Fallah-gor

          Fallah-gor crept cautiously through the thick foliage of the jungle, making no more sound than the rain pattering against the leaves. His prey had the advantage of being born in this sector of Gideon, and the area was riddled with sensors, but the stealth of a tigra was a thing to behold. Crouching low, walking on all fours to avoid detection, he made his way to the base of the mountain.

          Normally when hunting a bounty, he would wear his body armor, but that would have made his movements less silent, and one of the few things he knew about Angus Stewart, was that his camp was surrounded by listening devices. He reached the foot of the mountain and began to climb toward the opening in the rock face. The stone was smooth and slick to the touch, with patches of moss that smelled of earth and sea salt and behind it all, subtle but present, the scent of his prey. He slipped once but caught himself before he fell and projected his claws a bit to give himself better purchase. As he made his way up the mountain, he considered how his life had come to this.

          When he left Ararat it was for a fugue of feelings that had yet to coalesce into a rational reason. Five years later, it still had not. There was the sense of betrayal, of course, by both the Ma-ghalon and the Ma’chi; of being used for their own ends, but the years had tempered that. There was loneliness, certainly. As an abandoned cub taunted for his abandonment, he found making friends awkward and painful. And blanketing over all of it—as it did for all his race—an overriding sense of inferiority.

          Like him, the emperor was a tigra. His kind sat as ‘dukes’ of the empire, living in splendid royal houses as imperial overseers of all the known worlds, but beneath the pomp and the myths and the ceremony, lay the uncomfortable truth: they were all only a few generations from stalking beasts.

          Against this lay the overwhelming crush of human history—five thousand years of advancement; of culture and art; of science and exploration and a hundred worlds populated by one hundred billion faces that looked nothing like his.

Maybe all of these were the reason he left Ararat, maybe none of them were. All he knew for certain, was he could no longer stay. He had chosen Gideon for one reason only—it was the most remote planet in the empire, as though physical distance could somehow quiet the unrest in his soul.

          He had stepped off the ship onto the tarmac with no plan, and no thought as to how he would live. Gideon was an outlaw planet, as were most in the outer range, and the only skill he possessed was that of a soldier. He saw only two options, he could become an outlaw, or he could hunt them. And so he became a FRAG, a Fugitive Recovery Agent of the Government, a bounty hunter, a tracker of men.

          For the last five years he had plied his trade, taking bounties as need and opportunity dictated. Unlike the rest of his kind on Gideon, he refused to live in the royal compound, preferring a small apartment in the town of New Catalina. He kept to himself and had little interaction among the humans with whom he lived, a preference for which the local population was more than happy to oblige. They may have accepted the reality of an alien as their emperor, but having one live next door made most decidedly uncomfortable. The might have been surprised to learn that Fallah felt the same way.

          He reached the entrance to the cave and paused, catching his breath. Withdrawing a pair of goggles from his utility belt, he slipped them over his head. Rotating the lens allowed him to see wavelengths of light from low infrared to deep ultraviolet. As he turned the lens to the right, a series of deep blue lines appeared before him, crisscrossing the cave. Slowly and methodically, he stepped over and between the lines, taking care not to break the beams. Stepping over the last beam, he removed the goggles.

          He stood before a rock wall. For all intents and purposes, it appeared as though the cavern ended here. But why then construct an elaborate security system? He ran his paw along the wall, his eyes closed, concentrating on any irregularity in the stone. Up and down he moved, patient, unhurried, until at last, in the upper right corner, he felt a depression. He pressed.

          There was a deep resonance in the ground as the center of the wall fell away, then slid to the left, exposing a wide opening. He began to step through, when he felt a slight tugging on his left foot. He looked down to see a trip wire taunt against his ankle. Easing his foot back, he traced the wire to a detonator just inside the wall. Disarming it, he walked on.

          The room was dark, but not black. Some moonlight shown though the open passage to illuminate a metal door on the other side. Taking out a scanner from his belt, he ran the instrument over the door style. Halfway down, the needle jumped, indicating a current. He connected a wire between the jamb and door, then opened it.

          “Very good,” came a voice over an unseen speaker. “You’re the first one to ever make it through the door. Now turn around and go back the way you came.”

          “rrr… Angus Stewart? I have a warrant for your arrest,” Fallah shouted into the darkened room.

          “Do you now? From what planet?”

          “That you have to ask, is pretty telling. This warrant is from Gideon.”

          “And the charge?”

          “Seriously? You’ve killed five people in the last three months. I hate to be a scold, but you’ve been a bad boy, Angus.”

          Loud laughter eruption from the speaker. “Oh, that. That was just business.”

          “You’re a paid assassin.”

          “Like I said, just business. No reason for the government to get involved.”

          “They see it differently.”

          “You sure as hell ain’t no policeman,” the voice said. “Which means you’re a FRAG. What are they paying you?””

          “Enough.”

          “Don’t be so sure. You know, I ain’t never seen a tigra bounty hunter before. I Can’t decide if I’m flattered or insulted.”

          “rrr… Try not to strain yourself thinking about it.”

          “Why are you here?” he said, his voice rising in anger. “What do you care what we humans do to each other? I’ve never killed a tigra. Yet. Just turn around and leave. Now.”

          “That’s not going to happen.”

          “Stubborn cat, aren’t you? Suit yourself. That fur of yours will make a fine looking coat for the winter.”

          Growling low, Fallah stepped deeper into the darkened room. He had gone a dozen steps, when bright lights burst on, temporarily blinding him. Something heavy and metallic struck him hard and he flew to the side, landing against the cave wall. Blinking against the harsh light, he looked up to see a man in an exoskeleton moving quickly toward him.

          Regaining his feet, he jumped as another blow just missed his head. He slipped his katana from its scabbard, now facing his attacker, his fangs snapping down into position.

          “All right!” Fallah yelled. “If this is how you want it.”

          The man in the exoskeleton was large by human standards, over two meters tall with a long black beard and hair that ran over his shoulders. He grinned.

          “Never seen the fangs out before on one of you. Was starting to think it was a myth. Won’t help you today though.”

          Fallah ran the tip of his katana along the ground, sparks flying from the contact.

          Angus lunged at him. The exoskeleton gave him increased speed as well as strength and Fallah was just able to dodge the strike. Again and again Angus drove at him, and only the tigra’s natural agility saved him from serious injury. Finally, Fallah slid between his legs and spun around, facing his attacker’s back and swung the blade, cutting through the casing of the power source.

          The power now disrupted, the exoskeleton cage automatically opened, and Angus fell out onto the ground, a laser pistol in his hand.      His first shot went wide. He never got a second chance.

          Leaping up, Fallah swung the katana in a wide arc, striking Angus just above the shoulders and slicing cleanly through his neck. The body and head struck the ground at more or less the same time.

          Fallah leaned back against the cave wall, panting heavily. The bounty had been for a thousand sovereigns, with a five hundred sovereign bonus if he was brought in alive. He thought at the time that the bonus was generous. Now he knew why.

          Picking up a sack, he stuffed the head inside. Grumbling, his fangs slowly retreating to their resting position, he exited the cave, back out into the rain.