The cockpit’s ambient noise used to be pretty stressful. But after going through this routine more than a few times, I’d begun to find it relaxing. Going dark inside the vacuum of space to avoid detection, leaving only life support systems.

  It had been a bit over a year since I paid some back-alley, chihuahua-looking Gerallian to remove most of the emergency lights. A few months after that, I met his more upstanding brother and paid him a premium to paint my Quattuor Alis vantablack. Lazy name, that. The ship’s name, not the paint—it’s literally just Latin for “four winged.” Not that anyone I’d met in the last three years would have ever heard of Latin.

  After this bounty I’d probably pay someone to change the ID. Logically I should buy a new fighter, but I’m so used to this one I’m worried I’ll have trouble adapting. I feel a frown start to form, but before I can delve into that uncomfortable internal monologue a bright red fighter zips past me. With a smile, I flip the rapid ignition, Alis’ systems flaring to life near-instantaneously.

  Pressing forward on the thrusters, I whip out from my hiding spot in the shadow of a small asteroid. My target is dead ahead of me, flying at full speed to the nearest jump port, hoping to leave the local solar system. I have him in my sights and could easily take him out with a full-power twin-blaster shot. I bite my lip. The bounty says dead or alive, meaning I legally have to give him a chance to surrender. I could always spoof an attempted comm pulse into Alis’ logs later.

  I let out a sigh. But I’m a professional. Pressing the comm pulse, I see the target’s ship jerk slightly. Must not have been expecting an attempt. However, I notice my pulse hit four nearby ships. He’s already being pursued.

  Four small screens flash onto the display field of my viewport. Three canine heads and one reptilian one greet me. Every face flashes in surprise upon seeing me. As always, I have my helmet on. It features a full face mask and integration with my power suit and my fighter.

  “Pygmillian. Surrender or die.”

  Unfortunately, due to a manufacturing error (by me), my voice comes out distorted, with a small amount of static. Each of the canines flinches. Whereas the reptile—Pygmillian—turns paler than a ghost.

  One of the canines, a fellow who looks like a bloodhound all decked out in the garb of a Gerallian military officer, starts to speak.

  “He has already refu—”

  “I surrender.”

  Pygmillian interrupts the military man, a slight shake in his voice as he does so. I watch his fighter start to slow down, front-facing brake thrusters flaring as his main engines die, bringing his small craft to a halt.

  As I pull over his ship, I deploy some pulse tethers—neat little cables that latch onto a stopped vessel. While connected, they put a ship in a state similar to how mine was while lying in wait. With my bounty secured, I begin typing in coordinates to the nearest military station. The three canines are still up on the display as I do so, each of them looking rather nervous.

  Honestly, it’s making me uncomfortable. I’ve never been one for social interaction. At least not active social interaction. I’m fine to stand there and listen to a conversation, but try to rope me in and I freeze up like a deer in headlights.

  Getting fed up with the awkward silence, and with my nerves fraying, I finally speak.

  “Bounty is captured, clearing comms.”

  I go to press what I call the “end call” button—though no doubt it has a more official and obtuse nomenclature.

  “Wait. Do you require an escort back to the nearest station, Shadow?”

  I stop for a moment to consider that. An escort would be rather nice and would save me the trip through customs. Hold up—Shadow?

  This time, one who had been quiet until now responds. She’s a chocolate Lab woman with very large… assets.

  “It’s what the public has been calling you ever since that video of your dogfight with the Rusted Reavers popped up on the holonet.”

  Turning to the small screen to my side, I pull out a keyboard and type in the first thing that comes to mind. Shadow dog fights Reavers. The first result has a thumbnail showing my ship in low atmosphere, behind a dime-a-dozen Heward MP painted rust brown.

  The title: Black Shadow takes four Rusted Reaver Aces by himself.

  Black Shadow.

  I’ve been an independent bounty hunter for close to two years. I finally earn a moniker and it’s fucking Black Shadow. I think I’d prefer Blue Water or White Snow. GOD DAMNIT, it’s so edgy. I fight the urge to scream in my mask as three military-branded Gerallian Mid-liners (Gerries for short) come into view.

  Letting out a silent sigh inside my helmet, I say, “I’ll take the escort.”

  The officer nods while his two squad members look excited. We get into a standard cross formation and start our journey. Luckily it’s not too far, so I’m only looking at a two-hour trip. I put Alis into cruise control, and after giving all the pleasantries I can muster, I kill communications.

  The moment the video feed and mic die, I rip off my helmet and throw it at my feet. Slamming my arms into the armrests, I let out a loud—

  “GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!”

  —one I’d been holding in. Calming myself down, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t have many friends, but I guarantee everyone at the bounty board is going to be bringing this shit up for a long while.

  Getting a moniker is a big deal for bounty hunters. It’s a mark of honor that shows you’re not only good enough at your job to stay alive, but also skilled enough to be recognized. It was also something I’d actively avoided for as long as possible. Reason being, bounty hunters are regulated by the Federation, a galaxy-spanning conglomerate of planetary governments.

  It’s not an issue for no-names. There are too many fish in the sea for an organization overseeing trillions of people to bother with a rule-skirting pilot. But monikered hunters are considered Aces and valuable assets. Which means I now have to register, renew my license, and wait to be scooped up by a team.

  A few hours pass, and the space station comes into view. A colony-class super-heavy called Horizon’s Retreat. The station itself sits in the ring of an unusually large rocky planet. Typically, I would have to send in my ship ID and personal code, then wait for a taxi to ferry me into port. My fighter is too small to dock, and while I can be considered wealthy, there’s no possible way for me to afford anything near large enough to do so.

  Thankfully, the military escort fast-tracks what’s typically an hour-long process, allowing me to land directly in their private bay. Unlike Earth, the Gerallian government is fairly laissez-faire when it comes to private ownership, rarely enforcing bans on weaponry and auxiliary systems. Unless you’re like the bounty I’m hauling in—then they’ll throw the book at you. Which is good for me, because while the twin-linked energy blasters aren’t illegal, the overclocked battery powering them definitely is. As are the kinetic rail guns attached to each wing.

  Our cross formation lands. I don’t take long to exit my ship, as most of my belongings are packed in a large backpack. Honestly, the thing would be near impossible to carry if not for the lower standard of gravity that seems almost universal in this galaxy. I knew this was true planet-side as well, having made planetfall a few times back when I was still living with Aunt Simmy.

  Deftly as I can, I hop out of the cockpit and land solidly on my feet. I see my squad of escorts doing the same. Looking around, I notice a small crowd of stationed military personnel gathering around our group of ships. The excited clamoring of the gawking canines reminds me of when I used to pick up Elvis—my Saint Bernard, rest his soul—from doggy daycare.

  I’m pretty positive I’m not forcing my way through that crowd, and I’m certainly not going to try and talk my way through it. I do my best to suppress a shudder at the thought.

  I’m pulled out of my thoughts as the other pilots approach me. The bloodhound walks with the steady, consistent rhythm I’ve come to expect from commissioned Gerallian officers. His two younger squad members—a Staffordshire and the Lab—walk lockstep behind him.

  I react simply by turning to him. I assess him silently, not trusting myself to refrain from spilling my spaghetti if I were to talk. After a moment of awkward silence, he gives me a salute.

  “The Gerallian military thanks you for your service, Shadow. I hereby award you with a writ of capture for Pygmillian Sudo. You will receive ten thousand meds for collecting a bounty on a wanted murderer, plus a twenty percent bonus for bringing him alive. You will receive two thousand meds for capturing a blockade runner and a twenty percent bonus for bringing him in alive, in addition to a forty percent bonus for securing the cargo. That brings you to a total of fifteen thousand, two hundred zorkmeds, to be collected at the nearest Bounty Hunter Association.”

  He goes silent as he continues to stare at me. After a moment, I realize he’s waiting for me to confirm what he’s said, so I give a simple nod. He recoils slightly at that, making me think I screwed up somehow. Luckily he doesn’t linger to wallow in my awkwardness and quickly rushes off, leaving his two squadmates to stand there awkwardly with me.

  I turn to look at the Staffordshire, and she quickly looks the other way in disgust. Turning my head to the Lab, she does the same. I feel my breath catch as old memories begin to surface, reminding me of why I preferred solitude to the mocking gazes everyone seemed to afford me.

  I see the crowd begin to part, and to my surprise I see the red uniform of a high-ranking officer. Not only that, but I recognize him. The Lab begins to open her mouth—no doubt to unleash the same old ridicule—so before she can get a word in I walk past her toward one of the few people I consider a friend.

  Emerald

  Out of all the monikered squads in Federation space, few were as well known as Gamma Hounds. Their leader, Emerald Strauss, prided herself on only recruiting the best of the best. Not only that, but each member would undergo a probationary period, so by the time they became a full member all the fat would be trimmed. Usually a round of recruitment would run three to six months. Unfortunately for Gamma Hounds, this round of recruitment had been a bust.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “If you’ll let me explain, I’m sure it’s just a clar—”

  A glass flew past the simpering wolf’s head, shattering against the far wall.

  “A clerical error? You have three false bounty claims that were just successfully disputed, and you had someone else piloting YOUR fighter in the event where you got your moniker, and you have the gall to tell me it’s a clerical error? GET OFF MY SHIP BEFORE I BREAK MY FOOT OFF IN YOUR ASS, YOU RUNT-MINDED SHIT!”

  The wolf bolted out of the door. Emerald strained her ears to listen to him flee down the hallway. She waited a moment before phoning Nia.

  “Make sure Lupros is off the ship in the next ten minutes.”

  A tired voice responded.

  “Sure thing.”

  Emerald rubbed her temples with the pads of her paws. She had been leader of Gamma Hounds for close to two years now. While the group had continued the successful streak her predecessor left them, it was getting harder and harder with each passing day. Historically the group was a four-wing squadron, but when her predecessor and his lover left, it had only been her and Nia.

  Luckily, they were quickly able to pick up a replacement mechanic and third fighter. The small fennec was incredibly deft when it came to ship maintenance, and was also incredibly extroverted. His quick recruitment had left Emerald hopeful that they would pick up a fourth pilot before too long, but in the blink of an eye two years had passed with nothing to show. Close to two hundred trial members had been filtered out in that time, either through subpar skills or by becoming undesirable once their less-than-stellar pasts were uncovered. Unfortunately, bounty hunting tended to appeal to less than savory crowds, leaving Gamma Hounds with an abysmally small recruitment pool.

  An uncomfortably high-pitched tone sounded throughout the spacious office. With an exasperated sigh, Emerald pressed a button on her desk. A small screen slid out seamlessly from the wood. Soon a red fox appeared on the screen.

  “Emmy, I hear your latest round of recruitment wasn’t so great,” he asked, not unkindly.

  Emerald sadly shook her head.

  “No, Uncle, it didn’t.”

  The red fox, Oscar Strauss—Rear Admiral of the Gerallian military—gave a small frown, followed by a large smile.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but you may find yourself thankful for that in just a moment.”

  Seeing the twinkle in her uncle’s green eyes, Emerald couldn’t help but be curious.

  “Oh? And why is that?”

  Oscar joined his hands and rested his chin on his intertwined fingers.

  “The newly monikered Black Shadow just caught a bounty and agreed to a military escort. Not only that, but I was able to pull some strings and expedite making his moniker official. He’s going to have to register as soon as he leaves my base. In fact, I’ll personally escort him to the bounty office.”

  Emerald was stunned.

  “I know your squad likes to vet recruits, but this is the only chance you’ll have to recruit him, because I doubt he’ll be wanting for squad requests.”

  Emerald’s jaw dropped. Black Shadow had built a stellar reputation for himself over the past two years, making his name as a solo flier with a highly customized ship. He had a reputation for appearing in active combat zones and taking out high-value targets with large bounties. Up until recently, everything known about him was based on word of mouth. Typically that didn’t go far, but with his results being backed by both the military and the Bounty Hunter’s Association, there was little room for doubt.

  Add to that, the man practically oozed intimidation. No one had ever seen him outside his polished black power suit and helmet. No one even knew what he was. Many saw his plantigrade feet and assumed he was some sort of narrow-footed simian, but his lack of tail debunked that rumor soundly. Others thought maybe he was a disfigured Gerallian who had lost his tail in an accident. Adding to the mystery, he rarely spoke more than a few words at a time and always used a voice scrambler.

  The few that met him in person described him as standing at least a head over the average Gerallian. All of that wove together to build a rather compelling mystery man.

  Around a month ago that mystery was shattered when a video appeared on the holonet of some Rusted Reavers raiding a research settlement on Algon IV. The group made about three strafing runs before a pitch-black Alis came in mid-strike and took out two of them with kinetic weaponry. A feat only more impressive if you’re an experienced pilot.

  Kinetic weaponry is notoriously difficult to maintain, building up wear much faster than energy weapons. It’s also unable to interface with flight HUDs, meaning all targeting is done manually. The one large advantage is that it bypasses energy shields entirely.

  After the two brown MPs were hit, the remaining two whipped around to pursue the Alis. Unfortunately for the raiders, Alis was built for speed and easily outpaced them. It deftly dodged the blaster rounds sent its way. Almost every miss was close enough to set off the energy shielding, nearly grazing the black craft.

  However, seeing as the blasts simply flew past the fighter, it meant that the shielding was down—most likely done intentionally.

  The moment it was out of targeting range, the Alis turned ninety degrees upward, flying straight up into the sky and outside the view of whoever was recording. The maneuver was only possible thanks to the additional pair of wings.

  When the MPs tried to copy, they could only manage a slower climb. Before their noses faced away from the ground, two blaster shots came down and burned through both shielding and fighter alike. With all four raiders down, the black Alis circled the settlement before once again taking off toward the sky, likely leaving planetary limits.

  Before the video ended, the person recording approached the wreckage of the raiders and found a red emblem on an intact piece of hull. Anyone with knowledge would know that emblem was used by Raiders to signify their aces.

  “Emmy?” Emerald’s uncle asked with a worried tone, his smile replaced with a concerned frown.

  She looked him in the eyes.

  “How long until he gets here?”

  Oscar seemed taken aback by her intensity, but settled himself and answered.

  “He should be here in under an hour.”

  She nodded in response. She pulled her flight jacket off the back of her chair and rushed out of the office.

  Soon Emerald and Nia were on one of the hover taxis and heading toward the military landing bay. Emerald almost had a manic look to her—something Nia noticed immediately.

  She wore her typical lazy smile as she observed her leader and best friend. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell, but Nia saw through her like glass. The typically no-nonsense, foul-mouthed fox was silent. Her twitching tail and dilated dark-green eyes gave away how excited she was to meet the infamous Shadow.

  “What do you think he’s like, personality-wise?” Nia asked probingly.

  Emerald shrugged.

  “Honestly, I could care less. Being a pilot like that, he could be the most socially awkward loner this side of the Nova System, and I’d still want him in our squad.”

  Emerald lied.

  The Persian gave her Arctic Fox squad leader a knowing smile. She had been present to watch Emerald rave about the drop maneuver Shadow had pulled off. The fighter aficionado had later gone on a drunken rant after dropping another applicant, explaining how no one knew how to take advantage of the Alis’ extra wings.

  It wasn’t long before they pulled up to the military base. Paying the taxi, they walked over to the landing field. The Doberman standing guard immediately recognized the famous bounty hunters, and with a little convincing and a quick phone call to Oscar, let them through. Oscar was waiting for them right outside the hangar. Already a small crowd had gathered as the two walked over to him.

  “Emmy, glad you could make it.” He took the shorter fox into a hug, which she returned without reluctance.

  “Nia, it’s good to see you well,” Oscar said with a polite nod.

  The Persian gave a lazy wave of acknowledgment. As Emerald broke from the hug, she looked past the crowd and could see the top of the phantom-black Alis.

  “Now, I should be completely truthful with you. I have a small history with Mr. Evan.”

  Emerald gave her uncle a confused look.

  “I’m talking about Shadow, Emmy. Also, if you want to start on the right foot with him, I recommend not calling him Shadow.”

  Emerald was perplexed. Calling a monikered hunter by their given name was an insult unless you knew them personally.

  “Why the hell not?” she asked impatiently.

  “Well, we’ve spoken many times actually. He once told me he’d sooner ‘kiss the barrel end of a blaster than get an edgy moniker.’ Unfortunately, he couldn’t account for the naming conventions of the teenager who first posted the clip.”

  Emerald was dumbfounded at the statement, but she could understand the sentiment. Honestly, there were worse monikers though. Pigsty being up there.

  “Well, no point in delaying. Let’s go meet your prospective squad mate.”

  Her uncle began to walk toward the crowd. Not wanting to get left behind, she followed closely behind him with Nia lazily trailing a ways back.

  One of the off-duty pilots happened to look over his shoulder and see the Rear Admiral. He nudged his companion, who did likewise. This cascaded until a path was cleared for the group.

  The first thing Emerald noticed was the pitch-black power suit and his height—standing a head over the two Gerallians. This was followed by the featureless helmet and facemask. The shape was odd. It took a moment for her to place the uncanny feeling, then she figured out why. She couldn’t imagine a snout fitting in there.

  Maybe he’s a felinid like Nia.

  Lastly, the absolutely massive sack he carried on his back drew in a large amount of attention. Either that was all cloth, or there were some serious servos in that power armor.

  In front of Evan stood two pilots who were fidgeting nervously. Their infatuation was plain as day—obvious to anyone with eyes. Emerald then took a sniff. Or a functioning nose.

  Rather than say anything, he stared them down. When one of them began to speak up, he walked past them without a word. It was a brutal rejection if she’d ever seen one.

  She realized he was looking at their group. It wasn’t long before his long strides brought him over.

  “Evan, how’ve you been?” Oscar asked with joviality that felt out of place.

  “I’ve been better. Just found out about my moniker on the way in.”

  Even through the distortion Emerald could hear the disappointed exasperation. Guess Uncle Oscar wasn’t lying.

  Oscar reached up and patted the man’s shoulder.

  “It could be worse. No use crying over spilt sturm. I know you’re not looking forward to having to register, but I have an opportunity for you.”

  Oscar made a flourish, motioning to Emerald and Nia with a playful bow.

  “I can think of five ways that can be misinterpreted.”

  Evan deadpanned, causing Emerald to choke back a laugh. Nia didn’t attempt and began belly-laughing at that.

  “Then let me be clear. This is my niece Emerald and her squadmate Nia, of squad Gamma Hounds.”

  Evan now looked directly at Emerald and Nia. After a moment he spoke.

  “Is the name supposed to be ironic?”

  The question caught Emerald off guard.

  “No?” she said, unsure.

  “Ah. Pardon me then.”

  He then reached out a black-armored hand, which Emerald took.

  “I take it your uncle didn’t just bring you to show you off?”

  Emerald nodded, then launched into her pitch.

  “If you’ve kept up with the Bounty Board, you’d know Gamma Wolf is one of the most accomplished active teams. For the last three years we’ve flown with three pilots and have collected close to two hundred and fifty bounties. We have been in need of a fourth squad member for a while now. My uncle informed me that you would soon have to register, so rather than giving others a chance to recruit you, I wanted to offer you a spot on our team.”

  Evan nodded as he listened. Looking behind him, Emerald saw the two pilots shooting hateful looks her way. Ignoring them, she gauged his reaction to the offer. However, she was unable to get a read on him due to his hidden face.

  “I’d be happy to, but there are a few things you should know before I join your team. First off, I’ve never flown in a squad.”

  Emerald winced internally. She had figured he was used to solo operation, but the fact that he had zero experience in squad operations was odd. She could work with that though. They were going to need to train him to fly with their group regardless. They already used unconventional formations and tactics, so maybe a nearly clean slate was good.

  “Second, I perform my own maintenance and customization on my fighter.”

  This one was an easier grant for her, though she had a condition herself.

  “That’s fine as long as our engineer gets to take a look. We’re more than a little curious about your specs.”

  Evan nodded.

  “Done.”

  Emerald could almost see a weight leave Evan’s shoulders.

  The rest of the day was spent traveling with the mostly silent Evan. Oscar parted ways with them as they left the base, and stated he would have Evan’s ship transported to Gamma Hounds’ carrier, Silent Hunter. The trip to the Bounty Hunter’s Association was uneventful, and his paperwork went through without any issues—a fact which brought Emerald no small amount of relief.

  It was near the end of the day when they finally arrived back at the Silent Hunter.

  “Welcome to your new home, Evan.”

  He gave a grateful nod, and the three of them entered the carrier. Soon they were in the main area of the hangar as the entrance to the large ship began to close. As Evan went to climb the stairs to the living and recreational areas of the ship, Emerald stopped and turned around, blocking him.

  “Before you go any further, I need to see your face.”

  Evan stared the white fox down. After a moment of hesitation he nodded and reached up to his helmet.