***
At the corner of the building, unseen in the darkness, Frost peered through the night vision scope of his rifle, patiently centering the Pegasus in the luminescent crosshairs. He’d had enough excitement for the day. It was time to end this.
Ok, so this spacer, Thomas, he had a pair with some hair. Yes, he’d earned Frost’s grudging respect. He gave a valiant effort at the whole “knight in shining armor” attempt. He had to admit, it was man’s nature to cheer for the underdog. As such, most people would have naturally rooted for him in his heroic role against the evil, heartless ARA bad man. However, as the evil ARA in this fairy tale, he was not only lacking in the romance department, he was also a businessman. He had a vested interest in the whole ordeal. The longer this case stayed open, the less his bonus would be.
Nobody took a contract anymore for just the posted reward. Of course, each case was handled on a cost-plus basis. That was standard. But the real money resided in the “quick-catch” bonuses. That’s what separated the “real men” from the “boys” in this line of work. It was a scheme as simple and effective as it was lucrative. The faster you brought an asset in, the more money you made. That was the incentive. All the while, the clock was ticking and the purse was shrinking. Sometimes, a fugitive turned out to be difficult and the hunt took longer than expected. If it went bad, by the time you claimed your reward, there was no bonus. Sometimes, it couldn’t be helped. You won some and you lost some. It was just part of making a living. And it was a good living.
As long as you won more than you lost.
His index finger moved slowly along the receiver until it found the small button it was seeking. Gently pushing it in, he felt the rifle vibrate softly, as a thunderbolt charge began to build to full power.
Frost liked the big bonuses. Not only did they keep him financially secure, but also, with each one, his reputation as the best manhunter in the business grew. And as it grew, the price for his services grew with it. So did his sponsorships, endorsements and other lucrative monies made possible only by fame and recognition.
“You should’ve steered clear, Prince Charming,” he murmured softly to himself, as his finger made his way slowly back down to the trigger. “No more happily ever after!”
His finger squeezed the trigger as if it were the soft skin of a woman’s breast.
***
There was no hesitation in her as she scrambled to her feet and darted for the window. She moved with the easy fluidity of her vulpine lineage, clearing the window with a graceful arc that would’ve landed her easily in the open cockpit … had it not suddenly lurched back and away as Frost’s thunderbolt struck the bottom of the truck.
The force of the blast threw Tiger headfirst over the cowling. Desperately, he did a midair twist, clawing for anything he could find to keep from sliding down to the exhaust nozzle and certain incineration. His spingun fell to the ground, landing on the concrete below with a sickening metallic clatter. As he slid down, his hand desperately found a venting aperture. His fingers locked around it with a death grip, his momentum carrying his torso and legs on around, almost ripping his arm out of its socket. His legs beat against the side of the truck, as if they were streamers in the wind.
He cried out in pain, his body protesting the abuse. But he was still alive and in one piece. That was a major victory, considering the circumstances. He felt the truck’s auto-level sensors kick in, and as it began to right itself, he wondered why another round was not forthcoming. After the punishment the beast had already taken, it would never hold up to another direct hit. It was a lot of machine. The Master of Movement, Dee Train, had seen to that. But it wasn’t indestructible. The next thunderbolt strike would almost certainly knock them to the ground.
“Jocko! Grab the wheel! Now!” he yelled, as he rolled over the cowling into the bed of the truck. Scrambling back up to the rear of the cockpit, he saw that Jocko was over on the driver side, but instead of taking the truck out of hover mode and gunning the throttle, he was hanging halfway out the cockpit. Looking down to see the reason why, he froze in horror.
Hanging from the running board by only the fingertips of her left hand, Amber dangled precariously in midair. It didn’t take him but a second or two to deduce what had happened. As she had sprung from the window to make her escape, the truck had simultaneously taken the hit from the Thunderbolt. The angle from which it had been fired had been from below and to the right, thus the momentum of the blast had rocked the truck up and away from her over on its starboard side. The result had been almost catastrophic. Obviously, she’d missed the cockpit and ended up hitting the bottom part of the door which, now opened, became the running board. Only a last second, desperate grasp had kept her from falling to the ground. He could tell her grip was precarious. Her fingers were beginning to slide already, her hold weakening. He knew what awaited her below. If he didn’t get her onboard immediately, she would be lost forever.
Jocko was reaching out for her, but only half-heartedly. He didn’t have the courage to leave the cockpit and expose himself. For all the man’s shortcomings, Tiger couldn’t blame him for that. Jocko was a couch potato
