Hunters Ch. 02

**This is a direct continuation of Chapter 1, please read it first so you have some idea of what's going on.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote!**

Max came back to reality, but he fought it the entire way. He was at home on Io and everything was neat and perfect. He had never joined the military, but instead chose to stay on Io and go to school for ship diagnostic and repair. He married his high school sweet heart and they had three kids together. It was a beautiful afternoon and they were all outside playing in the sunshine. The dream had started to distort; everything sounded distant. The image began to shift, as if someone had thrown a rock into a still pond that contained the dream. Max didn't want this to be a dream; he didn't want this to be not right. He was comfortable and it's where he wanted to stay.

"I don't want to be," Max said in his dream-stupor. His eyes opened and he saw the end table with its cool blue digital display showing that it was 5:30 in the morning. "Here," he said a little louder, a look of hopeless disgust crossed his face and faded away. He sat up in bed and a soft light came on in the ceiling and slowly brought itself up to full illumination. Max wiped the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the side of his bunk. He looked around and his clothes had been washed and folded, put on a chair on the other side of the small room. A towel was just barely seen peeking out from under them. Max grabbed it and headed off for the showers in the barracks.

The barracks were empty already. Robinson no doubt had them hard at work on something. The shower was hot and good, but it left him feeling lonely as he stepped out from the hot water into the coolness of the dorm. He put his clothes back on, laced up his boots and secured the armor plates on them. He got a look at himself in the mirror on the back of the door, as he was ready to leave his room.

A road-weary but awake face stared back at him. Two green eyes shone over the rest of the picture; clear, sharp, and alert. The neatly combed short brown hair wouldn't stay that way for long if there was trouble, but it was in place for now. His cheeks had been shaved smooth in the shower, and his tan skin was clean and free of nicks and cuts. The powerful jaw muscles clenched once and the power under his skin shone through the smooth exterior. Max's eyes traveled up to his hair again and his brow knitted slightly together.

"Get a hair cut, hippie," he said quietly to himself. He laughed a little bit and pulled the door open, walking again out into the empty barracks, his thick combat boots echoing solidly in the virtually empty room. The hanger lay directly across the barracks, separated only by a steel door set into the concrete wall. It wasn't more than 50 feet, but it seemed to take 5 minutes to cross. Max's hand hit the handle and he pushed down. "Gonna be one of those days," he said quietly and pushed the door open.

The hanger was not quiet, and it was obvious in a heartbeat where all Robinson's men were. They had moved the Megalodon inside and they were working on it. The ship was large enough that the roof trusses barely cleared the hull of the ship. Her gear weren't even down because it would have made her too tall for the hanger; she was wheeled in and the treads used to do it were still under her.

The men working on the ship had stripped off most of the outside armor and were working on removing some of the weapon systems. Massive power cables went inside the underbelly of the ship and were sprawling around the hanger like an explosion of instant noodles. Max spotted Tom and walked over to him.

"Morning," Max said.

"Last time I checked," grunted Robinson. "Some of us haven't been to bed yet," he added gruffly. He took a sip of the coffee he had in his hand and fished his cigarettes out of his coveralls. The pack was shaken and a cigarette danced half way out of the opening. "Breakfast?" Robinson offered.

"Don't mind if I do," Max said and took the cigarette. He produced his own lighter and struck the flame, drawing the nicotine deep into his lungs and exhaling slowly, savoring the taste.

"The Mako is ready to fly. You've got 50 thousand rounds of machine gun ammo, we patched your armor, cleaned the cockpit, reloaded you with 20 missiles, and she's got a fresh coat of paint. Like normal, we deducted the costs from your credit," Robinson said as he got himself a cigarette from his pack. He seemed to make a point of not looking at Max while saying this, instead focusing on the tear down of the Megalodon.

"How much was all that?" Max asked. He took a draw on his cigarette as Robinson lit his.

"Hundred and seventeen five," Robinson said, the cigarette bouncing with his lip. Max coughed the smoke out of his lungs and tried to catch his breath. Robinson continued to survey his crews working.

"Jesus! Was she that beat up?" he asked after regaining some composure.

"Expensive paint," Robinson said matter of factly, stealing his glance from the work before them to look at Max just for the instant it took to speak. Max shook his head. He wasn't quite sure what to make of Robinson some days. "Anyway, key's in the ignition, she's got enough fuel to get to Neptune if you absolutely had to," Robinson added.

"Good deal, I don't plan on going to Neptune," Max said and started walking to the Mako. It had been parked at the very front of the shop, a good 50 yards from where everyone was working on the 'Don. His cigarette hit the shop floor as he got near the Mako and it burned itself out on the cold concrete. He climbed in, his pants sliding on the conditioned leather of the seat and making that creaking and sliding noise that only new, clean leather does. He looked around the pod and saw that it was probably cleaner now than when Max stole her, and it hadn't been this clean since. He shut the door and turned the key in the ignition. The system checks ran, lights flashing rhythmically on the instrument panel. The display screen went through the regular start up procedures and Max felt the Mako come alive. He kicked the gas and she lifted up off the ground. He spun her around quickly and Max saw the door was still down.

"Wanna open this thing up for me?" Max said after turning the VOX on.

"Open Sesame," Robinson's voice came over the speakers without emotion and the door started opening. "Oh, one more thing," he added, some of the spark entering his voice again.

"Yeah?" Max asked as he waited for the door to open enough that he could leave.

"I stole your last cigarette."

"Bastard," sighed Max and kicked the thrusters down, blasting out of the hanger with just enough room to clear the door. Laughter came over the speakers in the Mako and Max switched the VOX off.

The trip out of Robinson's protected space was fairly fast, and Max was pleased to see that the radar was clear. He needed some time to cool off, and he was hoping to get it at Robinson's, but that just wasn't going to happen. He wasn't feeling like Venus, and Mars was out of the question. The next closest place this time of the cycle was Earth.

"What a shithole," Max said to himself. He still had to get to Mars to go through the gates, but he didn't think the government would find him in the time it took to get through. Max leaned down and one-fingered the keypad and a small rectangle of static popped up in his head's up display. He pulled the trigger on his right control stick and the channel changed. He stopped when he got to 99. The static changed to the end of a commercial and then the familiar cheesy western music cropped up.

"AMIGO!" shouted an all too familiar man. "How are all 450,000 bounty hunters in the Sol System doing!" Max actually cringed down in his seat, producing another squeak from the leather.

"It's been a long six months off the air, but we're back to give you all the news on the desperate desperados and the vile villains in the system!" the blonde bimbo squealed. They were replaced by the "Today's Menu" screen and Max was almost pleasant to see that he was the first one shown.

"Maxwell Morgan is wanted for destruction of private property, destruction of military property, theft of military property, and forcing his way out of a Martian Military compound! He was last seen in the Mars vicinity and should be considered very dangerous!" the man said again, with some extremely too close close-ups on his face and eyes.

"He's worth a 7 and a half million! His bounty was raised by an anonymous source right before the broadcast! Keep your eyes on this one!" the dizzy blonde squealed. The picture they flashed up of him was in his Martian Special Forces uniform, his dress blacks. His hair was closely cropped to his head and he was a year younger, but the eyes were unmistakable. They were the calm, cool eyes of a predator simply waiting for his opportunity to strike.

"Next up is this city slicker from Io, Lelund Kromwell. He's wanted for armed robbery across the system and for massive damage to public property. We don't have any leads at all on his whereabouts but if you see an explosion, he's probably not too far behind! It seems that . . ." the dude in the cowboy getup started saying but was cut off by Max shutting off the TV.

"Why couldn't they have just stayed cancelled?" Max groaned to himself. At least the gate trip would only be a couple hours; he was bored already. Max's mind started drifting to his dream and how much better things could have been. He went again to the children he could have had, the family he should have had, and the place to where he belonged. That picture slowly changed in his mind to Robinson's and the Martian Military and the small cockpit he's currently in being his home for the last year or so.

"You chose it buddy, you did it to yourself," he said softly into the silence. He looked down with a deep sigh and saw a blip ahead of him, just on the edge of his radar. His eyes seemed to light up a little and he leaned back and fastened his harness. He switched on the VOX and set the radio to scan. It cycled quickly through the channels, but it picked up nothing but static. The blip was getting closer in a hurry, and apparently it wasn't moving. He slowed the Mako down and swung wide of the object in question so he would miss it or turn around to get a better look at it if he chose.

As he was just passing it, sunlight hit the object; it looked to be a torn up two-seater fighter. Max looked down to the display and grunted.

"You weren't here yesterday," he said to himself. He slowed even more and circled around again with his maneuvering thrusters. He got a better look at it on the slower approach and saw that the entire craft was riddled with small craters in the metal and there was a halo of slivers of armor around the craft, looking like a never-falling metallic snow. The glass of the cockpit was completely smashed out, and only jagged shards along the edge of the frame were still part of the craft. Inside, there was what looked like remains of two people, though it was hard to tell what killed them first; the bullets that shredded the cockpit or the explosive decompression of exposure. Either way, everything on the inside of the cockpit was covered in red chunky carnage. "Probably the bullets," Max said to himself and kept looking through the craft from his pod.

He stopped the ship and put it into a holding position with the other craft. Max unbuckled his safety harness and stood up as best he could in the pod while trying to dig around in the compartment under the seat. He found his space suit, and it too had been cleaned and was neatly folded under his helmet. He put it on quickly, over the tops of his clothes and locked his helmet into place. The small computer in the suit registered that the suit was locked and that he had 45 minutes of breathable air. Max punched the keypad and the lights in the pod began to flash red. The small display screen read, "Depressurization in Progress" and flashed it in time with the lights. After 5 seconds the lights stopped flashing and Max opened the pod to go outside.

Using what he could for handholds along the hull, he made it to the storage compartment under the pod and unlocked it. He dug around for his tether and hooked one end onto his ship and the other end to a clip in waist of the suit. Max pointed himself at the destroyed ship and kicked off the Mako. He drifted slowly toward the other ship and turned around so he could absorb the impact with his legs and not simply push the other ship out of his way or worry about cutting himself on broken glass. He connected with the ship and carefully worked his way inside.

The blood had been there a while; all the water had flash boiled out of it in the heat of the sun. All that was left was a thick, hard deep crimson residue with the occasional spur of bone and other formerly pulpy organ that added some color to the whole scene. It was nothing Max hadn't seen, or done for that matter, before. He looked and saw the same deep craters in the cockpit as he had in the outside hull.

"40 mm penetrators from the looks of it," Max said to himself and turned to where the pilot's head would have been. "I don't know what you did to whom, but they were pissed," he said to the empty space in front of where chunks of hair and skull were embedded into the leather around bullet hole that two of Max's fingers could fit into. He kept looking through the cockpit and started moving around bits and chunks of its former inhabitants. He got the seat compartments opened and found an envelope made of a large sheet of rice paper and sealed with black wax and a signet impression. Max didn't even need to look at it to know that they were Black Dragon couriers. He kept looking through the compartment and found a black metal briefcase with gold dial locks. He picked them up very carefully and looked through the other seat compartment. He didn't see much of interest; it looks as if their lunch had been in there before the decompression got it. Little bits of fruit and chunks of God only knew what were all over the inside.

"Easy come, easy go, fellas. Hope the next world treats you better than this one did," Max said and kicked off their ship. He turned around and connected softly with the Mako and put his tether back in its compartment along with the briefcase and the rice paper envelope. Once they were safely sealed inside, he made his way back to his pod and closed the door. He got in, punched the keypad and the cabin lights started flashing green while "Stabilizing Atmosphere" flashed on his display. Once the cabin lights returned to normal, Max took his helmet off and unzipped his flight suit. He pulled his arms out of it and rolled it down to his waist and then sat back in his own seat. The Mako's engine powered up and he was off.

"Could be a bomb," Max thought out loud. "Only one place to take a possible bomb in a suitcase," Max added to himself and started to nod. "I just hope the old bastard doesn't shoot me before I can talk."

The trip to Earth went much faster than Max was thinking it would before he found the Black Dragons' ship. Much faster.

After his ship was scanned and the credits deducted for the gate toll, he blasted into Earth's atmosphere and headed for Tijuana. It was the armpit of Earth, but you could get anything there; and best of all there were almost no cops. He made for a parking that would take mono-racers and fighters and landed there. It was expensive, but they took good care of your ship while it was there. He parked the Mako on a spot inside the multi-storied hanger, as close to the center as he could to keep as many people from just noticing the military fighter as he could. He'd never had any problems before, but Max was never casual about parking just anywhere, either.

Max got out of the pod and got a good lungful of the air and started coughing. He took a deeper breath and smelled the rank on the air and sighed deeply. "Ah, TJ, my hell away from home," he muttered and made his way to the street. At street level, the city really came alive.

Everything could be bought and sold in Tijuana. Top flight drugs, government secrets, government agents, sex slaves; you name it, they sold it. More importantly, if you had it, they could tell you what it was. Max wanted to get that case to Bernie as quickly as possible, but he didn't want to get caught with it in broad daylight, either. He'd take care of getting a satchel to carry it in first, and then he'd worry about the rest later. Most importantly he wanted some food, real food. Not that crap they grew on Mars. Nothing beat a range fed beef cow, but outside of the cities on Mars there wasn't any range, so no range fed beef. That was the first order of business. Take care of that, and then get a bag to get the case to Bernie's.

Food stands were everywhere. It didn't take him long to find one that sounded interesting, if not just down right good. "Beef and Bell Peppers" was a small cart that Max could have smelled from the hanger if he was paying attention. He walked up to the cart and nodded to the old man running the stand.

"What do you have?" Max asked. The old man gave him an incredulous look.

"Caintcha read th' sign?" he half yelled at Max. Max raised an eyebrow and dug a neat fold of bills out of his pocket. He gave the man 20 woolong and he got a pint container full of rice and beef and bell peppers smothered in that brown sauce that all Chinese food is drowned in. It was the best tasting food he had eaten in weeks. While eating and wondering, he found an army surplus store and bought a drab green duffle bag that would work well enough. With his goals accomplished, he wandered back to the Mako and got the briefcase and the envelope out. With them in the duffle bag he hiked the two miles to Bernie's permanent booth, deep in the market district of Tijuana.

The lights were on when he got there, and he was pleased to see that a make shift door had been bolted into the empty frame that Max was used to seeing. He pushed it open and he heard a service bell ding over the top. The interior of the shop was dimly lit, and most of the items lining the shelves were clocks and small boxes with locks on them. Junk was crammed everywhere in the shop and the only thing that looked to be organized in the small room was a piece of pegboard with what was probably thousands of keys on hooks. Then there was Bernie, standing behind the dirty glass counter with a pump-action shotgun, pointed at Max's head.

"That's close enough, damnit. You nearly had the Consortium close down my shop last time you was here Morgan, I don't need that again. I'm getting' too old and too tired to be putting up with the shit that you track in with you. I don't need that shit, Morgan, you hear me!" the old man raved as the door shut.

"Well, if the Consortium is that pissed off at you, I suppose you don't even want to see what's in the bag."

"Hell no! Take your AWOL ass out of my shop!"

"Guess you don't want to be set straight with the Consortium then," Max said, he gave a shrug and a deep sigh and opened the door to leave.

"No wait just a galldern minute. Set straight? You got rocks in your head boy?" Bernie said and began easing the shotgun down. Max unzipped the bad and reached inside, grabbing the envelope and the case. "What do you think you have in there that would possibly . . ." he started back up again and Max set the case on the counter with the envelope on top. The Black Dragons' seal stood out prominently on the rice paper.

"Think that might do it?"

"I'm not even gonna ask. Some stray dropped it off; and as fer as I'm concerned, that damn stray will find it in the dumpster by 9 tonight! Now get the hell out of my store you damn hooligan! Out!" Max smiled and walked back out the door. He looked at a clock as he left and saw that it was 5 in the afternoon. What could he possibly do for the next 4 hours in Tijuana? A smile crept over Max's face and he wore it all the way to the Soldier Bar.