FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Captain Amir Karimi of the Skytreader was a good man. Though not the most attractive of men and cursed with the ability to put on weight no matter what he ate, Amir nevertheless managed to be a thoroughly decent individual. He was a deeply religious man, but he never allowed his faith to blind him to the views of others. He was outgoing and sociable, always finding time for others and giving to his community. In short, the good captain was utterly undeserving of his fate. The entire ship was trembling. Amir could hear the metal shriek as the superstructure began to twist and buckle under the relentless storm of weapons fire. Mei was screaming into her headset at the attackers, frantically begging for mercy. "We're a cargo vessel!" the young woman howled, tears of terror rolling down her cheeks. "We're unarmed! We surrender! Please, please, please stop! We surrender!" The Kyyreni weren't listening. Two ships had slipped in alongside them with all the grace and poise of hunting sharks. Amir would never know why they'd opened fire on him, but they did so relentlessly and without warning. The roof above him shook and buckled alarmingly. The bridge of the Skytreader was a raised dome on the midship with panoramic windows looking out toward the prow. Though deflector shields could handle most potential hazards, there was almost nothing to stop weapons fire hitting the exposed bridge now. The hull itself would certainly not withstand much of a pounding. As if on cue a stray shot ripped the front of the bridge clean off. Amir flung his arms out and gripped the ornamental handrail around his command chair as the sudden, violent decompression threatened to blast him out into the void. Mei was not so fortunate. The explosion and suction threw her around like a ragdoll, causing her to split her head open on the monitor in front of her. Dazed and panicked, she was unable to find purchase and was ripped from her chair and hurled into the blackness, screaming out her last lungful of air as she went. Amir knew he would never forget that sight as long as he lived. He also knew that if he did not contain the breach he would soon suffocate. The last of the air was gone. Lungs burning, Amir tried to ignore the freezing chill that had swept through the bridge and struggled over to the engineering terminal. The ship's main engineer had done nothing but swear as the initial shots hit, and then the link had gone dead. His vision began to fail. Amir frantically hammered the keys on the console, fighting to keep his hands from shaking. He was going to pass out any second. A dull ping echoed through the room. There was a sharp crack of static discharge as the emergency re-route channelled every drop of power from other systems to reinforce the bridge's structural integrity. Like the sigh of a benevolent god the life support restored itself, though by this time Amir had been overly starved of oxygen and passed out on the deck. He came to with Kyyreni stood over him. There were three of them and all had weapons held lazily at their waist. "[This definitely the right ship, Koskr?]" One asked. "[Aye.]" Koskr replied. He was working one of the undamaged data terminals. "[Registration, course and manifest checks out. We've got our mark. Did the cargo survive?]" The third Kyyreni nodded. "[I say we gut her - drag her back to the chop-shops on Darksun and sell the whole ship for parts. The cargo we can sell on ourselves.]" "[I like that plan.]" Koskr answered. Amir's world was suddenly filled with the first Dawnsider's face. "[Hey, this one's alive!]" The man named Koskr came over to see for himself. He did not look impressed. "P-please..." Amir gasped. "I don't-" He never got to finish his sentence. Koskr shot him twice through the head. "[No witnesses,]" he growled. "[Kill the entire crew, burn them and dump their ashes in the void. Get all the cargo onto Radek's ship. Vaahl, arrange a prize crew.]" "[What about you?]" "[I'm getting my ship back on course.]" Koskr answered calmly. "[I'm an honest merchant, remember? I have deadlines to keep.]"

* * *

Warren had not slept well last night. He hadn't slept well in a long time. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the face of a madman. He saw Jasat T'Rol ordering his friends and colleagues burned alive. He'd watched the news whilst eating breakfast. Jasat had been there as well. He'd been interviewed for the sake of intergalactic news broadcasts. He stood in the grounds of his ancestral home, smiling and using diplomatic language. "The rulers of Yvenik, and indeed many other city-states, have universally expressed their outrage at the continued attacks on merchant ships between Urokoni and Icaran space. It is vital to both our worlds that trade is permitted to take place, and to that end I am petitioning the Dawn Council to establish a military escort pattern to isolate and destroy these pirates once and for all!" "Fuck off!" Warren yelled, and switched off the vid-pad. He'd have bet his life savings that Jasat was the one organising the pirate raids; it couldn't be coincidence that the bulk of the ships attacked were ones leaving Urokon, having no doubt been weighed up by Jasat's men. Still fuming at the morning news, Warren stood in the shower for a while and considered calling in sick. Then he considered resigning altogether; the injustice he'd seen wormed away inside him to the point where he had little passion for the day to day execution of his duties. The only thing that kept him going was picturing Jasat reduced to a terrified, Y-repressed Penitatas. He'd personally make sure the scumbag was given the most brutal, unforgiving parents the system would allow. Hell, he'd bring back the Special Days! He'd bring back judicial rape! He'd make that little bastard wish he was dead! The flare of anger gave him focus. It reminded him of why he went to work every day.

He had a case first thing in the morning. These days he spent an increasing amount of time working as a judge rather than sitting at council debates. In truth, the entire council was rarely needed for most judgements, and time passing sentence helped Warren feel attached to the judicial process in a real, meaningful way. It also kept his mind off the gross injustice that still loomed over him. The first case was open and shut - A thuggish young man, about twenty five unadjusted, had been convicted of a drunken assault of a young woman. His apology was flawless to the point of scripted. A brief glance at his past record showed a history of minor misdemeanours going back years. Warren gave him 6x4-10 Hard Time. Next up was a quiet little man. He was in his forties and spent the whole time fiddling nervously with his glasses. His gaze never left the floor the whole time he was there. He'd paid a black market broker for a false parenting licence - he and his wife had applied, unsuccessfully, no less than four times so far. Where it not for him losing his temper with his Voluntaras daughter and smacking her, publically, in a way that no approved parent ever would, it was possible nobody would ever have known. He got 4x8-12 for knowingly possessing and using falsified government documents, with mandated psychological examinations to be conducted throughout his sentence. His wife escaped the Big P, but not the counselling. The girl, Warren understood, was already with a new, properly licenced family. Then came the aliens.

Ug'ljn was a Va'uuk. He was a member of a trading crew who'd gotten to know a female of his kind who lived and worked on the orbital docks. She had a child; she was one of the few Va'uuk on Icara licenced to breed. The infant was two years old, and Ug'ljn had murdered it within a week of meeting her. Now he was stood in the dock, staring blankly at the judge and asking, with genuine confusion, what he'd done wrong. No sooner had Ug'ljn been sent to the Rejuvenation chambers to begin his penitence did another alien came before the judge. This time it was a Kyyreni. Like the Va'uuk before him he protested his innocence, claiming no crime had been committed. He was reminded of the road traffic officers he had hacked apart with a machete during a routine stop. The young man, whose name was Balf, merely shrugged in reply. "They had no right to challenge me." He said, simply. "What was I supposed to do? I have a right to defend myself!" Warren sent him down for a long, long time.

He took his lunch with a datapad in hand. Around him the fellow men and women of the judicial system talked about sport, the weekend just passed, plans for the coming weeks or, occasionally, their opinions on the morning's judgements. Warren wasn't interested in any of that today; his focus was absorbed by the news updates being fed wirelessly into his handheld. He flicked over to the trade feeds and froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. Jasat was returning to Icara, supposedly intending to discuss a new diplomatic accord with the President. Slowly, and with exaggerated care, Warren placed the data pad back into his pocket. He left his lunch half eaten and arranged for another judge to cover his afternoon duties, making an excuse that urgent council matters had arisen. In truth, his motivation was far from their jurisdiction; Warren was determined that Jasat would face justice, one way or the other... * * *

The High Cabin was luxurious. It had been decorated with rare woods imported from distant worlds, and was divided into six bedrooms, a formal meeting room, two small multi-purpose rooms and a bathing chamber. The meeting room was currently occupied, dominated by a gilded table with concealed holoprojectors built into its surface. A translucent green rendering of Yvenik rotated gently in mid-air above the table. Jasat T'Rol idly tapped a few keys on the table's remote control and the image changed. It became two small spheres, one representing Urokon and the other Icara. Between them a gently curved line emerged, along which a bright bulb of light was slowly crawling. Shimmering letters and numbers, indicating distances and estimated flight times, sprang into life a moment later. "This is a nice ship." Jasat said to the room in general. A second Kyyreni, whose eyes were closed, as if dozing, tilted his head a fraction at the comment. "I am glad you approve, Noble Lord." Jasat gave the speaker a brief glance. He was a young man, though you'd not believe it to look at him. Both arms and legs were missing, lost to some catastrophe several years ago. One arm had been replaced with an expensive, if crude augmentic limb. The legs were far simpler things; piston-hinged false feet that, with the aid of a crutch, allowed him to hobble from place to place. He had probably been good looking once, though now what passed for his face was just a knot of scar tissue. His name was Kcar, though to his annoyance Jasat kept forgetting it. "I want to know how a damn coffee merchant can afford a vessel like this!" That complaint came from Urso of House Urso. Named for his great, great, great grandfather, Urso the younger prided himself of being worthy of his House Founder. He had a face like a smacked arse, and far too much arse to sit on. When he entered a room, you could almost hear the chairs sob in terror. Kcar opened his eyes and gave the plump Common Lord a wan smile. "Coffee is big business." Jasat let his own smile join that of Kcar's. Coffee was big business, so big that the Guilds and Houses involved in its shipping and sale had lobbied, bartered, bribed and threatened outright warfare in order to outlaw the growth of the stuff, along with tea and several other exotic sources of the new drug 'caffeine', anywhere in Kyyreni space. That ensured the only way to get it was to buy it, and that kept the trade ships busy. Kcar's guild was the Guild of Coffee Distributers, and had experienced a meteoric rise within Yvenik's merchant circles over the last six years. They were now a House in all but name. Urso let his thoughts wander a little, and they brought him to Jasat. "Bit strange you being here though; speaking of peaceful trade and funding raiders." "There is no conflict of interest. I don't fund raiders who attack my own ships. Indeed, these days my House rarely funds any raider who preys along these space lanes." His voice shifted tone, becoming accusatory as he added, "you, on the other hand, have been known to fund raiders who do." Urso waved the accusation away, choosing his words with care. "I am a financier, Noble Lord. I have no say in what my money is used for, so long as it returns with interest." "Then perhaps you should be pickier who you loan to in future." The barbed words brought silence to the table. In the uneasy quiet, Jasat studied the display in front of him. It would be a month, according to the information on screen, before the ship reached Icara's orbital mooring platforms. "Do we have communications?" "More or less." Kcar replied. "We have to time data flow so the Jump Drive doesn't interfere, but we can still shift large amounts of data." "Good. I don't like sitting idle. Please excuse yourselves."

The two men obeyed, retiring out into the dimly lit inner corridors of the vessel. Urso sucked at a loose tooth idly as they walked along toward the commons deck. "I feel as though he's up to something." "Of course he is. He's a Noble; you don't hold power in Yvenik without being able to play the shadow game." "Hmph. Maybe we should be making plans ourselves. You know, just in case he lands us in hot water." Kcar smiled at the comment. "No doubt you already have. After all, you fancy yourself as worthy of a Noble title. I know this, and so does Jasat; he's probably already arranged your termination, to be enacted the moment you become a liability." After a few moments, the Guilder discovered he was walking alone. He turned slowly, savouring the uncertain fear in Urso's face. "Guilty conscience or fearing for your life?" "Gas." Urso muttered in reply as he walked on, trying his best to ignore Kcar's self-righteous smirk. He decided the Guilder was in dire need of a lesson in humility... * * *

Welcome to Offworld. The message was scrawled in graffiti on a walkway bridge over the main road into the district in five different languages, none of them Panglish. Warren barely saw them anymore. He'd not exactly saw them the first time; the hovercar shrieked under at two hundred miles per hour. From Icara City to Dalington was just a couple of hours journey by the main roads, and as so many times before the vehicle began to slow in anticipation for turning down into the northern regions of the town. Offworld was its colloquial name. Nobody was sure where it had come from; Dalington had always been known as an insular place, notable for its considerable non-Human population. It was a new city; barely twenty years old, yet nobody seemed to want it. After several weeks of visits, Warren was beginning to understand why. Row upon row of pre-fabs rolled past. Every street was a copy-paste of the one before; bulk purchased structures of the kind used for colonisation programs. Land was cheap, and it was not unheard of for entire suburbs to be built overnight. Compared to the older, well-established settlements, it looked cheap and nasty. The hovercar took a left turn that seemed no different than the last eight, and found itself on another planet altogether. This street was not built of pre-fabs. This street was built out of starships. They'd been brought down out of the sky; swarmed and scuttled and stripped for parts by the people of Dalington and converted into buildings. You wouldn't see it at first, but a closer inspection revealed little details - windows made of curiously thick glass, walls made of heat-resistant ceramics, chimneys shaped like heat-sink ports - that gave clues as to the city's past. The Kyyreni had adopted Shipdown Row as their own. They got on well with the original ship owners, the Ny'ee, and had reshaped the place into a home away from home. Sometimes the reshaping was rather literal in its execution; the hovercar pulled into a space where a park once was, now dominated by a five story bazaar that was an architectural affront to structural safety laws. It looked as though it should fall down at any moment. In fact, it looked as though it already had.

It'd taken quite a lot of work to find where to go, but he knew who to look for right away; you didn't spend your life judging criminals without spotting the tells. From there it was a case of patience. Words were exchanged, then money was exchanged, and one man led to another man, who led to another, who led to a certain shop where a certain third man met. Now, at last, Warren was stood in a tattoo parlour watching a muscular man with leather-brown skin receive the latest in a long list of bodily decorations. "Can I help you, sir?" The question was felt rather than heard; Ny'ee voices had a way of making people's teeth itch. They were lanky, manky things with everything about them coming in threes. Three triple-jointed arms ending in six-fingered hands waved through the air as the creature advanced. Its head, seemingly made up of razorblades, clicked constantly as it focused its three beady eyes on Warren. He took a deep breath and held it. This, he knew, was the point of no return. "Ess sent me. Recommended you for..." he licked his suddenly dry lips, "...your crescent works." The sound of a washing machine in distress confirmed that he'd said the right thing. The utterly alien thing trundled off into the back of the room, and after a few minutes it returned, beckoning Warren to follow.

He found himself in the office of a Human. The 'Human' in question only qualified because the Federation had never discovered a race of talking primates. The man stared at him for some time before turning to address the bead curtain behind him. Warren was half expecting the man to say "Ook". A Kyyreni emerged. That much didn't surprise Warren in the slightest. Indeed, he'd all but counted on it. To the judge he looked much like any other member of his species; wolfish, with a hint of lion. He projected an aura of sharpness, as if he were made of concealed weaponry. There wasn't a scar on his body. "You've come a long way, Mister Phillips." The Kyyreni growled. He growled everything; linking every word with a barely audible vibration that rose and changed to form the syllables of words. His jaw barely even moved. "A long way indeed." He continued, slowly circling Warren. "We were curious when you first showed up in our quiet little town, asking the wrong kind of questions to the right kind of people. Naturally, we looked into it right away... and imagine our shock when Supreme Judge Warren Phillips of the Corrections Council comes looking for trouble!" He settled himself on the desk, smiling at the 'Human' beside him. The ape man opened his fat, flat lips and grunted, "I say we should kill him." Warren all but had a heart attack. Two Ny'ee flashed forward, appearing seemingly from nowhere to grip him firmly by the shoulders and keep him pinned in his seat. A knife flashed into sight. The Kyyreni held it up in plain sight and admired it for a while, letting Warren's gaze linger on it and for his mind to work away at all the possible uses that knife could be put to. "I don't know how much you know of us, Mister Phillips, but we know you very well. For example, you drive a Hylios IV-Special, sterling silver with white leather interior. You live at 103 Sycamore Grove East; you're unmarried but have had seventeen girlfriends this cycle alone. You had a dog named Charles, but it died last year. Your parents are still alive, for now, and live on Phobos... which I am told is a moon in the Sol system. You write to them once a year at Christmas, Warp Gate use and bandwidth permitting." The predatory narrator leaned forwards, holding the blade up like a microphone. "You like to wear brightly coloured socks to work; you get upset when people use 'your' parking space in the communal car park; you hope Musyaf wins the open tennis circuit this year; you had sex with your male dorm-mate once in university in Cairo during your first lifetime and you've never quite come to terms with it. Is my point made, Mister Phillips?" Warren could only nod; his voice was too frightened to come out and face the monster in front of him. "Good. Then you should be able to guess what we will do to you if we don't like why you're here. Why are you here, Mister Phillips?" The hands gripping him were removed, but their owners did not withdraw. Through dry lips and with a tremble in his voice Warren offered, "I... I want a man brought to justice." The ape man barked a crude laugh, but the Kyyreni was unmoved. "Explain." "J-Jasat T'Rol murdered several members of the Correction Council. He killed them in cold blood, but someone within the system is protecting him. I... I want him to pay for what he did. One way or the other, I want him to pay." "Revenge... such a noble motive." The Kyyreni purred, finally putting the knife away. "However, I know that name; he was on the news recently. A Noble Lord of Urokon, I believe. Such men are very difficult to pin down." "It be expensif." The human aide offered. "Quite." The Kyyreni confirmed. "I will not say it is impossible, but what you ask will demand a substantial payment." Warren nodded eagerly. "I'll pay whatever you ask." "I know that already." The reply was as far from friendly as a man could get. "Go home, Mister Phillips. We will contact you again. I know it should go without saying, but I strongly advise you not to speak with anyone of this meeting. We will know if you do." * * *

The quarters were all but devoid of light. Only a flicker of illumination crept in through the porthole window, created by the running lights along the ship's hull. The intruder moved quietly, trusting his thermal vision to guide him. Kcar was face down on his bunk, making a sound like a table being cut in half with a rusty saw. His artificial legs were placed on a bedside table. Slowly, quietly, the intruder slipped a set of brass knuckles over his fingers, and then fished out a stubbly iron club from his back pocket. He didn't plan to kill the Guildmaster, but he did want to be sure the man never forgot this visit. His Lord would be most pleased. He moved forward, silent as a shadow, until he was right above the slumbering figure. The club was raised high, ready to strike. Kcar flung himself sideways, bringing to bear a snub-nosed pistol that he'd hidden under his pillow. The bark of the gun burned his ears and the flash of the discharge left him temporarily blinded. However, he saw enough to know the fight was over before it had begun. The bullet entered the younger man's skull through the jaw and ejected his brains out the top of his head. Less than a minute later, three armed guards were inside the room. Kcar was sat upright struggling into his false legs. "What the hell kept you?" He snapped, beating off all attempts they made to help him. "Get rid of that body! Find out who had the nerve to send him, and when you find out it was Urso through that fat piece of shit out of the nearest airlock!" The guards hesitated, sharing apprehensive glances at one another. "Sir, we cannot move against a Lord-" "The fuck we can't!" Kcar screamed back. "That son of a whore had me attacked on my own ship! In my own bedchamber! He dies for that!" Rage oozing from every pore, Kcar marched down the corridors of the ship's interior as fast as his crutch would carry him. He'd picked up quite an entourage by the time he reached the guest suite; plenty of crewmen had heard the gunshot. He stormed through the doors and into the main chamber to find Jasat stood in front of the holodisplay, leaning back to rest his weight against the wooden rim. Urso was lounging, as only a fat man can, in a leather armchair. "Guildmaster, you seem troubled." Jasat said by way of greeting. Kcar propped the crutch under his armpit and un-holstered his pistol once more, waving the weapon toward Urso. "That bastard had me attacked in my own quarters!" "Preposterous!" Urso cried on automatic. "I did no such thing!" "Liar! You ordered one of your men to assault me!" Jasat gave the Common Lord a cold glare. "Is this true?" Urso's lips peeled back in horror. "Gods no! I admit I was... frustrated by Kcar, and I said as much to my entourage, but I certainly gave no order for him to be attacked! Volt must have believed he would somehow gain favour with me for doing this!" The Noble's stare became a fractionally more curious. "I don't recall Kcar mentioning any names, Urso. How do you know it was Volt?" As the assembled Kyyreni looked on, all the blood seemed to drain from Urso's face. "I... I couldn't find him earlier. Nobody could. Since he... since everyone else is accounted for... it must have been... him." Kcar bared his teeth and hissed like a cobra. "Next time, Urso, I suggest you rehearse your lies; you're shit at improvisation. Jasat, I want revenge!" "That is a matter for the Arbiters." The Noble replied as diplomatically as he could, though his disgust toward Urso was clear in his tone. "I cannot allow you to simply shoot him in cold blood." "My blood is anything but cold!" The Guildmaster replied. He took several long, angry breaths before lowering the gun. "Alright, call for the Arbiters." As men departed to obey the order, Jasat carefully steered Kcar out of the room. "I think it would be best if you retired to your quarters. The last thing we need is any more trouble..." The doors finally slid closed, and Urso began to breathe again. "Thank you, Noble." "Why are you thanking me?" Jasat replied, giving the overweight Lord a curious glance. "I have no reason to doubt his words. If the Arbiters find you innocent, then you can thank me. If they do not, then perhaps it would be better if you took your own life." With one last, disdainful look, Jasat retired. Urso remained in his seat, fiddling with his clothing and looking very much like a lamb taken to slaughter.

* * *

The news made little mention of the Kyyreni dignitaries; there wasn't anything particularly exciting to report. Jasat and his hangers on were described as "a delegation from the city-state of Yvenik." Other dignitaries were arriving as well from Tzajii and other exotically named places. There were a few pictures of them in circulation; the Kyyreni, some of whom were horribly scarred or mutilated, primarily dressed in silks and furs. Almost all were adorned in iron jewellery, resembling Norse or Celt designs, with hints of gold and bronze employed to break the monotony. They were a stark contrast to their formally-dressed Human, Drakonian and Rigellian counterparts, who were almost universally adorned in black suits and/or formal dresses. The judge watched one of the news videos with disdain. It showed a trio of brown-furred Kyyreni, two of them sporting distinctive grey spot patterns, exchanging small-talk with the Minister of Extrasolar Transport. They all wore matching kilts, baggy tunics of green silk and dappled fur collars. He read the words 'Tsynkiir diplomats' as they scrolled across the screen and forgot the place-name at once. "No women." He muttered to himself. "You never see any of their women... what the hell do they do with them? Or to them, for that matter?" Since the pad was not in the mood to answer his questions, Warren tried asking the drinks cabinet. He was drinking a lot more than he usually did; his friends had noticed the recent change in his behaviour. He'd assured them all he was fine, and they respected him enough to let him bring his troubles up in his own time. Of course, his troubles were not something he could ever discuss; every day he came to regret contacting the criminal networks more keenly.

The knock at the door was followed swiftly by the sound of a glass shattering on the kitchen floor. Swearing under his breath, Warren swept up the bulk of the pieces and dumped them into the bin. The knock repeated. It was an unfamiliar sound - most people used the doorbell rather than banging their knuckles on the faux-wood door panel. He reached the door as the visitor knocked for the third time. He opened it hastily, not thinking to check who lay beyond, and almost slammed it shut again immediately. Beyond was a Kyyreni; brown furred save for a pale grey streak that ran from his bottom lip, down the neck and vanished beneath his blood-red shirt. "Warren Phillips? My name is Jid, daughter of Elja. I was sent regarding your job request." The Kyyreni did not ask permission to enter; she simply pushed past the confused judge and made herself comfortable in the living room. "Daughter?" Warren managed as he pushed the door closed. Jid's look managed to somehow appear both impartial and mocking at the same time. "Yes, I am a female. I'm sure you've seen them before; if you ask one very nicely she might show you how they're different to you." Flustered, Warren took a seat opposite the female, who had begun to lay out various devices on his coffee table. "You know what these are?" "Monitoring devices." Warren confirmed. "What do you plan to do with them?" "I plan to use them to acquire incriminating evidence." She answered. "Mr Phillips, Have you ever considered working off world?" The question caught Warren off guard, but as the plan was unfolded he found himself enthralled, and more than a little impressed by the thoroughness of the organisation's scheme. The use of the monitors was strange, but hardly illegal on private property, and they had presented him with a fine lure to bring Jasat in. "Are you sure it will work?" Warren asked after the woman had finished setting up her devices. She flashed him a rapier-quick smile. "Oh yes, Mr Phillips; if there's one thing you can count on, it's the greed of a Noble..." * * *

There had been days and days of talks. The Icarans loved to talk; Jasat assumed it was because as long as they talked about progress, they never actually had to make any. At least now he was free of all that, if only for a time. He had taken a trip to the shopping mall and procured a few trinkets to bring home. Currently, one of them was occupying Ank's full attention. It was a child's toy consisting of two plastic wheels joined via a central axle. A piece of string was tied to that axle so that when the wheel was dropped it would bounce back up the string. If thrown hard enough an internal mechanism would cause the device to spin at the bottom of the string for several seconds. Ank was obsessed with it. "How old are you again?" The Noble asked, seeing no need to hide his amusement at watching a grown man playing with toys. The device smacked back into his palm. "It's brilliant! We should buy a whole box! Hell, we should buy a shipload!" Jasat laughed aloud, but mentally made a note of Ank's flippant comment; there was bound to be a market for these 'yo-yo' things back home. Shipping would be pricey, but how much could it cost to attain manufacturing rights? Was there even a patent law on them? They were a 'traditional' toy according to the shopkeeper, and the way he said it suggested they'd been around far too long for anyone to lay claim to the design...

He was snapped out of his daydream by the sudden sense of deceleration. "Remind me why we're here, Ank." With considerable reluctance the yo-yo was put away. "A private interest party wished to discuss plans for a Rejuve program with you. He believes there are 'considerable opportunities' to be explored by bringing the technology into the Star Kingdom." "Oh yes?" Jasat scoffed. "They assume we've never considered this ourselves?" Ank shrugged. "Their manifesto was very thorough. They've got the technology, the expertise and the capital. All they need are the right contacts our end." The duo walked up to the column-lined front door together, with Ank a step on point. The rest of the party hung back, waiting with the vehicle. The bodyguard tried the door, finding it unlocked, and pushed it open with a call of greeting. Nobody replied. "Arm up." Jasat hissed under his breath, flexing his left arm in a very specific way. Under his sleeve he felt the punch-blade click out of its holster. His right hand went to his belt, his thumb depressing a small black nub on a large black leather pouch. There was a sudden, metallic tang of burnt copper as the scrambler came to life. Ank shut down his earpiece to spare himself the static pops the device caused in the headset. The two moved into the living room, Ank's sweeping the room with his carbine. Both men turned at the sound of footsteps and saw a female Kyyreni emerge from the dining room. "I am so sorry, gentlemen. My client and I were discussing business and we didn't hear you enter." For what seemed like a lifetime, Ank's weapon remained trained on her. "Is that really necessary, sire? I assure you I mean you no harm." With a nod to his bodyguard, Jasat ordered Ank's weapon lowered. "Thank you. Make yourselves comfortable and my client will be through shortly."

"We're fucked." The observation came from the ape man, who was sat in front of a DeskPadd with a screen like a drug trip. The male Kyyreni and his Ny'ee companion were both watching the display, grim faced. Warren craned his neck to see for himself. "What's wrong with your system?" "Jasat's fucking scrambler is wrong!" Ape Man hissed back. "He turned it on when he stepped inside!" "You should have greeted him." The Kyyreni added to Warren. "You told me not to!" The judge replied. Before any further exchange could be made, Jid returned looking sour-faced. She tore her earpiece out and hurled it across the room. "Demons take that bastard! It was all I could do not to scream!" "Alright, we can't use the monitors. What else?" "We can if he turns the scrambler off." The male Kyyreni corrected. "Warren, you're up. Get in there and get it shut off. I don't care how."

The datapad in his hand was clearly in distress. Warren took a seat opposite his guests, hoping to God that his heart didn't burst out of his chest. Jasat sat with arms folded, tapping his forearm impatiently. "S-sorry for keeping you." Jasat gave neither reply nor acknowledgement to the apology. Warren held up his pad and looked at the screen far longer than he had to. "Oh... I... I had notes to discuss, but it seems to have stopped working..." Into the bottomless pit of silence he threw another sacrifice. "Would you... do you have any idea why?" With a weary sigh, Jasat deactivated the scrambler. After a few moments the pad rebooted. "Better?" "Oh... much... yes." Warren let the pad fall onto the coffee table. "Before we begin I need to get something off my chest; do you know who I am?" Jasat nodded. "I remember your face." With a deadpan tone and the same deadpan expression he'd worn since Warren had entered he continued, "I was shocked to discover you were the backer of this proposal." Warren's fear slowly faded as the adrenalin began to surge through his veins. "Then perhaps you'll be so kind as to explain why you murdered my colleagues in the corrections council?" "I did no such thing." Now, at least, Jasat's expression had changed; he was smiling. "You ordered your men to burn them alive! How can you sit there and deny it so flippantly!" "Because I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr Warren." There was a brief crack of static as Jasat reactivated his scrambler. "You think I don't know this game? This has got to be one of the sloppiest attempts at blackmail I've ever seen! Ah, your handler is here." The last comment was directed at Jid, who had entered carrying a tray with hot drinks on. "I made some refreshments, sire." "You drink them. Maybe one is poisoned." He stood up and gave Warren an arrogant sneer. "I wonder what will happen to you when I make this meeting known to your peers. Do you think they'll thank you for it? Maybe I should speak with President Goodman herself. I know for a fact she'll take my side." From the doorway came a brutish roar. "Plan B it is then!"

Half a dozen armour piercing rounds tore their way through the kitchen, blowing off tiles and hurling up clouds of plaster dust as they came to rest in the far wall. On the way they had, in reverse order, tore through antique cupboards, the inner kitchen wall, several hall pictures, the living room wall and, with rather spectacular results, the flesh, bone and muscle tissue of the apish thug who'd tried to launch an ambush. Warren watched as the burst lifted the man off his feet and explosively dismantled him, hurling bones and chunks of bloody muscle tissue out of his back. Organic shrapnel embedded itself in the wall, whilst softer matter splatted and rebounded. The corpse hit the doorframe sideways and crumpled up on the ground. The Ny'ee, unwilling to step into the volley that had slain its Human companion, held a blaster out into the room and blind-fired. Lightning-bright muzzle flares and eardrum-popping propellant explosions competed with one another for a few terrifying seconds until the Ny'ee found its mark. A pair of shots slammed into Ank's chest, throwing him back into his chair, which upended itself and dumped the bodyguard head first onto the floor. A third shot blew through the base of the chair, starting a fire on its way through, and punted the Kyyreni into the far wall. In the few seconds it took for the firefight to unfold, Jid made her move. She lunged for Jasat, revealing a kitchen knife she'd smuggled in up her sleeve. It was a wild stab, born of a lust for kill with no real talent to support it. Jasat caught the knife-wrist and buried his own hidden blade as deep as he could in the woman's guts. She made a short hiccupping sound, very different to the agonising scream Warren had expected. Jasat pushed her back to arms length with a shoulder barge and swung the blade again, opening her throat. She fell to the ground, bouncing off the table on the way, and bled out her last into the shag rug.

"Let's talk." Jasat growled, fixing his gaze on Warren, who had been frozen in place during the entire assault. He scrambled out of his chair only to throw himself back into it immediately as the Ny'ee resumed firing. Jasat went for the floor as white-hot energy bolts started more furniture fires. By the third shot the familiar sound of Kyyreni-made bullet throwers resumed. Ank, firing from his back, put most of a clip into the far wall and, more by luck than design, managed to hit the unseen shooter. There was a scream to high for any Human to hear and the Ny'ee emerged. It came through the doorway upside down and clinging to the ceiling, trailing cyan blood where Ank's wild shots had removed a foot. Ank's shooting tore the ceiling apart. Dust rained down, swiftly joined by a fine spray of water as the bullets found and burst piping. The smell of burnt out electrical wires joined the smell of blood and weapon discharge as the Ny'ee moved from ceiling to wall, shooting just as wildly as Ank. The bodyguard's rifle clicked dry at last, causing the Ny'ee to pause. Its pointed head turned toward Jasat and the pistol soon followed. Now, with no-one able to shoot back, the alien had time to aim. An energy bolt blew a tennis-ball sized hole through the front window. The blast struck the Ny'ee squarely in the chest and with enough force to embed its body into the wall. It hung there like some grizzly hunting trophy as the shooter jumped through the remains of the window, heavy boots landing amidst the semi-molten glass droplets just as the front door was blown off its hinges. "Took your fucking time!" Jasat roared, staggering to his feet. He was covered in blood. "It's not mine." He assured his men, nodding to Jid's cooling body. Ank was helped to his feet and, somewhat unsteadily, the bodyguard reloaded his weapon and turned it toward Warren. The man was still sat in his seat, gripping the arms so tightly his fingernails had left ragged lines in the fabric. He was soaked from head to toe, with water spray, at least two kinds of blood and, at the crotch, urine. Through the ruined doorway a final figure emerged. He was a Kyyreni. He stood clutching a burnt out DeskPadd and struggling to breathe. When he moved further into view a large, bloody wound was visible in his side. "On the ground!" a soldier barked, training the energy weapon on him. The figure shook his head. "If it's all the same with you, I'd rather not." A blade emerged in a hand too shakey to grip it properly. The gunman granted him the mercy he desired, and he folded up without a word.

Sucking air through gritted teeth, Jasat stood over the muted, pale-faced Warren. "You, my friend, have unleashed hell." With serpentine speed the Noble lunged down, grappled Warren by the collar and hauled him upright. He almost forgot about the punch-blade, which severed a chunk of the man's shirt and made him whimper all the more. "You tried to blackmail me; you hired assassins to try and kill me! You-" The Noble glanced over to Ank, who made a quick hand gesture. "-you nearly killed one of my most trusted servants and closest friends! Give me one reason why I shouldn't open your throat here and now!" He couldn't. Try as he might, Warren couldn't think of a single thing to say that might save his life. Blinking away the rapidly-forming tears, the trembling man did his best to meet Jasat's gaze. From somewhere inside of him a spark of anger flared once more; a burning desire to get one last shot in. If he was going to die, he could at least die knowing he'd tried. "You should kill me now." Warren spat, summoning every last ounce of strength and courage. "Because if you don't, I'll finish what they started!" He tried to get his hands around Jasat's throat, but he knew before trying it'd never work. It was a gesture; a futile one, but one that had to be made nonetheless. Jasat sliced the blade through Warren's right arm and the man recoiled. A few moments later the butt of a rifle connected with his head and floored him. "Hold!" Jasat advanced, pushing aside the muzzle of the guard's gun as it was brought around for an execution shot. "Just give me a moment. This..." He turned to examine the room, taking in the scale of the carnage. The houses here were spaced quite far apart, but weapons fire had a way of carrying. People were already coming out; gathering on the pavement to see what was going on. Jasat turned back to his men, mind racing. "...I have a plan." It was a lie, but not for long. He let his mind race and his tongue kept pace as best it could. Improvisation was a family trait that Jasat excelled at; he could make this work for him. He made everything work for him sooner or later. When he finished giving the orders he spared a moment's thought for Warren, who by now had passed out from pain and blood loss. "Make sure he lives." Jasat added quickly, making room for Ank as he found something to use as a field dressing. "This will go a lot easier if he doesn't bleed out on us." * * *

Kcar was hanging upside down near the ceiling. He reached down lazily as a plastic container floated past and snatched it out of the air. Inside was a water bottle, which he drank from via a thick black nozzle. He set the container adrift once more just as the warning alarm sounded, and with a weary sigh he kicked off against the ceiling and headed for the floor. By the time he made it the artificial gravity system was already warming up, and within a minute he was under the influence of normal running conditions once more. Someone beyond the door had clearly been waiting for the all clear. The gunmetal doors clanked open, revealing a tired looking Jasat T'Rol. "Did I interrupt something?" "Yes." Kcar answered. "I rather like to free-float. I find it relaxing. Did you want something?" Jasat nodded. "We're bringing an envoy aboard. He will be returning to House T'Rol with me as an advisor. Unfortunately, he was injured during an attempt on my life. As such, I have issued standing orders for my men to shoot on sight anyone who attempts to enter his chambers. Your men have been informed, but I'd like you to emphasise the point." "That I shall, sire." Kcar responded. His ruined face split into a malicious grin and he added, "you may also wish to know that Lord Urso has taken his own life to spare his House the shame of his excommunication." "Poor Urso. I shall mourn him." Jasat's words sounded genuine, but the look in his eyes was one of pure pleasure. "On an unrelated note, I intend to challenge the remainder of House Urso and replace them with my own House. Can I count on your support, Noble?" Jasat nodded. "I advise you to integrate those of House Urso who have worth - and strange as it may seem, there are people of worth in that house - as well as showing pity to his blood family. It will go a long way to solidifying your position and winning support from those who would otherwise have favoured Urso over you in the challenge." Kcar bowed theatrically. "I am honoured you would deem me worthy of your advice, Noble Jasat." "You play the game well, Kcar; Yvenik needs men like you to keep it strong." With a formal nod, Jasat departed. He paused at the doorway for a moment, leaning on the frame and turning his head to give Kcar a sidelong glance. "Just be careful with whom you choose to play it." The door slid closed once more, and Kcar deactivated the internal gravity once more. He closed his eyes and let his body drift through the air, dreaming silently of how he would propel himself to glory upon his return to Urokon...

...and in the bowels of the ship, lying ignored in a holding cell, the body of Urso, former Common Lord of House Urso, sat slumped against the rough metal wall of the prison. Kcar's dagger was still impaled firmly through his chest.