Chaser

I’m a Chaser. I believe I’m the best there is. The best there ever has been. I have an enviable record, a truly colossal tally, but all things come to end, and now it’s my turn. I’m stranded; stranded in an unfamiliar city, but that does have its advantages. The population doesn’t know me; doesn’t know or care what I do. I can blend in. When they send yet another Chaser after me I’ll be difficult to trace, they seem to forget that I above all people know ‘all’ of their tricks.

Nicola is the only one who knows the truth, and it took some time to convince her. It was her who advised me to keep some form of record, especially now she’s pregnant. She wants our child to know the ‘larger’ truth. When I told Nicola how long I’d been a Chaser she was very sceptical. She was born and educated in the city, and had difficulty in accepting who I was and what I did. Nicola’s very bright; she now knows things that few are aware of. I hope the knowledge will keep her and the child safe, and not be to their detriment.

Nicola advised me to start at the beginning, but that’s an awful long time ago. Chasers are long lived. We have to be. It makes no sense to go on a chase that could result in a person dying of old age, so we’ve been ‘adapted’, as our benevolent Masters call it. When I think of the average age someone in the city lives to it makes me feel a little embarrassed, almost like an old man having to converse with very young children.

I’ll just say that centuries ago, many centuries ago, I completed my training and adaptation. My first jobs were local ones, eliminating political opponents, military personnel, criminals; those type of assignments. The trouble starts when you become too efficient; then the Masters, and they are The Masters, decide you are too close to them. They send you further and further away. I must have travelled halfway down the spiral arm until even I hardly know where home is, or was. A message arrives, the target is given, I do my job, finish. That’s all there ever is. My converter has everything I need. Nicola has seen it in operation; after that she believed. Nicola feels that with such a powerful tool at my disposal why should I continue carrying out these onerous and dangerous tasks? What can’t I just give up and disappear? I have no answer, other than I’m a Chaser. You have to be one to know the implications.

Now things have changed. In essence I’m still a Chaser, but part of me wants to stop and settle down. There’s little chance of that now that I’m the target, but I’ll survive as long as I can. I can imagine the Masters saying things like: ‘Is he still alive? Can’t someone stop him?’ and probably nearer the truth. ‘He knows too much – Terminate Him!’ Some of the Masters would be chased too if the secrets I know ever reached the Central Committee.

The only way the Masters and other Chasers can easily track me is via my ship, but that flew into the sun a few months ago, which is why I’m stranded, and why I’ll be difficult to trace. They know the planet I’m on, but with six billion souls to choose from it should take some time. All humanity, that is all humanity linked to the Master World, has embedded tracers, impossible to remove without terminating the subject. Only Chasers and the inhabitants of a few hundred frontier planets aren’t required to have them. The planet I’m on isn’t even amongst them. It’s just too far down the spiral arm for the Masters to normally bother with; it’s a barbarian world. The people are human in appearance, the planet is overpopulated, they aim at the stars, but without even the most crudest of Stardrives they are cut off. Nevertheless, I think someone on the Central Committee is worried that such a short lived, but prolific and violent race, could be a problem in the future when they eventually achieve interstellar travel. The Masters always look to the long term future.

Dear Nicola was rather shocked when she found out what my real business was. When I first met her I told her I was traveller. In many respects that’s not too far from the truth. I’ve travelled further than anyone has on this world, and probably most of the other worlds combined. Nicola was relieved that the vast majority of my targets had been criminals, the vast majority, but not all. I never queried my targets I just chased and terminated them. When I’m given a mission, it comes via the converter, I just send back a signal acknowledging it. That’s something I no longer do, as that’s the only other way I can be traced.

I’d been hunting a merchant; a man who supplied addictive drugs to the frontier worlds, and omitted to give the Masters their cut. You always give the Masters a percentage; everyone knows that. I chased him for half a year standard time, across two hundred light years and a dozen planets. Then he crashed here, and I caught and terminated him before he was able to leave his ship.

Shortly after I’d finished, and had just asked for the next assignment, another Chaser appeared. He attempted to kill me, and for a few days we exchanged shots, ambushed each other, and then I finished him. He was good, very good, but not the best. I sent a message on my converter telling the Masters that I had terminated their assassin. I asked them what was going on, was it some sort of administrative foul-up? It was a mistake. I should have used his converter and told them I was dead. I sent him and his ship into the sun. My other mistake was that I left his converter aboard, as another one might have come in handy. It took some time for me to realise I was a target and no longer a Chaser, but by then I had already met Nicola.

I was sitting in the City Park contemplating my next move. Why had a fellow Chaser targeted me? The sun was setting, a nice standard middle-of-the-range human sun. Nicola walked past; something in me clicked, I watched as she crossed the neatly mowed green grass. Two youths followed, and I became suspicious. I switched on my converter and overheard their conversation. One grabbed her shoulder bag; the other attempted to push her over. They didn’t stand a chance, not against me, not against a Chaser. To terminate them would have drawn attention to myself, so I just fired off a high-level fear attack. They ran off, dropping the bag near where I stood. They would spend about ten days trembling, puking, and crying. A high-level fear attack can be pretty devastating. I’m immune; a Chaser has to be.

Nicola was shaken, but managed a smile. She thanked me and was about to go when I suggested we have a drink in a nearby café. We talked, and I asked her age. Twenty-six she said; so young, so very young. I asked her how old she thought I was. She believed me to be about forty, so I told her forty-three, perhaps thirty-nine would have sounded better. Acceptable age ranges are always a problem on other worlds.

One evening a couple of weeks later I invited her back to my rented penthouse apartment. She was impressed, and we talked into the early hours, then I kissed her. I’ve been to the pleasure cities on the Central Planets, but the next few hours surpassed anything I can recall from those far off days. For the first time I was truly in love. There had been only one serious relationship in Nicola’s life, but that was over, and now she was attempting to re-organise her life. The next morning after breakfast she asked me why during our lovemaking I had called her a pretty barbarian. All humanoid planets without star ship travel are classified as barbarians, so I expect the thought just slipped out.

Then it was time to show her the converter. The converter can make anything out of anything. My converter is built into a belt that encircles my waist. I just clasp it with one hand and think about the object, or attempt to enliven the situation, as with the youths in the park. Nicola realised it was only advanced technology, but for the first few times it always seems like magic, especially when I conjure up money, clothing, weapons, artefacts, all out of discarded items. Then I told her the ‘greater truth’, and my life as a Chaser. She knows I will; unless another Chaser gets me first, outlive her by several centuries. This is something we hope we can both adjust to. In the weeks to come I let her board my ship, then after much heart-searching I sent it into the sun, and became just another barbarian.

We still live in the city, and remain perched high up in our penthouse. I know Nova-Jane will be such a pretty child, in looks I’m certain she will take after her mother; in genetics I hope some of me has rubbed off. I’m looking forward to celebrating her hundred and fiftieth birthday one day. I won’t mind what profession she takes up as long as it’s not a Chaser.