thought you wanted my ship, but…”

Vision blurry, Krenn watched as Jorg bent down and picked up the small chest.

“This is what you got from the security outpost?” Jorg asked. “The reason so many people there had to die?”

Krenn groaned, vision still swimming. “They were in the way,” he said, voice uneven.

“That’s it?” asked Jorg. He tossed his pipe aside and retrieved Krenn’s fallen bakor. “Do you know what happens with every crime you pull?” Jorg waited for an answer. When none came, he continued. “You validate all the terrible ways they treat us. Reinforce their belief that we’re just problems that need solving.”

“And you blame us for that?” Krenn asked, incredulous, trying to speak through the pain. “They leave no room for us in their world. We have nothing to lose by fighting back.”

“We have our future,” said Jorg. “Our lives.”

“You call this a life?” Krenn asked. Frustration, anger, and sadness all raged within him. “All their systems – all their laws – they’re designed to keep us weak. And you know what happens if we do show the Humans any signs of strength? They call us criminals. Convince the universe we’re somehow a threat to be hunted when all we want to do is survive. Well fine. I welcome it. If they want me to be a criminal, I’ll be the best one I can be. I’ll show them exactly what our people are capable of.”

“What’s in here?” Jorg held the box up in between them. “What’s worth all that misery?”

“See for yourself. The code is 2610.”

Krenn watched Jorg’s expression carefully as the hunter entered the code and unlocked the box. If he recognized the number, he gave no sign of it. Jorg opened the lid and, immediately, his brows furrowed, clearly confused.

He reached inside the box. “What is this?” Jorg asked, holding up the data stick that had been kept secured in the small, shielded chest.

“Lives,” said Krenn.

“I don’t understand…” Jorg said.

“They’re fresh starts. Clean identifications used to smuggle Tevarin off-world,” Krenn clarified. “From places they wouldn’t be allowed to travel for whatever bullshit reasons the local governments used to mark them as criminals.”

As the silence settled between them, Krenn saw a crack in Jorg’s expression. He pressed his advantage. “All this time, you’ve been hunting me and the others in the Haunt, but we haven’t been stealing for ourselves. We’ve been stealing for this.”

“Where do you take them?” Jorg finally asked.

“To Branaugh,” Krenn said.

The pirate saw the realization on the hunter’s face. “Outside the Empire.”

Krenn just smiled. “The Empire knows what we’re doing. I may hate them, but they aren’t stupid. Why do you think our bounties are so high? They can’t stand to see Tevarin help each other.”

“There are other ways,” Jorg replied, voice more unsteady than it had been. “You don’t have to murder to save others.”

“We do the only thing we can. If some Humans have to die to save my people, then so be it.”

“That’s not-“ Jorg started. “Those aren’t soldiers on the stations you attack. They’re innocent people. You’re not fighting a war.”

“Of course I am.”

The thunder of ship engines pierced the atmosphere as Krenn’s crew exited quantum over the scrapyard. They had finally tracked him down.

Jorg’s surprise at their entry gave Krenn just the opportunity he needed. He charged at Jorg and threw all his weight into the hunter, taking advantage of every pound he had over the smaller Tevarin.

He pushed and pushed until… Jorg took a sharp breath.

Krenn stopped and saw that Jorg’s chest was shaking. His breathing pained. A metal rod was sticking out through his chest, slick with blood.

Krenn stepped back from the bounty hunter. His hoarse breaths rose and fell. Still clutching the bakor, he looked down at the wound, the shock clearly holding the pain at bay for the time being.

“Well,” he managed in a ragged whisper. “Definitely not worth the extra credits.”

Krenn watched him for a few moments. The hatred that had driven him to this point was surprisingly softened.

“The Humans,” Krenn started. “Why do you care about them so much?”

For a moment, Krenn wasn’t sure Jorg would answer. Then, the hunter closed his eyes, grimacing in pain. “They’re not all the same…”

Krenn searched Jorg’s expression for something that wasn’t there. “That’s not what I asked. Why do you care?”

The pause was longer this time. Jorg’s breathing slower. “When I was young… I was alone,” he said. “A Human took me in. Showed me another way. They could be allies. If you didn’t treat them all like enemies…”

Jorg’s words spun in Krenn’s mind. The sheer conviction with which Jorg spoke troubled him.

“…You had your imprint scanned recently?” he asked.

Jorg nodded. It was a slight movement. To Krenn, it seemed all he could manage.

“Then…” Krenn said. “Maybe you can tell me about it when we meet again.”

The words took time to land, but when they did Krenn registered the surprise on Jorg’s face. “Fine. Next time…” Jorg said, weak, his eyes closing.

Krenn nodded and stayed there, watching as Jorg Tala died.

Krenn retrieved his bakor and gave the hunter one last look. He knew Jorg would be back. One of the benefits of the lawful life was an easier time regenerating. Well, easier in that you wouldn’t be arrested right when you woke up. The headaches were the same no matter what. Krenn caught himself hoping Jorg’s regeneration was painless and stopped midthought, surprised by his own sentimentality.

In the distance he saw his crew flying low over the scrapyard. Likely looking for any sign of him or his ship. He wasn’t looking forward to all the flack he’d catch for his current state but… He looked at Jorg’s Avenger.

He could at least avoid the worst of the grief by returning with a new ship.

Jorg would be angry when he’d learn it was gone, but Krenn told himself that even though the hunter wasn’t a convert yet, it was never too soon to make a small donation to the cause.