“It was nice to meet you too,” Luke said to Scarla.

  The massive Ursine alien smiled, showing off her fangs. “Please don’t forget to come on by and meet my husband. Durek would love to hear your opinion on our soybeans.”

  “I will, next Thursday,” Luke confirmed, double checking to ensure that he had placed the meeting in his data slate.

  That was the twentieth consulting appointment he had scheduled for the local farmers. Most wanted to pay him the usual rate for his services, but Luke had a better idea than that. He had looked back into the depths of history and pulled out a tried and true method of trade.

  Bartering.

  Instead of trading an item for his service, the agreement was service for service. He would consult for their farms, soon as harvest season came at Golden Fields they would provide the labor.

  Most eagerly agreed, more than happy to not have to pay the rather steep fees for Luke’s services. Majority of them volunteered themselves, others assured their teenagers or cousins would come out to help with the harvest.

  If they all held up their end of the bargain the harvest this year would be one of the most efficient Luke would ever see. They would have well over one hundred workers each day. At the average rate, it would take them less than a few weeks to complete the entire harvest, packaging and tithe---a feat generally reserved for agricultural locations that use hundreds of thousands of drones.

  Along with the promises of work, nearly everyone Luke met also invited him and Morel to visit their homes. Some wanted to host a BBQ; others hoped to share tea. Luke promised he would make the rounds once schedules allowed—though he didn’t speak for Morel, only assured them he would pass on the invitations.

  To Luke’s surprise, one of the people who stopped to speak with him as he moved through the crowds was Crowley, of all people. Unlike the previous times they had met, Crowley was not working. In fact, the dour man actually seemed happy to be out and about.

  Gone was the stuffy uniform, polished shoes, and slicked-back hair. In their place was the casual regalia of a Grey Rock local: a loose Hawaiian button-up and khaki cargo shorts.

  His skeletal frame was somehow made even more ghostly by the thick layer of sunblock on his skin—so pale and reflective that it hurt to look at him directly.

  Their conversation was short, meaning Luke managed to keep from essentially going snow-blind. Luke quickly ran Crowley through the updates of the farm’s status. Crowley was pleased to hear that all the trees were in the ground weeks earlier, and that Luke predicted a moderate harvest for this years tithe.

  They agreed to have a tour around the farm later that week, just so Crowley could confirm Luke’s claims. It was not that Crowley did not believe Luke, but when you worked for The Coalition, covering your bases was safe practice.

  With that settled Luke wished Crowley a good day, as the man seemed very eager to go meet up with someone. Luke did not pry into the man's personal business, seeing him in casual attire was creepy enough. There was no doubt that learning about his individual affairs would morph the man into a liminal beast.

  With Crowley at Luke’s back, he continued on toward the shoreline, eager to meet back up with Morel, and enjoy a pleasant day selling her paintings, watching the woman shine like a supernova, and if they were feeling particularly bold, gorge on some cheap but mouthwatering fair food.

  This was Luke’s first true fair. He’d attended mixers and cocktail parties on Mars, even a few shows, but nothing like this. From Keyil’s enthusiastic descriptions alone, he knew there would be plenty to try: elephant ears, fried pickles, corn on the cob, and countless other summer treats.

  His desire to eat, along with his yearning for Morel pushed him forward. Eventually Luke spotted Morel, Keyil, and Brakus. The three aliens had already set up the simple stand, and a few easels to display what was for sale.

  All three were occupied with haggling and bartering with several other members of grey-rocks diverse community; their attention being elsewhere was a good thing, when a voice crawled down Luke's neck and a hand landed on his shoulder.

  The voice, one Luke had prayed he would never hear again.

  The grip on his shoulder tightened, and the man stepped beside Luke, gesturing toward Morel across the way. The tattoo on the man's hand confirmed exactly who he was. The black crossed daggers, backing a grinning reaper.

  That was a symbol that everyone within the Coalition was well aware of. It was not a mark of distrust, hatred, or love. It was one of respect.

  Everyone who rightfully wore that emblem had earned their place within the ranks of the DRED; Direct Response Execution Directors. They were a league of troops within the coalition who stood head and shoulder above all else. Men who would not stare into the void, but demand its respect.

  They took the hardest missions to the most remote regions of the galaxy, and the most unknown strikes right under the nose of the average citizen.

  To have ever walked amidst their ranks, was a feet worthy of psalms. To have survived your decade long dedication to that covert unit made you a unapproachable legend.

  Luke had passed by one of their bars back on Mars while going to school. Every member of that unit he had seen and spoken to was a hardened, sharp minded, quick witted killer.

  Rory, here was no exception. He had spent not one, but two whole contracts within the DRED.

  “She is quite the looker. I gotta say though, boss. I always figured you did not know that nothing good comes from a straight road.” Rory laughed, slapping Luke's shoulder. “Hot damn, you just might have the makin’s of good taste in yah.”

  “So I take it they sent you?” Luke replied, focusing on the reason a ghost of his past was standing here.

  “Well, aren’t you just getting to the point,” Rory replied, taking his hand off Luke's shoulder and stepping up beside the lad, licking at a dripping ice cream cone.

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  Luke turned to face the man. Grey hair, beard, and sharp eyes. He had the hallmarks of a rough man, who had never once in his life blinked while staring into the abyss. Rory, had his usual aloof smile, one Luke had grown up seeing from when the man was under his father's contracts.

  As usual, Rory wore almost all grey. A bland drag color that fit in anywhere. It was not an unconscious decision. Rory killed people for Luke's father, between stealing from business rivals, and making certain folk rethink their priorities.

  The only question Luke still had was which of his dozens of hats he was wearing right now. Killer, scout, thief, enforcer? Was he a guillotine over Luke's neck, or a notebook making a record of his actions?

  In practicality, Luke knew there was no difference from his perspective. He could not stop Rory. The man would kill him ten times over before he threw a punch. All Luke could do was pray the man was benign.

  “Rory, please don’t fuck with me,” Luke replied.

  The smile on Rory’s face died in an instant, his face becoming a blank expression of reality. “I did not plan on it.”

  “Good. So what did he pay you to do?”

  “Ah, not him. Her. That slut you left back on Mars demanded I find you, and dear old dad gave her my contact.” Rory replied.

  “Daddy, did not seem incredibly bothered by your disappearance to be honest,” Rory shrugged, his sharp eyes never stopping motion. They darted from Luke to others all around them, looking for threats, or whatever else drew the eye of a man whose entire profession was being a pro criminal.

  “That’s no shock. So what did she send you here for,” Luke replied

  “I’ve already done what she asked, finding her wayward future husband,” Rory replied. “Although now that she has a taste for your progenitor I doubt that is going to happen anytime soon.”

  “Yeah,” Luke replied, stepping back slightly from Rory. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to not tell her?”

  Rory sighed and shook his head. “Unless you have a few million chits laying around there is not a chance in hell,”

  “You know I don’t.”

  Luke was well aware of how thorough Rory was. Rory would have dredged up every receipt, bank account and piece of footage of Luke since he left Mars. The man likely had enough data that he could walk Luke through his travels in such meticulous detail, Luke would not be able to recall everything.

  To top that off, Rory would have also gathered every bit of information on Grey-Rock and all its citizenry. Every soul that Luke had met since arriving here had already been marked as a potential threat for Rory, each one a possible speedbump in his ultimate goal of finding Luke.

  “Yeah. I know you nor that rundown farm have that kind of cash.” Rory replied. “Been keeping an eye on you for a few days.”

  Rory had undoubtedly been watching the Golden Fields from one of the adjacent hillsides, peering down at Morel and her workers through the magnified optics of his customized railgun. Luke had only ever seen the man fire it once, and he had shot a drone out of the sky from well over a mile.

  That Rory was ordered to locate Luke and not kill him was truly a blessing, and the only thing good about his vindictive ex sending such a man after him. If Rory had decided to kill Luke, he would have shot his head off while he and Morel were feeding the bunnies and Ember.

  Rory was just that type of a man. He liked to make people miserable, and anguished while completing his mission. That form of collateral was the icing on the cake of his wicked line of work.

  “Fine. Is there anything I can do to convince you to just not tell them you found me? Or tell them I died?”

  Rory sniggered his dry voice filled with the mirth of having denied such a request thousands of times; a pleasurable experience he would get to experience once more while crushing his former employers sons hope.

  “Can’t be doing that, I took the job, I’m gonna see it through,” Rory replied. “But I will tell you what. I could cut a different deal with you.”

  “What did you have in mind,” Luke raised a brow.

  “How long have we known each other Lucas? Twenty years?”

  “Give or take,” Luke said, unsure where Rory was going with this train of thought.

  “Exactly, and let me tell you what. In all that time, I’ve never seen you so,” He ran a hand through his thick ashen beard. “I suppose smitten is the word.”

  “Let me tell you what. Watching you and that big ol’ girl over there, smoochin’ and going all goo goo eyed has touched my cold and jaded heart,” Rory continued, clutching at his chest in a mocking action. “So I will tell you what, just because you seem to have found that lass and because I have enjoyed tracking you down. I am going to give you a chance to run away.”

  “What do you mean?” Luke asked, knowing there was more to Rory’s game.

  He slipped in close to Luke, putting his arm across the young man's shoulders. His rancid breath assaulted Luke, as he spoke in a hushed tone, sharing a secret that only the hunter and the prey would know.

  “Simple, I’m going to take my time to return to Mars and report that I’ve found you. If you are still here, good. My job is done. If you are not, that’s even better. I can chase you and your new lover from here to Titan---It would be such a grand chase.”

  Rory backed up and jammed a finger sharply into Luke’s chest before mimicking a pistol with it. “And if you do run, that bitch who hired me will let me vape you,” his eyes shot to Morel. “And her too.”

  “Don’t you fucking…”

  “What big man? You gonna kill me if I try?” Rory cut Luke off, pushing the man back and watching as Luke stumbled to the ground. “You don’t have the nerve, much less the skill kid. I would have you sucking dirt before you ever saw me coming.”

  Luke gripped the dirt between his fingers and grumbled in frustration. Rory was right, Luke could not stop him from hurting anyone he loved or cared about. He glared up as the well seasoned man approached and loomed over him.

  “The choice is all yours cowboy,” Rory sneered.

  Before Luke was able to give a rebuttal, Rory’s eyes glanced towards Morel's stand. He quickly stood and backed off into the crowd, vanishing in almost an instant. The reason for him doing so was made evident quickly when another shadow loomed high over him. A womanly shadow, with two high sweeping horns, it’s owners voice was as sweet as honey when she offered Luke a hand.

  “Are you okay darlin’?” Morel said, while hoisting Luke up and holding him close.

  “I’m alright,” Luke replied, only verifying his physical wellbeing.

  He looked up at Morel and she looked out over the crowd, scowling and searching for where Rory had gone off to. “What was his problem?” Morel asked, shifting her attention entirely on Luke.

  “No idea,” Luke replied, adjusting himself to return the embrace.

  Luke held that hug, a longing song resonating within his chest. As she rubbed her hand up and down his back, Luke knew he could not delay any longer. The reaper had arrived, the pied piper was here for his pay.

  Today was the day.

  Luke would tell Morel everything. All he had to do was hold it together until her paintings had all been sold. A feat that was easier said than done when he had the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, and the fear of her revelation gnawing at his heart.