Riesel Tales: Two Hunters (Volume 1)

By Roystonn Pruitt

An unending expanse of miles-high towers. Thievery and murder in every shadow. Air made pale by centuries of pollution. The dejected urban planet of Riesel has indeed seen better days.

Overrun with crime and ruled by a powerful mafia faction, the world is a cutthroat's paradise. It's also a fantastic place to be if you're looking to collect on a bounty. It's a cornucopia of opportunity for the male and female bounty-hunting twosome Runge Margavo and Ramy Dusotes, but merely existing on such a hostile world is a challenge in itself.

This is not made any easier by the fact that they have to survive each other in the process. Their clashing personalities are just about as dangerous as the missions they carry out, which makes one wonder: Why haven't they killed each other yet?

From retrieving valuable stolen goods and personnel, to stealthy assassination jobs, to braving the heights of a rusting artificial continent in the hazy sky, these two hunters go where the money is and take it for all that it's worth.

The paychecks are big, and so are the risks.

--

Volume 1 is a collection of the first four stories of the Riesel Tales series:

First
Club Gig
Reprisal
Lonely Tenant

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roystonn Pruitt
• Release date: Apr 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310025945

Roystonn Pruitt

I came into this world in 1987 with a love science fiction, and it has been the driving force behind my absurd literary scribbles.It's not just about the sci-fi. I write about the general happenings of life within a sci-fi setting. In a reflection of my own life, my characters often have to experience hardship before getting what they want. Grit and cynicism are common themes in my stories, but that just makes the light at the end of the tunnel even brighter -- and it's not the headlight of an incoming freight train, either. The darkness is pierced by the brightness of comedy, whether it's the main characters taking wry jabs at each other or some sort of idiosyncratic circumstance putting an amusing twist on a situation. This is all mixed in with a richly detailed depiction of a future world that has seen one too many downturns.With that in mind, I refer primarily to my Riesel Tales: Two Hunters works. Set over 6000 years in the future on a city-covered dystopia world called Riesel, two bounty hunters by the names of Runge Margavo and Ramy Dusotes make their living doing what they do best. Surviving on such a world is hard enough, and their clashing personalities don't make things any easier. Runge is a wisecracking vice addict who frequents clubs and bars when he's not on a mission, and his platonic partner in business, Ramy Dusotes, serves as his mostly straight-minded female foil.I can also be found elsewhere on the Web under the handle RieselUniverse, such as Twitter, Facebook, Wikia, TV Tropes (Riesel Tales page), and DeviantArt!

Book preview

Riesel Tales: Two Hunters

Volume 1

Roystonn Pruitt

Copyright 2012 Roystonn Pruitt

All Rights Reserved.

Published by Roystonn Pruitt at Smashwords.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

First

Club Gig

Reprisal

Lonely Tenant

About the Author

Acknowledgements

My warmest thanks go to:

My mother, for her support, patience, advice, and being there in general;

Parker J. Cole, for her invaluable tutelage in the realm of literature and publishing, as well as reviewing the original drafts more times than she should have;

Ron, for a wealth of wisdom and advice that could not compare to the greatest mountain of shimmering treasure. Thank you for helping me through the tough times;

My insane Internet friends, for being a big inspiration, a source of mindless entertainment, and unwitting pawns to my nefarious schemes;

And of course, Elroy and Joshua for their boundless support, wisdom, guidance, and just about everything else. This would not have been possible without you.

Foreword

What is science fiction? Ever since I was young, I found it to be an exciting window into the realm of that which has yet to come. I gawked at the stories and pictures of spaceships of impossible design, traversing the unfathomable depths of space at speeds that threw Einstein's theories right back into his astounded face; as well as great and wondrous extrasolar planets with ecosystems of untold peculiarity, and the bizarre alien species which inhabited those planets.

As a child, I had the desire to write my own tales. If I watched a cartoon, I imagined how I could have made it better in some way, with or without sanity included. I would go to my room and use some random surface as my grand podium upon which I dictated the creation of worlds and characters of my own. I was first inspired by cartoons, then space operas and crime dramas. As time passed, I attempted to write my own tales in earnest, albeit poorly, then moved to fan fiction before going back original fiction.

And then Riesel came along.

Inspired by the harrowing adventures of tough mercenaries, pirates, and bounty hunters; my personal life and adventures on the Internet; and mixed with the awe-inspiring scale and possibilities of future technology and space, Riesel came to be something that I wanted to focus on. Furthermore, I wanted to portray realistic characters and scenarios as well, diving into the depths of the mind while also providing humor that wasn't fished out of the sewers.

This is naught but the beginning — the bare tip of a much larger universe. Sit back, set to cruise, and enjoy.

First

Frantic footsteps echoed throughout the wan metal hallway as two figures scrambled for the exit. They darted out onto a large landing platform that overlooked a seemingly bottomless urban canyon whose walls, in opposition to the abyss, towered overhead like a series of massive, rusted obelisks.

The two approached their waiting starship with adrenaline flashing through their veins. Along the length of either horizontal engine nacelle spelled the word Salona in bold lettering. One of them pressed a button on his belt and activated a hatch in the back of the ship, into which he chucked a small duffel bag before closing it with another press of the button. They ducked as they passed underneath the ship's tan hull and ran up the gangway that protruded from the floor of the open cockpit in the front. Once they had strapped in to their juxtaposed seats, the gangway receded into its housing, and the canopy closed and sealed in front of them.

Cool, crisp air — a welcome contrast to the musty pollution of Riesel's atmosphere — flooded from the ship's ventilation system into the cockpit after Runge Margavo summoned the holographic control panel and started the ship. In the right seat, Ramy Dusotes kept her eyes trained on the surveillance monitors floating in front of her. Hums and beeps signified the activation of the ship's various components, along with an abrupt jump into the air due to the gravity repellers.

As the Salona's four landing skids receded into the hull, a squad of soldiers from the Zaxadin Cartel — a small yet bloodthirsty trade mafia which was stationed in the area — swarmed onto the landing platform. Before they could fire off a single shot from their rifles, Runge gripped the control rings on the end of either of his seat's armrests and thumbed the throttle forward. Light-warping geysers of energy exploded from the thrusters, propelling the Salona into the anemic sky and incinerating the soldiers where they stood.

Contentment pulled the bounty hunters' cheeks into smiles as they prepared to exit the atmosphere of the urban world, but the blare of warning sirens cut their sense of victory short. A slight jolt indicated a minor impact on the aft energy shields and confirmed impending danger.

Bright streaks of orange energy lanced past the Salona as Riesel shrank into the distance behind it. Its irate pursuers, consisting of thirty-five black fighter ships, sprayed volley after volley of ballistic wrath in a desperate attempt to immobilize their target and reacquire their ill-gotten goods. On the portside wing of each was the white, jagged mark of the Zaxadin Cartel.

Hey Runge, I think they're mad. Let's make them angrier and—WUAAGH!

Runge pulled the ship into a tight arc that took them over the flurry of enemy fire and into a corkscrew, its gravity projectors allowing such maneuvers in the airless void. The small fighters reciprocated the maneuver, but with some difficulty as they frequently collided with one another while attempting to stay in formation.

Laughter exploded from Runge's mouth. I call this the Rock Tumbler!

Ramy's cushioned armrests squeaked as she gripped them with increasing desperation. The maneuver, heavy with g-force, gradually felt stronger as the momentum counterbalance — the device that regulated the effects of acceleration on the ship's cargo — began to malfunction.

Hilarious, but this is making me sick. I think the mo-co needs some adjusting. These guys aren't very good shots, either, so you don't need to... okay, seriously, I think I'm gonna barf.

"Yeah, and imagine how sick they are!"

Her counterpart continued to perform dizzying maneuvers while a warning light flashed, indicating a system error.

Ramy shot an accusing side glance. If I lose my lunch, you're paying for the next one.

Relax, we'll visit a greasy burger joint after this.

A desperate hand reached halfway for a bucket from a nearby compartment, but Ramy's nausea subsided at the last second. Nausea aside, the mo-co is about to explode, and the Zaxies are so bad at shooting that some field guides label it as a comedy act.

Runge's hands remained gripped on the control rings, keeping them twisted in a dizzying angle. Yes, but consider how that many ships might actually hit something out of sheer numbers. Just a bit more erratic flying and they'll give up.

OUR ship might give up beforehand! I'm starting to smell smoke!

Despite the proclaimed ruthlessness of the Zaxadins, Runge's words were proved right. The pursuit lasted for less than a minute before the pursuers gave up out of frustration, allowing their quarry to dart away into the starry expanse of space.

Runge checked the sensor readings on the screen floating in front of him and saw no pursuers being detected. He slowed their wide freight-craft to a more manageable speed and leveled out. All clear. Setting a course for the other hopeless ball of rusted despair.

The ship lurched starboard and headed for Riesel's larger moon, the factory-covered Markieyl. As per the mission, they were to drop off the recently acquired cargo to their client and receive the promised payment of 15,000 jucals ― the most common currency in their region of space.

Sensation returned to Ramy's hands as she loosened her grip on her armrests, and the light-brown fur standing straight on her arms, neck, and tail began to lay down. With her green eyes narrowed, she poked the ghostly console ahead of her and brought up a diagnostic of the ship. Despair is about right. The mo-co is flashing red, but at least it stopped smoking.

Runge relaxed his broad shoulders as he leaned back in his seat, his two hearts decelerating from a fevered sprint to a hurried jog. He smoothed the blue fur of his neck before popping the latter, relishing the brief burst of relief that resulted.

A smug grin sat on his canine Sirukti face, hiding the twinge of embarrassment he felt. He knew his actions had been a bit excessive, especially for a ship as old as theirs.

Oh, there was smoke? he asked with a bit of sarcasm.

One of Ramy's eyes twitched. Yes. I said this already.

His hand waved in dismissal. That just means we needed a new one―

Ramy cut him off, ―that probably costs more than the paycheck we're about to get.

Weeee could find one on the Internet for about half that.

Yes, a mo-co unique to a ship that stopped being manufactured nearly a century ago.

So, an antique shop or museum.

Again, expensive.

We'll just get a modern one and adapt. I'm good with a wrench.

I'm also good with a wrench, but mine fixes attitudes. You're missing the point.

I caught the point like an athlete. Check the support website.

Ramy rolled her eyes and summoned an Internet browser window on the console. A few keystrokes brought her to the Ridagr Interstellar Protocols website and the relevant page for their ship. "The RIP Indocca-class freight hauler was discontinued in 8109... ― She trailed off while scrolling the page, then spoke up again ― ...featured a unique momentum counterbalance unit. From what I can see among the 800,000 user comments, people were not happy about the specialized unit, but a few comments made within the past thirty years give recommendations for more modern units and adapters."

Runge took his hands off the controls long enough to shoot a finger-guns gesture at his lupine Lonkapi copilot. See? Now we need to shop.

His insistence on justifying his actions grated on her like few other things in the universe, but she also realized he had a point. Some of the tension subsequently escaped her. Yeah, I guess. Good to know we have options.

And good that it broke during a snowball fight rather than a real battle.

This drew an amused huff from her lips. Tell me about it.

The cabin went silent for the rest of the brief journey. Runge kept his eyes fixed on the pallid moon ahead, while Ramy's eyes wandered off to the right, catching the last few glimpses of the bustling ecumenopolis of Riesel before it drifted out of view as the ship passed through the planet's shadow.

Riesel was poorly lit for a place boasting a population of over twelve trillion, and that wasn't even close to its true capacity. The great patches of brighter and more up-to-date areas of urban sprawl were grossly offset by vast swaths of dim, ruddy cityscape that spanned thousands of miles, making the brighter areas appear as broken continents of only somewhat less-dejected beauty.

The planet's ultra-tall towers were run-down and rusty, its skies highly polluted, and its population overrun with crime. To make matters even worse, it had no official governing body — the last one had been dissolved hundreds of years prior. The only form of authority was de facto: whichever faction had the most firepower.

A holographic advertisement, spanning miles in width, sailed by on its geosynchronous orbital path and displayed misleading propagandistic messages to draw more people to the cause of the current dominant faction, the Bright Ebony Organization. While it seemed benign enough in the ads, it was really nothing more than an organized crime syndicate.

A daydream carried Ramy back to some of her and Runge's earlier adventures on that dirty little excuse of a world. They had been business partners since he was twenty-one and she was twenty-two ― six years of hunts and business. They had delved into countless jobs, typically dealing with capturing high-value fugitives and neutralizing targets of mafiosos and crime lords.

In other words, people with bounties on their heads.

They would also rob some low-level thugs and drug dealers on occasion simply for the sake of humiliating them. That's really all Riesel was good for — illicit activity.

She delved further into her memories and grinned when a mission of particularly memorable merit surfaced, one they had completed roughly three years prior. They had pursued a bounty on a thief who had stolen a set of rare animal skins from a mafia capo in Riesel's Third Entertainment District, and the pursuit led to a busy chasm in between two colossal city blocks. The thief promptly attempted to escape the two on a kid's Turbo FloatBoard, but he slipped off and landed in a dumpster full of old, jellied vegetables from a nearby eatery.

The duo entered such a fit of laughter that Ramy tripped over her counterpart's foot, and would have fallen backwards off a ledge had he not grabbed her by the shoulders. That position gave their eyes to meeting and almost created a romantic moment, but Runge pulled her back up quickly and clumsily to catch a glimpse of the nearly-bare rump of a prostitute who was passing through the strobe-lit