Quid’s office was not very big, befitting a man who was not very big, at least not in any way that mattered. Physically speaking, Quid was actually pretty large, but only by virtue of coming from a naturally large species. The man himself was small: had a small personality, a small presence, a small spirit. If he vanished tomorrow and was replaced by another bookkeeping nerd, the world would not blink at his absence. He didn’t even have houseplants that would wither and die without him to water them.

Kamak kept all those thoughts to himself. Quid was, at least, very polite and helpful. A lot of the paper-pusher types got aggro about their “administrative prowess” or were sticklers for the rules, but Quid did no such things, so Kamak put up with him. Even if he was a freak without a hobby. Kamak didn’t trust anyone without a hobby.

“Well, Mr. Kamak, what brings you here?”

Entirely nonplussed by the unannounced arrival of his client, Quid pushed aside some paperwork on his desk and beckoned for Kamak to take a seat. Kamak sat down in the stiff, uncomfortable chairs of a man who knew no one would ever be sitting in his office longer than absolutely necessary.

“Listen Quid, we need to talk about the type of contracts you’ve been feeding me lately.”

“Before we get started, there’ll be another military emplacement installed on Centerpoint today, is that ceremony something you’d be interested in?”

“No, Quid, that exact kind of thing is the problem,” Kamak snapped. “I’m not a professional party guest, I’m a bounty hunter.”

“We do have a number of manhunting contracts available, one from the Tightfit Lugnut company just-”

“I don’t want to do that shit either, Quid,” Kamak snapped. “I don’t want to gun down a guy for selling patented lugnut designs, I want to hunt thieves and murderers.”

“Intellectual property theft is still theft, Mr. Kamak.”

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant,” Kamak said.

“I’m not sure I do,” Quid said. He looked down at his desk to scan his datapad, and all the potential contracts listed on it. “These are premium contracts, Kamak, other bounty hunters would beg for work like this.”

“Then let them beg for it, I want to do something different.”

“Different how? You’ll need to communicate more clearly, Mr. Kamak,” Quid said. “You’re turning down combat and non-combat contracts, low risk, high reward-”

“It’s not about combat or not, easy or not,” Kamak said. “I want to do...I don’t know, something good.”

Someone scoffed at that. It wasn’t Quid. The desk worker looked up from his files as Kamak whipped around in his chair to face a third man in the room. They looked a lot like a taller, sleeker human, but with wirey limbs and a narrow, curved torso that gave them a serpentine appearance. Kamak wondered if the horizontal, bar-shaped pupils were a natural species trait or some kind of cybernetic enhancement. There was a glimmer in their golden eyes he didn’t like.

“And who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“A professional,” their new guest said.

“Oh, the sleek and mysterious routine, nice,” Kamak said. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The smug smile on the “professional’s” face dropped for a second. He was disappointed to see that Kamak’s abrasive reputation was well earned.

“No, I don’t think I will,” the Professional said. “On the other hand: Quid, get out. Me and ‘Mr. Kamak’ need to talk privately.”

“It’s his office, asshat,” Kamak said. In spite of that, Quid collected his things and hastily excused himself from the small office. The professional swung around the desk and stole Quid’s chair. He sank into the desk chair and then put his feet up on Quid’s desk. Kamak stared at him blankly.

“So, since you apparently insist on interjecting yourself into my business, I’ll ask again,” Kamak said. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

“Like I said, I’m a professional,” he hissed. “For the purposes of this conversation, though...let’s just establish one important fact. A few years ago, you vaporized an entire invading army.”

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The professional put his feet down and leaned forward on the desk, hands folded together.

“And my body count is still higher than yours.”

Kamak rolled his eyes so hard his whole head rolled with them.

“Give me a fucking name or for the rest of this conversation I’m going to call you Shitslut.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, Shitslut,” Kamak said. “I don’t care if it’s your real name or your black-ops handle or your edgy codename like Murdersword the Exterminator or whatever, just give me a name to work with here.”

The Professional stared Kamak down. Kamak didn’t blink.

“Fine. Call me Ghost,” he said.

“As in Ghost of Licoa?”

Now it was Ghost’s turn to not blink.

“Maybe,” he said slyly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kamak said. “I always thought they made you up, cover for some black ops operation nonsense. You really kill all thirteen of those fuckers?”

The revolution on Licoa had been thoroughly complicated by the royal family’s nuclear arsenal, and their proven willingness to use them -right up until all thirteen members had been brutally murdered in a matter of cycles, despite being miles apart in separate secret bunkers. It was a resounding victory for democracy, and resulted in Licoa joining the Galactic Council, which everyone was so happy about that they all casually overlooked that three of the thirteen dead royals were children.

“If I did, I couldn’t confirm or deny it,” Ghost said. “Unless of course I killed you afterwards.”

“Well I’m not that fucking curious,” Kamak said. “About that, at least. Why the fuck are you here, ‘Ghost’?”

“To put a matter to rest with a discussion among professionals,” Ghost said. “And to get you to stop harassing the poor desk clerk, of course.”

“Hmm. Let me take a guess, then,” Kamak said. “It’s not just a coincidence I’m getting fed all these bullshit jobs, then?”

“Good guess,” Ghost said with a smile. “But don’t think of them as ‘bullshit jobs’. Think of them as a retirement plan. Easy jobs, big money. Attend some parties, save some money, buy a nice house on a beach somewhere and enjoy a long retirement.”

The smile dropped off Ghost’s face, and he leaned forward on the desk.

“Soon.”

Kamak glared right over the desk, lips curled into a tight frown.

“You want to muscle me out.”

“We didn’t want to muscle anything,” Ghost said. “It was a gentle push, you just got stubborn about it.”

“Why the fuck am I getting angled out anyway?” Kamak demanded. “I save the fucking universe after forty years of perfectly good bounty hunting-”

“Good bounty hunting,” Ghost corrected. “Not perfectly good. Just good.”

He folded his hands together and sighed dramatically.

“You’re sloppy, Kamak,” Ghost continued. “You make messes, you piss people off, get people killed, you stack skeletons in your closet like nobody’s business. All perfectly acceptable for rank and file bounty hunters, of course, the expendable little people, but for the most famous bounty hunter in the universe? Not a good look, Kamak.”

Kamak sat silently and waited for the rant to continue. People like the Ghost loved to hear themselves talk. They’d always say more if you let them.

“Forty years, you’re on what, twenty, thirty fellow crewmembers dead?” Ghost asked. “No one gave a shit when you got some nobody’s killed -or crippled.”

For the first time in the conversation, Kamak’s face twitched with genuine anger. His first pilot was still stuck in a wheelchair. That wasn’t Kamak’s fault, but only a few people knew that.

“But what’s it going to look like when you charge in like an idiot and get the universe’s first human visitor killed, huh,” Ghost continued. “Tooley’s on magazine covers now, ‘Greatest Pilot in the Universe’, they say. What’s going to happen when you get her shot in the face, like you did your sixth pilot?”

Kamak actually scowled now. That one had been his fault. Ghost sensed the moment of vulnerability and grabbed Quid’s datapad, turning it around to display the list of handpicked, easy jobs to Kamak.

“Do the jobs, take the money, and enjoy your retirement,” Ghost said. “Sit on a beach and watch the sun rise on a universe that will only ever remember you as a hero.”

Kamak stared down at the datapad. The ceremony for the military installation on Centerpoint was still displayed.

“Hell of a grateful universe,” Kamak said.

“Hell of a grateful hunter,” Ghost said. “Easy money and an early retirement, and you’re complaining. Most bounty hunters don’t get to retire period, much less retire rich and beloved.”

“You know damn well this isn’t about the money,” Kamak said.

“Then what is it, Kamak? Your reputation? Your pride?” Ghost scoffed. “Because it’s all downhill from here for both of those too.”

Kamak looked down at the job listing, and then back up at Ghost.

“One more question,” Kamak said. “You and whatever shadowy cabal of assholes you work for want me to retire. Or what?”

“Or what?” Ghost said. “We’d prefer to avoid the bad press from your inevitable failure, but we’ll get through it. We’re not going to assassinate you, Kamak, just sit back and watch you ruin your own life.”

“Then enjoy the fucking show,” Kamak said. He stood up and pushed his chair hard enough to knock it over. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Ghost shook his head and clicked his tongue disdainfully.

“I told them that’s what you’d say.”

Kamak ignored the final jab and walked out of the office, slamming the door so hard the fallen chair rattled. A few seconds later, he unslammed it and shoved his head back through the door.

“And get the fuck out of Quid’s office!”

Then he slammed the door again, for good this time.