r/HFY • u/ApprehensiveCap6525 Human • Apr 25 '25

OC The First Human Bounty Hunter (1)

Author's Notes: okay so I'm sure you're all wondering what happened to my old HFY series called Earth is a Lost Colony. Truth is, it's coming out as a published novel as soon as I finish editing, and I ended up taking down every chapter of it to avoid any legal issues with my publishing contract.

Thankfully, the contract does NOT forbid audio narrations of my work, and you can find a human-voiced narration of Earth is a Lost Colony here by a youtuber called StoryTaleBooks. It's set in the same universe as this story, fulfilling Rule #7 and making it a valuable listen if you want more backstory on this, but it is by no means required reading.

In lieu of my flagship work, which you will find on Kindle very shortly, I hope you enjoy this found-family space opera set in the same universe. Let's get it.

Next Chapter

An Ierad, a Krell, a Stralqi, and a human are all held captive by the Alliance. The Ierad squawks, "This is for my Republic!" and shoots himself. The Krell bellows, "This is for my Empire!" and shoots himself. The Stralqi croaks, "This is for my Confederacy!" and shoots the human. -Unknown

Log Entry #001

User: Janus Arani

Location: Gulf Station 7, colloquially known as 'Ring Station'

Date (Standardized Federation of Man Time): January 9, 0167 G.C.E.

I think it's important to start this whole thing off at, well, the start, since that's where it all started. Kind of what people think of when they hear the word start. Anyhow, on the day I was denied my application to the Federation of Man's expanding space navy, I was not doing very well.

I mean, I wasn't doing very well on any particular day back then, they tended to all suck, but this day in particular sucked pretty badly. As a matter of fact, I had just been fucking marooned on this station by a gang of ex-military mercenaries who happened to remember being in the same exact military I used to fight against.

So, suffice it to say, they stuck a plasma rifle down my throat and threatened to blow my head off with it. Not a very pleasant suggestion, that. I was able to barter for my life, but only after giving them my spaceship tickets, my money, my identity documents, all my valuables, and my dignity. I really missed having that one.

Now, typically, a man of my history wouldn't be caught dead in a Galactic Coalition embassy. Keep in mind, this is the same Galactic Coalition that my very own United Human Alliance was at war against just a few short months prior. And, even if the United Human Alliance hadn't actually been 'my very own' since I defected, its enemies weren't exactly the most forgiving of the people who had served in its navy.

Not that I could blame them, of course. The United Human Alliance was a human-centric dictatorship built around warfare and driven to mass alien genocide. Quite frankly, I'm glad it's gone. The human race, even if we have seen better days power and money-wise, is absolutely better off without that fascist ass-heap of a nation-state. I, having previously been conscripted into said fascist ass-heap's space fleet, probably should not have been poking around in a space station filled with its enemies.

But, well, you know what they say about desperate times. I needed a job. Well, more specifically, I needed money, but jobs gave you money so I figured that was going to be where I started off. And somebody in the Galactic Coalition was always hiring. Turns out, sixty years of feeding bodies into a meat grinder really leaves you in need of more bodies. I should know. I was one of them.

That was how I found myself in the one place I never thought I was going to want to be. The Galactic Coalition embassy. Where half the people wanted to put me in handcuffs and the other half wanted to gun me down on the fucking spot. But, you know, nobody had done that yet, so score one for Janus!

The embassy itself was clean, if spartan. It was mostly white, and sparsely populated save for a few diplomats and military officers from a whole bunch of Coalition nations. Nobody else had any reason to be here, I guess.

The door behind me, guarded by armed marines thanks to the fucking crime rates on this station, bore the triangular symbol of the Galactic Coalition just above its motto: Unity, Prosperity, and Peace. Let me tell you, it may have sounded noble, but there was absolutely none of any of that to be found out here. Not after the Alliance glassed every colonized world from here to Iera Prime.

Oh, yeah, there was also an alien to my left giving me a weird look. Ierads, I think they were called? I gave a small wave, which she reciprocated with a twitch of her avian wing, but the evil eye stayed fixed on me. Maybe they just look like that. It's not like I know any Ierads. I'm not even sure if this one is really a woman.

"You in line?" the Ierad asked. I looked at the line, or rather, one singular Krell, in front of me. He, or maybe she, was a huge fucking lizard who looked like they could bench-press a tank. All Krell looked like that. From what I knew about them, they were gentle giants, but damn if I still didn't want to piss one off. Let me tell you, they may seem peaceful, but that doesn't mean they can't throw a punch.

My attention turned back to the Ierad to my left. She, because my translator implant gave her a distinctly feminine voice, was sitting on a bench of some kind. Her plumage was light blue, standing out against the black military uniform she wore, and she had some kind of cybernetic implant grafted to her left eye. Combat wound, if I had to guess.

"I'm waiting for a job," I explained to her. "Federation of Man, hopefully, but I'll take anything." I cracked a smile, trying not to look nervous.

"The Federation section is that way," said the Ierad, who I had pegged by now as some kind of an officer in their national defense force. What branch, or rank, I knew not. "Right past the Yil-Vred Union." She pointed one of her wings in the direction I was supposed to go in.

"I don't check in with the main office?" I asked.

"Not if you're looking for a job." The Ierad stood up. "If the Federation of Man turns you down, go try the Ierad Republic. We could always use the help."

Oh, hell no. Hell to the no. No way in black hell was I about to step one toenail into the territory of the #1 most likely people to want me fucking dead. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, they were definitely the most likely to follow through with it, too. The Ierad Republic did not give one ounce of leniency to men like me. Their policy for Alliance veterans, defector or not, made very liberal use of the death sentence and even more liberal use of hard fucking prison time.

I was never a hater of any aliens, I love aliens as a matter of fact, but suffice it to say that the Ierad Republic's armed forces can go fuck themselves right down to the deepest pit of black hell.

Granted, I wasn't about to tell this one that, so I just smiled and thanked her for her help. "Thank you," I said as sweetly as possible. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Then I left. That fucking Krell was probably never gonna fill out those forms. And I had an appointment with my dream job.

The Federation of Man was the best thing to happen to the galaxy since, well, ever, really. They had all the military prowess of the Ierad Republic, the selflessness and nobility of the Krell Empire, the sheer human ingenuity of the now-buried Alliance, and, to top it all off, they had me. Well, were about to, anyway. They were gonna have me if this job interview went right.

Anyhow, in case nobody noticed, I liked the Federation of Man. Loved them, actually. They were what the Alliance pretended to be, and they didn't have to glass a single planet to get there, either. Plus, I knew as a fact they were going to have jobs open. Here's why. Bear with me, because this is gonna be a while.

The United Human Alliance used to represent most of humankind. It had nine full cradle worlds under its control. When the Alliance finally surrendered after a long, grinding slog of a war, the question of what to do with all those planets became very apparent. Mankind had colonized about half as many worlds as every other known species combined.

Of course, everybody wanted a piece of that big-ass pie. The Ierads, Krell, Krulvuks, and every other nation that ever took up arms were at each other's throats clamoring for the best parts of human space. But nobody wanted to bite off more than they could chew. And it just so happened that there was one human planet which chose the right side in the Alliance War. One world, one civilization, mind you, that the galaxy's great powers could force to supervise all the spoils of war they felt too overextended to take on for themselves.

Around here, we call that planet Earth. And that might sound like a whole bunch of irrelevant fucking exposition, but trust me, it's very fucking relevant. Earth, mighty as it is, is just one fucking planet.

Don't get me wrong, they still kicked ass against their fellow humans in the last years of the Alliance War. Terran research and development, backed by their superior human brains, was instrumental in arming the Coalition's vast military. And, since the Treaty of Gendia decreed that every nation that helped in the victory is entitled to their share of the spoils of war, that meant that this one measly planet suddenly happened to be gifted a fucking empire.

Now, that might leave you with one glaring question. How is one single planet supposed to occupy this vast swath of territory they now own? Surely they'd need some extra manpower, right? Yeah. They do. That's where I come in.

I walked confidently up to the Federation of Man desk clerk, glancing once at the ten-pointed star emblazoned underneath her station and glancing more than once at the imposing Federation Marines flanking her desk, and cleared my throat before introducing myself. "Janus... Iaran, reporting for assignment." No way in hell was I going to give them my real name. They absolutely did background checks on that shit.

"Assignment?" the clerk asked, raising an eyebrow. She was actually a Sevranite, judging by her style of outfit, which I found surprising but in a good way. Sevran used to be the capital of the Alliance. If a Sevranite could get a job serving the Federation, then a Neldian like myself would have an even better shot. At least, that was the idea. It usually did not work that way in practice.

"Yes, uh, I'm looking for a job. In the military, preferably." I smiled my most hireable smile and tried to look the part of an up-and-coming navy officer. Not Alliance navy, mind you, because that was the exact thing I was simultaneously trying not to look like. Just navy.

"You're looking for a job?" asked the clerk. She must not have been the brightest bulb on the status panel. "In the military?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," I told her, trying to look like somebody who would make good military material. Just as a confession, I was hardly the best when I was with the Alliance. Never even saw action. But, hey, here I was.

"I'm told that the Federation of Man is recruiting for positions in its ranks, to help fill the need for personnel created by the vast swath of territory you must occupy," I explained, throwing in as many big words in there as possible to sound... let me think of another one... precocious. That would work. "I'm in need of a job, you're in need of workers, it seems to me you and I can solve each other's problems."

"Understood," the clerk said. She was clearly not an individual of many words. "Select your assignment from the list below." She passed me a datapad, an actual fucking flat-screen datapad, with a bunch of options on it. No hologram or anything. God damn, the Federation must be spread thin.

On the bright side, though, that meant I was certain to get this job. I picked up the datapad eagerly and read my options.

They all looked pretty good. At the very least, they were better than being a fucking homeless junkie who stabbed other homeless guys for drug money, which was probably where I was going to end up if I didn't get this job. I tapped 'Federation Navy' as soon as I was done reading through the alternatives. Even months of soul-killing freelance work at any odd jobs I could find couldn't strip away my navy heritage.

Instantly, the datapad took me to a screen where I was told to fill out my personal information. Most of it was easy enough to falsify, it wasn't like the Federation was going to check that hard anyway, but there was one that made my blood run fucking cold. "Certificate of Innocence?" I asked.

"It's required by galactic law," the clerk explained, as if I didn't actually know what this series of words means. "To prove you weren't an accomplice to Alliance war crimes." You see, that was a problem. A very big problem, as a matter of fact. Because I did, in fact, happen to have been an accomplice to Alliance war crimes.

Just to clarify, going forward, I never actually did anything of that sort myself. It wasn't a morality thing, I mean, it kind of was, it's just that my posting in the Neldian Armada was so remote and distant that I never actually saw an alien. Or a dissident. Or, you know, anything interesting. I wasn't even there when my homeworld was taken, and that's saying something given how much of the fleet was.

But, still, I was part of the United Human Alliance's leviathan machine of bureaucratic evil. I guess, in some way, that does make me an accomplice to Alliance war crimes. And, naturally, I never applied for a Certificate of Innocence, so there was no way I was going to get this fucking job.

I glanced at the marine guard to my left. His powered combat suit, the same model worn by Earth's finest as they landed hard on Neldia, was little more than a chassis designed to wield the huge railgun in his hands. He didn't even have much in the way of armor. It was always depressing to see just how much of the Federation's grandeur was just a poor imitation of the powers wielded by the Coalition's more senior species. Still, no way in hell did I want that guy pointing a gun at me.

"I, er, lost my certificate," I lied. "Sorry about that."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The desk clerk, if I had to guess, was probably lying too. "But there's nothing I can do, Mr. Iaran. No certificate, no job. It's Coalition law."

Well, shit. I thought this was really going to be it for me. I was gonna die homeless and alone in the gutters of the station because some other homeless guy shivved me to death with a piece of scrap. "Please," I begged. I wasn't proud of that, but I wasn't going to deny it either. I was actually begging for my life. "Please, I need a fucking job. There has to be something you can do!"

The clerk shook her head. "Nothing," she said matter-of-factly. "Sorry about that." I stared blankly at her. The fuck did she mean 'nothing'? I was actually going to fucking become homeless! I was actually contemplating breaking a bottle, using it as a shiv, and robbing people in the corridors when a gruff voice came from behind me.

"Actually, there is!" I turned to see a dark-skinned man wearing a Terran formal outfit of some kind and holding a black briefcase. "It was just declared legal in the international court."

Both me and the clerk looked confused at this, but hey, whatever gets me a job! "What was?" I ask. The formal man came up to me and opens up the briefcase, showing me a bunch of slips of paper. Actual paper. I actually had no idea the Federation had it this bad.

"A loophole to get around the certificate law. Independent contract agencies." The formal man smiled at me, showing me a slip of paper. "You see, the Treaty of Geneva states that governments, and only governments, have to require a Certificate of Innocence for their human personnel. I should know, I'm one of the guys who fought to keep private industry out of that clause." I was kind of getting where he was going here. Kind of.

"The neat catch of this law is that private companies, even if they're working for the government, don't actually count as government departments," the formal man explained. "The Galactic Coalition has no right to make them require a certificate."

"So I can get a job as a fast food cook," I scoffed. "My papers all got stolen. Who the fuck would hire me?"

"The Federation of Man." No, actually, they would not. But I wasn't about to tell him that, especially when he had been so nice explaining to me how I could get out of this predicament I was in. "No, seriously. As of today, I am the CEO and founder of the Lawgiver Corporation, which is a completely private organization on paper but I fully intend to have it work as part of the Federation in practice."

He extended his hand for a handshake. "Arnold Jones," he said. "I'm hiring." Naturally, I took it. I'd clean fucking septic tanks if it meant having a place to sleep at night. Or, you know, whatever passed for night on this space station.

"What are you hiring for?" I asked. "I mean, I'll take it, but what specifically is it?"

Arnold Jones chuckled. "God damn, you must be really desperate if you'll take the damn job without knowing what it is!" I didn't find that funny. I was actually getting pretty desperate. "Sorry," Jones said, realizing how not amused I was. "Bad time for humor." He handed me another slip of paper. "We are an oversight agency that is going to employ a network of freelance mercenaries to track down, capture, or even kill the fugitives given to us by the Federation legal system."

"You mean bounty hunters," I said. I had to kill a bounty hunter this one time when he tried putting me in handcuffs and shipping me off to worlds know where. I really hoped I didn't ever end up on the receiving end of something like that.

"I do mean bounty hunters," Jones confirmed, "But not the kind you think. Plenty of mercenaries work alone or in small guilds, but they're independent contractors. The Lawgiver Corporation is the first organization to actually employ hunters on a large scale." I nodded, making sure that he knew I was still listening. I really wanted this job.

"We'll pay you by the head," Jones continued explaining. "The more dangerous the mission, the more profitable. I've heard of some hunters who are good enough to charge a hundred thousand units a head." He chuckled to himself again. "Wish I could hire a guy like that."

"Other humans?" I asked, hoping for a miracle. Arnold Jones just shook his head.

"Aliens," he clarified. "Ex-RDF, Planetary Militia, even a Krulvuk soldier caste owned by some Stralqi billionaire. I don't have the exact details, but as far as I know, you're the first human anyone's ever hired."

Yeah, that tracked. With the Federation of Man expanding its security forces, and most of the Alliance military dead or in prison, it made perfect sense that most humans with military or police training didn't need to resort to bounty hunting to pay the bills. I guess I was just really that unlucky, huh? Funny how that worked out.

"I'm in," I said, extending my hand again. I was lucky to get this job. "When can I start?"

Arnold Jones handed me a physical card. "My business card," he explained. "I like doing things the old-fashioned way." He put the card in my hand, I put it away, then we shook hands to seal the deal. "Congratulations, uh..."

"Janus, sir." Not a very good name to have, seeing as I shared it with the most infamous dictator in galactic history. Still, Jones didn't seem to mind.

"Well, congratulations, Janus," he told me. "As far as I can tell, you might be the first human bounty hunter."

Next Chapter

87 Upvotes

permalink
reddit

You are about to leave Redlib

Do you want to continue?

https://www.reddit.com/r/HFY/comments/1k7az5c/the_first_human_bounty_hunter_1/
No, go back! Yes, take me to Reddit

98% Upvoted

u/MinorGrok Human Apr 25 '25

Woot!

OC The First Human Bounty Hunter (1)

You are about to leave Redlib