Betrayal
a Jumpgate Novella by Fellblade
(reprinted with permission)

The shield generator was pretty much mangled.. it had been cheap, true, and it had seen him through a fair number of skirmishes, but it was now pretty much dead. He was going to have to have Words with the dealer he had bought it off at Eveningīs End, it was meant to have anti-backblast protection... evidently it didnīt. Once a life-saver, now a slightly charred and smoking lump with a small melted hole where the power consumption readout was meant to be and a faint smell of burning cheese from an old sandwich that he had left inside it the last time he had opened it up.

The radar went yellow, maybe thirty missiles inbound, quite a variety, a mix of Purgatories and Morningstars in case he tried to dodge, with Katakas in case he ran and Lances in case he was stupid enough to keep still. As the missile warning alarm went off, yellow light plaintively strobing in a dark recess of the control panel, speaker blaring out its harsh warning, Arouin settled back into his seat and sat there, waiting for the inevitable, smiling slightly.

- Part II -

The two men turned and walked away from the Raven towards the door chatting about how much Voris was going to pay for the respray.. they were his missiles, after all...

- Part III -

The pair walked through a series of dank corridors, the occasional bit of moss growing in the corners, grease and grime smeared on the walls. Metal shavings crunched noisily under Arouins booted feet, while Vorbis made unpleasant screeching sounds as his softer soled shoes got bits stuck in them, leaving bright lines and the occasional spark on the metal floor. Vorbis was slightly the taller of the two men, bulkier as well, and with distinctly less hair. Or, as one of Arouinīs friends put it, "A big fat bald bastard". As they walked past a doorway, chatting idly, Arouin glanced into a dark room and noticed the movement of someone ducking back out of sight. Vorbis carried on with what was rapidly growing into a monologue, with Arouin inserting the occasional īyesī īhmm..ī īah...ī and generally floating through the conversation on autopilot, while looking around, taking everything in. Then Arouin remembered.

As they turned a corner, he stuck one hand into his inner jacket pocket, and pulled out a large calibre handgun. Vorbis looked slightly alarmed at first, then relaxed slightly as it was proffered to him handle first instead of barrel.

"What do you think?"

"Good weight, like the grip, very comfy"

Vorbis stepped carefully over a hole in the floor leading to the deck below

"Got it from a guy flogging īborrowedī Octavian new-tech weaponry over at GBS... bit pricey but I donīt mind; you need the protection in this day and age"

"You do at that.", Vorbis agreed, nodding.

At last they came to a metal doorway set at the end of a corridor. There was an armed man outside. Arouin didnīt think he could be a guard, because guards usually looked like they were guarding something. This one was sitting on the floor browsing through the stations holo-vid guide. Vorbis slapped his hand onto a panel next to the door, which opened with a swishing sound, sliding into the wall. Unfortunately it ricocheted back again and stopped half closed. Vorbis looked back at his friend with a sigh

"I carry on meaning to get it fixed... but I donīt get many decent station maintenance techs around here, as you might have guessed"

Vorbis pushed the door back. It didnīt move. Then he kicked it.

"Get outta it you godforsak... ah... come in"

They stepped through into a fairly bland room, a couple of circular tables with chairs that went out of fashion about fifty years ago in the middle of it. Someone a few years ago must have made a futile attempt to brighten it up with a lick of paint, most of which was in little fragments at the bottom of the walls, and rust was beginning to show at the top of the metal sheets. Someone had put a couple of bowls of something on the table, and they were steaming. Arouin didnīt know what was in them, but he hoped it was edible because he was going to eat it. Ten or fifteen men sat around the outside of the room in the shadows left by non-functional fluro-strips, playing dice, drinking, eating, or cleaning weaponry or tools. Vorbis walked over to the far side of the table, fidgeting with Arouinīs new hand artillery, and sat down, motioning for Arouin to seat himself. He sat down on the chair, which creaked a little even under his fairly light weight, looked at the unidentified stew before him, and picked up the spoon that was lying next to the bowl. He ignored the pirateīs custom of swapping meals before eating (supposedly borne out of mutual mistrust centuries ago), and tucked in. The mush was beige... soya proteins and water with flavouring in... roast beef flavour... well.. thatīs what the packet said, he had never actually had roast beef before in his life and doubted he ever would. You occasionally heard of some Real Meat being shipped up from planetside... each steak going for about seven million credits... Vorbis picked up his spoon, and pushed the mess in the bowl around a bit before looking up at Arouin until the other man noticed him, then hurriedly wiping a bit of dribbly food from his chin. Vorbis grinned.

"So, tell me my friend, tell me of why you are here, and why in such a hurry..."

Arouin scooped another spoonful of stuff from his bowl and into his mouth, swallowed, and then tapped the spoon on the side of the bowl a few times, composing his thoughts.

"Well, it all started about 2 days ago. I had been flying around in the neutral sectors after picking up my new piece," Arouin gestured towards the gun that was lying beside Vorbisī bowl, then continued, "looking for a nice target or three. Found a couple of low ranking rookies, let īem slide, they werenīt worth the effort, yaī know? Itty bitty little ships, a right bitch to hit em, and if they do decide to pay up they havenīt exactly got millions to give you anyway.", Vorbis nodded his approval as Arouin spoke.

"So I thought I would hit the central sectors, looking for some juicy tows trying to avoid the latest wave of fighting between the Octavians and those Solrain īEconomic Terroristī guys. Round about Four Fingers I came across a rather interesting little... development." Arouin paused, swallowing another spoonful. Vorbis idly stirred his meal around a little more.

"As I jumped in I headed for Inner Storm, and I was half way across the sector when I noticed that the power lead to my radar had fallen out again, so I kicked it a couple of times until it made a connection, and my display sprung up. There on the radar was a dogfight. Looked like 6 Solrain Intensities using lasers were fighting a force of about 15 Octavian Phoenixes, and werenīt having too much success. I thought it wasnīt a good idea to interrupt them, since they were so busy and all, so I headed merrily on my way, giving them a wide berth. When I got to within about 10 klicks of the gate I got a radar image for a second, but whatever it was jumped out before I could target it. I jumped through, and carried on.. then noticed the signature again, so I throttled up and went to take a look. It was a Solrain Light Transport using one hell of a good ECM system, and it was moving slowly so it had a small visual and motion tracker signature. Whatever it was doing, it was being sneaky about it. If it was being sneaky it had something that it wanted to keep... and anything that people want to keep.." Arouin grinned, "..I want to take away from them and sell. Preferably for lots of money."

"So I pulled up next to this guy, gave him a good look at the underside of my Raven with itīs 2 Lances, and a pair of Morningstars to boot, then opened up a closed comm channel to him and told him to heave to or I would blow him into next Thursday. He offered me 40 million to leave him alone. Forty million bloody credits. Thatīs Real Money my friend, Real Money. But I was adamant.. I wanted his cargo.. and while he had been sitting still I had been scanning it. There was about forty tons of grain onboard, a couple of iron, and one small package. Now, grain ainīt worth twenty million credits. And I havenīt noticed a steep increase in the price of iron around here either, so I told him to jettison the package. After quite a bit of the īWhat package?ī bullshit he caved in, and jettisoned it. I scooped it up, bid him farewell, and then pumped a Lance into him at point blank and started racking off the rounds on the Barraks."

Vorbis motioned Arouin to stop, then looked at him quizzically, "Barraks? On a Raven?"

Arouin laughed, "Yeah... you know that techie over at Tripoint, the madman who is always on about how he can squeeze and extra 15m/s out of an unmodified gust by tweaking the power regulator to the engine?"

Vorbis nodded, "I know the one, Rayknay isnīt it?"

"Yeah, thatīs the one... well, he reckoned that if you fiddled around with the weapon power feeds and ammo containers you could smash through the partition between the two size one bays on each wing and cram in a Barrak... turned out he was right. Unfortunately the manufacturers havenīt designed them to go in such a compact area, and we had to cut holes in the wings and weld on steel blisters to accommodate the shell power loaders. Anyway, where was I... oh yeah, I was blowing up that guy," Arouin grinned, "well, I could risk him letting the guys fighting the Octs know that I was there and what I was doing, could I? So I decided to head for Klatches and try and find out what the hell it was that I had just picked up..."

"Why didnīt you go to Eveningīs End? Much closer surely? Or Lotharīs?"

"Iīd heard that Eveningīs had just been raided by TRI cops.. didnīt you hear?"

Vorbis shook his head

"Well, McReilyīs been locked up for about fifty years.."

"What for?"

"Illicit gambling, weapons smuggling, contraband smuggling, running an unlicensed bar, dealing in pornography, running an unlicensed distillery, shooting down TRI civilian ships with undue provocation, shooting down TRI police ships, resisting arrest (four counts), grievous bodily harm (two counts), grievous bodily harm against a TRI official (seventeen counts), inciting factionalist riots, printing anti-TRI propaganda, holding drugs with intent to consume, holding drugs with intent to supply, flying a ship while under the influence, flying an unregistered ship, damaging TRI property, and causing a breach of the peace (fifty-seven counts)"

Vorbis raised an eyebrow, fidgeting with the gun "Thatīs quite a lot, how did they get the evidence?"

"well... you know those security cameras McReily had covering his shop and bar in case someone tried to nick something..."

"Ah."

Arouin noticed that Vorbis hadnīt touched his soya...

"Yeah. And as for Lotharīs... a cargo tow ran into the docking bay doing 300m/s a few days beforehand. I think they are still trying to clean up... it was carrying soya, water and plutonium, so they have a pile of radioactive mush clogging up the docking systems there.. but that it should be cleared up by mid next week. So, you see I couldnīt go elsewhere except for Klatches and GBS, and since I had just left GBS after browsing the market looking for anyone needing... services.. I figured that there wouldnīt be an business there that I hadnīt already picked up on. Well, I went through to Quantar Gate, trying to take a round-a-bout route and what did I find there but another two Phoenixes, both with no registration. One hailed me, and asked if I had seen a Solrain Transport around, of course I wasnīt gonna say īyes and I killed itī, so I told em no, and then went on my way. Of course while they were sitting there I managed to get a reading on their emissions and tuned into their squad radio frequency. Not much happening.. just seemed they were looking for the Transport. Then, about ten, fifteen minutes later I heard one of them saying that he had found a debris field, but that īthe packageī wasnīt there. Naturally, I had a severe case of will to live and high tailed it towards Klatches pretty damn fast. Not long after that a Phoenix ended up in the same sector as me... I jammed his transmission and then had to engage him... either that or let him get away and tell his buddies. Wasnīt nice fighting a Phoenix in a Raven, but he was pretty spooked by me using Barraks. After smoking him, and getting my shield generator fried in the firefight, I heard that they were setting up ambushes at all stations to try and catch me. What could I do? No-where to run... I had to come here... and then you, ya bastard, went and scratched my paint job to boot." Arouin finished

Vorbis nodded, and stood up "Well, my friend, I am afraid I need that package"

Arouin put his head on one side, a puzzled expression on his face, "Hey, wait just a moment mate, that is worth 40 million credits at least, so I want a decent price, call it... 20 mil?"

Vorbis brought up the gun in his left hand and aimed it at Arouin

"I donīt intend to pay"

Arouin laughed softly, grinned, and stood up

Vorbis pulled the trigger

Everything slowed down

[Firing Sequence Initiated] [Reading User Fingerprint] [User Fingerprint Incorrect] [Reading User DNA] [User DNA Incorrect, 23% match] [If weapon mode = safe then: null, else: feedback] [null: Exit program] [feedback: Power Generator Self Destruct] [end]

The gun became a blue-white flare in Vorbisī hand, then detonated in an explosion that left Arouinsī ears ringing, and Vorbis lying on the floor a few meters away, smoking slightly, screaming, and clutching at the cauterized stump of his left hand. The men around the room moved as if in treacle, jumping to their feet, diving away from the blast, rolling to clutch at guns, or shielding their eyes or ears from the flash and detonation. Arouin was blown backwards, but he was expecting it, and was already pulling out twin nano-flechette pistols from his holsters underneath his pseudo-leather jacket as he fell towards the floor. His right hand started pulling again and again at the trigger, flechettes flying from his pistol as he hit the metal grating on the deck, knocking the wind out of him. One of the men took a flechette in the shoulder, the thin metal dart flying straight through after expanding on impact, leaving a two centimetre wide hole through skin, muscle, sinew and bone. Another two on his right took flechettes to the arm and hip respectively, the impacts spinning them round in slow motion. He moved his right hand, firing continually on semi-auto, wildly looked left as he thumbed both guns to full-auto mode and started spraying the men who were getting to their feet as he lay on his back on the floor. One on his left managed to duck the flechettes and pull out an assault rifle, a big, bulky, reliable gun which fired big, bulky, reliable shells. The assault rifle started firing, cartridge cases springing into the air with puffs of smoke, Arouin rolled, sparks flying around him as slugs hit the metal floor. He scrabbled to his feet, then kicked one of the tables over, springing behind it as he sprayed one side of the room with flechettes from both pistols. The remaining men on the right side fell under a hail of expanding flechettes, the hail that missed pockmarking the metal wall, chipping paint and sending sparks showering onto the floor. Shots from the assault rifle hammered into the tabletop sheltering Arouin, denting and twisting the metal. As the assault rifle clicked and ran out of ammunition, Arouin sprang to his feet and span firing, reflecting that the day had become even more interesting....

- Part IV -

The first man with an assault rifle took a pair of flechettes off-centre in the chest, spinning him back into the wall behind him, before dropping to the floor with a sickening thud. Two left... Arouin dived forward under a hail of caseless ammunition from anotherīs machine pistol, the tearing noise of the bullets whipping past him making him wince involuntarily as he sprayed flechettes over him. Hitting the deck face forward, knocking the wind out of himself, he swung around to look back over his shoulder as he clambered to his feet at the remaining foe bringing up another assault rifle to bear on him. The rifle flared, the report deafening in the close quarters of the room as Arouin took a round through the arm, spraying a little blood out and spinning him back to the ground, the flechette pistol in his left hand falling to the ground with a clatter. Grimacing in pain with bared teeth, he brought his other flechette pistol to bear and squeezed the trigger, spraying it across the guy who was still firing, trying to adjust his aim back down at his newly prone target and fighting the recoil of the big rifle. As the rifle made an ominous īclickīing noise, the flechettes stopped spitting out of the gun as the line of them was about to tear him in two, and the gun quietly said in feminine tones,

"Ammunition Depleted"

The guy with the assault rifle went for his spare magazine, but Arouin just whipped out a large bore, no-nonsense pistol from the back of his belt, and fired with a deafening roar, splitting apart the other manīs head like a water melon and sending him flying backwards across the room.

The complete firefight had lasted a little over ten seconds. And Vorbis was lying on the floor in a corner, still screaming, after having rolled over there in the commotion. Vorbis stopped screaming and looked up in fear as the footsteps approached him across the room.

"I-I-I-I didnīt..."

"Youīre dead you traitorous bastard."

"I-I-I.."

The pistol flared again and again, the glow reflecting the hate and anger filling Arouinīs eyes. The noise and light stopped, there was a tinkling sound as the last cartridge case hit the floor, and a slow, gentle exhalation of breath from the expired corpse of Vorbis. As the blood seeped from the bodyīs multiple gunshot wounds, scorched from the close range of the muzzle flame, the anger in Arouinīs eyes faded. Time to try and stay alive. He drew another clip for the pistol from his pocket and slammed it home, catching one finger with the edge of it. Arouin winced, then noticed the pain in his left arm as the red mist of adrenaline faded. Keeping a close watch on the door, with the pistol beside him on the floor, he carefully took off his jacket and looked at the wound. He had been lucky, it had ripped through some muscle on his left bicep, and it hurt like hell, but there wasnīt much he could do about it. He slipped the jacket back on, took another look at the door, then stood up and walked over to it. No lock, handle, just that damn palm scanner. He slapped his hand onto it and was replied by another generic feminine voice saying,

"Access not authorized"

He sighed, then, reminded by the voice, walked over to where his nano-flechette pistols lay on the ground. One was completely depleted, the other had about fifteen rounds left in it. The clips held about three hundred rounds each, the guns were experimental, highly illegal, and not strictly his. Oh well, better ditch them. The user-reliant gun had been pretty expensive; he had had to bribe three different TRI officials to get his hands on one which had cost quite a bit. Of course it was worth it to still be alive... Much better to have a gun you knew the capabilities of in someone elseīs hands rather than one of their own... especially if it was booby trapped. Might be an idea just to sod it and set up a lump of plastic explosive in a gun casing and rig up the trigger to detonate it. He looked back at the door. He looked at the cooling corpse of Vorbis. That really isnīt a very pleasant thing to do, he thought, ah, what the hell. He walked over to Vorbisī body, took it by the remaining hand then aimed his pistol, shielded his eyes, and pumped the trigger twice. A couple of meaty thuds, some tugging, and an unpleasant fleshy tearing sound later, he put down Vorbisī palm on the scanner, then tucked it and the rest of the dead manīs forearm into one of his outer jacket pockets. Hey, he thought, might need it later. The door slid back, Arouin stuck his foot in the way to stop it springing back, then sprung around the corner and shot the guard in the face as he looked up.

Time to get to the hangar, he wanted to get back to his Raven before something Bad happened.

Running through the corridors retracing his earlier steps, and wincing occasionally as his injured arm brushed something, he neared the hangar, and heard the gunfire. Not again.

Arouin cautiously stuck his head around the corner of the doorway into the hangar bay, and looked at the scene in front of him. There was a splintered wooden pallet lying on the hangar bay deck in front of his Raven, and the remains of the outer covering of The Package that he had stolen from the Solrain Transport. Lying beside the pallet were the bodies of three technicians, two with pistols by them and cartridge cases on the floor. There were another three ships in the hangar which hadnīt been there before. One was a Solrain transport, painted black, and with heavier armour than was the norm. Another was a Quantar cargo tow with a large ramp leading from the cargo container. The last was an official TRI ship, looked like a personnel transporter. Scattered all over the hangar bay were bodies in Solrain, Quantar, and Octavian battle armour. He couldnīt hear any more firing, so he took a few steps back from the corner, and considered his options. Well... there werenīt very many were there? Just run to his ship, he supposed, then get out of here as quickly as possible and fly away... sod the package...

Arouin stood, leaning on the grimy corridor wall looking dazed and confused for a few moments before making up his mind. Time to go. He pulled out his pistol, leapt around the corner, then buckled down and made a mad dash across the hangar bay for his Raven. He stopped about half way, unwilling, but too confused to run any further. He had just seen one of the bodies in Octavian combat armour with itīs faceplate up. The person in side was a Quantar. He looked around wildly, and figures stepped out from the shadows lining the outside of the cargo bay.

One stepped forward into a patch of light from a slightly swinging fluro-bulb, a late-middle aged Solrain man with thinning grey hair, wearing a black jump-suit and wearing the badge of a TRI official.

"Good day, Mr. Arouin, I think we need a word"

Arouin looked left.

Figures advancing.

Arouin looked right.

The clomp of heavy, booted feet on metal gratings.

"Oh, screw you asshole" he snarled, and raised the pistol in his good hand....

- Part V -

"I will get on to that... In order that a hard line factionalist group didnīt seize all the pieces, and the in-design power regulator, they were distributed amongst the factions. The Solrain took back the power generator itself, the Quantar took back the positron coupling, and the Octavians took back the only man who could make the system useable..."

- Part VI -

- Part VII -

- Part VIII -

The arrow shape of the Phoenix fighter cut through the void, a faint red glow reflecting off of one side of it as it passed by a tuned TRI Beacon. Inside, Arouin smiled quietly to himself as he sipped at some coffee, which was a little too hot for his liking, and thought of what he should do first.

Rjin Fiddick will sort me out with the registration number changing equipment... just need someone to tweak the weapons systems and check this baby out. Who do I know in Outpost who would do the job? Hmmm....

Arouin took a rather too long gulp of coffee and was rewarded with scalding the back of his throat and burning his tongue. He cursed, and put the coffee to one side to let it cool while he ran through his inventory and ship systems for the umpteenth time. Then, for the first time, he noticed his īavailable fundsī count, and cursed again. He never usually bothered with money; he had enough that he didnīt have to keep track of it all the time, but now it looked like he was going to have to, at least for a bit. The pale green display readout showed a big fat zero.

Well, he thought, Iīm going to need a few creds to pay for the work I need done... so time for some light piracy

He smiled to himself; who said you couldnīt mix business with pleasure?

He spent the next half an hour sweeping the sector for potential targets; there were a few cargo tows around, but none seemed loaded enough to make it worthwhile risking attacking them; one or two had escort as well. He was damned if he was going to go after a fighter in this thing, untried and untested, as pretty and deadly as it may look, he couldnīt catch the new advanced scouts which rolled off of the production lines six months past, and scouts and light fighters just werenīt worth enough to threaten. Which meant he needed a light transport to mug.

At the end of that half hour, he approached a medium-sized asteroid field, and began paying slightly more attention to his radar, as well as scanning nearby rocks visually. After another few minutes he caught the tell-take flicker of a mining laser in his peripheral vision. Arouin slowed his ship slightly, then looked hard at the radar. Yes... there it was; if you looked closely enough you could just about see two separate traces on the radar, almost merged into one with proximity; no wonder the targeting computer couldnīt pick it up. He started spiraling in towards the ship, not making a direct approach which might alert the pilot of the mining ship too quickly. Suddenly, eight kilometers out, he swung around, and hammered the afterburner toggle, the suddenly increased thrust picking him up bodily and driving him into the back of the seat. Seven kilometers, six kilometers, five kilometers....

Arouin thumbed the comms channel switch to closed-beam, and aimed it at the mining ship, and spoke into it, loudly, firmly, and calmly;

"This is the Pirate Vessel Lithe Shadow; pay immediate fine of two hundred and fifty thousand credits or be destroyed."

The reply was not exactly what he expected,

"Bunnis, Wilks, we got a pirate here, look sharp and waste this sonnofabitch!"

Oh dear.

Two more traces appeared on radar, and the mining ship disengaged itīs lasers and turned to face him, moving out of the radar shadow of the asteroid. Arouin flipped through the three targets rapidly.

Shit.

The transport was a modified īAggressorī variant of the standard Quantar light transport - the Hurricane. He had seen the Aggressor at a show at Quantar Core when he had been there a few months back; the religious freaks showing off some of their newest and fanciest technology. That thing had an extended cargo bay... with four hitmen in it, and the rest of the expanded bay... was ammo. Plus the standard missile loadout of at least six Purgatories, equals trouble. He could outrun the Purgs, but he didnīt fancy his chances of being able to outrun them while weaving and dodging asteroids.

The other two ships were both light fighters, one Solrain Interceptor, one Quantar Cyclone, and they had appeared at his seven and four oīclock.

Time to rock and roll, Arouin thought.

He hung on the stick, slamming his Phoenix around as the missile warning indicator light blinked on, blazing a cheerful yellow light all over the cockpit. His radar showed three inbound tracks, all from the transport

"Three missiles inbound, two Purgatory class, one Calypso class", a pleasant melodic voice informed him, startling him somewhat,

"What the...?"

NO TIME!

Glancing at the VDU showing him the rear view from just in front of the engine nozzle, he saw three bright streaks arcing towards him.

Time to move

Glancing around quickly for an asteroid, he saw a cluster of small rocks a mere click away, and broke his turn off into a long arc bringing him behind the roidīs just as the missiles were about to hit, slamming two into the balls of rock. One of the Purgatories managed to make it through, and he span 180° and hammered on the afterburner again, the missile whipping past him as it overshot, itīs guidance systems unable to keep track of the sudden change he had made in his speed. The two light fighters closed, the transport holding ground, waiting for another chance to get off some missiles. The Cyclone was slightly ahead of the Interceptor, and he swung around making a beeline for it through the middle of another asteroid cluster, having to roll his ship to avoid chopping off a wingtip on one of the īroids. Closing to 3000 meters he opened fire with the quad Barraks that the Phoenix was currently equipped with, dragging the four lines of death into the path of the closing Cyclone with a practiced eye. After seven years of combat he didnīt need targeting computers any more. Blue Barrak shells smashed into the Quantar shipīs shields, giving a pleasing green rippling glow effect. It rolled, trying to get hit by as few of the bolts as it could, then started firing back with a Hammer and a pair of Strakers. Blue and gold glowing shells whizzed past the cockpit, Arouin locked his eyes firmly on the ship ahead of him, adjusting his aim constantly, holding true as shells started to plough into his shields. At one kilometer range he ceased fire, put a little skew velocity on his ship, rolled, and began to thrust again bringing himself around in an arc past a large asteroid. The Cyclone shot past, and circled around the other side of the asteroid, the Interceptor closing now to one and a half klicks and opening fire with a pair of lasers, the pair of darting blue beams vainly reaching out for a touch of his shields. As he circled the asteroid the Interceptor followed him around, the occasional blast of the paired lasers taking out small chunks of rock from the asteroid and releasing puffs of dust and glowing molten metal. The Cyclone pilot hadnīt slowed as much as Arouinīs turn had allowed him to, and he appeared in Arouinīs sights, turning across the nose of his ship to expose himself to the shortest amount of fire possible. Another roll, and another haul on the stick changed that, Arouin arcing in behind the Quantar pilot, and opening fire again. As he closed, firing, the lightning-blue bolts ripped through the other pilotīs shield and began hammering on the armour of his ship. The Quantar jinked around, avoiding a good portion of Arouinīs shots, while his buddy in the Interceptor formed up behind Arouin, then hit the afterburner to close the gap. The Phoenix slid around like a dog being dragged behind the Cyclone at the end of a leash, the pair dodging in and around asteroids as the Interceptor steadily closed the gap. Laser fire started searing past, smashing off lumps of rock from the asteroids that Arouin was weaving around; he needed to do something, fast. He aimed at an asteroid ahead of him, and let fly with a stiletto missile, then engaged the afterburner so that it slowly crawled away from him on a slightly different heading. The missile slammed into the asteroid, splitting off a good dozen medium-size lumps of metal and rock, while span wildly around, moving away from the parent īroid as Arouin tore past, the rocks a grey-brown blur of motion. The Interceptor pilot broke off suddenly to avoid the spreading pile of rocks from the explosion, rolled his ship to avoid one, then caught a glancing blow from another which lit up his shields and drew a collection of sparks as it managed to penetrate and bounce off his armour. The Cyclone ahead, taking dangerous amounts of armour damage, curved again towards the transport, throwing in the occasional jink, but basically running hell-for-leather for safety. Behind, the Interceptor began to line up for another run, in front the Quantar was slowly loosing ground. Too slowly. Arouin reached across the control panel and tapped the flashfire ignition control. A shockwave ran through the ship and the air was forced from his lungs as massive acceleration from the fuel additive brought the engine thrust up to twice its rated limit. The distance to target reading began to blur on the first and second digits. The ammo counter began to blur as Arouin jammed his finger on the trigger. The seeking, probing shells found a chink in the armour of the Cyclone, tearing a sheet of it spinning off into space. Shells smashed into delicate internal systems, reducing them to worthless slag, chopping conduits, tearing seals and rupturing tanks. Then the ammo store went off, scattering bits of the ship outward in a fiery explosion that started some of the nearby asteroids moving. Small chunks of metal impacted on Arouinīs shield as he smiled grimly in satisfaction at the rip, and as other bits of metal ricocheted off of nearby īroids, a small, grey escape pod whizzed away at high speed, leaving a small green trail behind it. Targeting the Interceptor, he found it was already running... but not in the direction of the transport. The transport itself had turned, and was accelerating away... slowly.

Heīs loaded, thought Arouin, no wonder he didnīt engage, heīs probably got a good forty or fifty tons of ore in there.

Arouin smiled to himself as he brought the ship around and headed for the transport.

And The winner takes all... he thought to himself.

- Part IX -

- Part X -

As Raquel left the run-down shop, closing the outer door and locking the final tumbler-lock behind them, Arouin looked down. The couple had moved off... a group of children ran through the mall below, stealing the occasional sweet or magazine from the shops they moved past. Arouin caught a whiff of something possibly edible being cooked below.

"Raquel, Iīll catch up with you in a few minutes honey, you head off to the ship, Iīm going to go and get myself a meal."

He grinned at her and patted her on the shoulder. She smiled back, and moved off down the walkway. Arouin leant over the edge of the walkway, looking below for the source of the enticing smell, and after a few moments he spotted it, a small Che-tak servery below and to his left. He swung his legs over the rail, standing on the outside, lowered himself on both arms, then waited for a convenient gap in the crowd before letting go. He landed on both feet, almost being knocked off balance by a group of people surging past him, then balanced himself, and headed towards the wafting smell. Pushing through the crowd he came to the black-fronted servery, and picked his way carefully through most of the customers sitting and eating their Che-tak on the floor to get to the counter.

Peering over the plexi-glass fronting a small, dark skinned woman surveyed him critically.

"What flavour then?"

Arouin looked over the options laid out in steaming bowls the other side of the plexi; they were all the same, just with different synthetic flavourings.

"Iīll got for the spicy"

"Not the extra spicy?"

"No," said Arouin, remembering a time at Rakkiīs Che-tak restaurant a few months back, "not the extra spicy"

The small woman looked somewhat mollified. Most places serving Che-Tak vied with one another to produce the most powerful mix of synthetic flavourings, and by the way Arouinīs eyes were watering slightly, he felt that this was probably considered quite a good one.

Nevertheless, she handed over a polystyrene bowl of the steaming mess, which he happily accepted, and gave her fifty credits, five over what she was charging, feeling slightly guilty for his lack of enthusiasm over the extra spicy flavour. Che-tak was expensive; it should be. It consisted of a mix of whatever īrealī food the cook had managed to beg, barter or steal for over the past few weeks, all mixed in together and boiled up. The more expensive the Che-tak, the less grain it had in it; the more likely it was to have some small piece of real meat, usually gristle, or maybe a mass-farmed prawn or two.

Arouin wandered away from the eatery, walking down the mall, looking at the shop fronts. Clothes shops, mostly with second hand legal or stolen products on offer, news stands, one posh restaurant - you could tell - it had six armed guards outside, some partīs shops, the occasional flea-pit tri-vid cinema. As he finished his Che-tak and dumped the bowl by the wall, he noticed a group of young men looking around them shiftily as they walked into an alleyway. A few seconds later there was a shout, and the sound of running feet. Arouin, intrigued, drew his large-calibre pistol and moved swiftly to the alleyīs entrance. Inside, five youths surrounded a well-dressed trader. Quietly, pressing himself towards the wall, he moved closer, putting his feet down in time with the constant drip of water from a damaged on-high cooling system. After a few seconds, he was close enough to make out more clearly what they were saying...

"Well, what do we have here," one, taller than the rest and bald, was saying, pacing around, "a fat, rich trader who doesnīt give a shit about us poor folks who have to make the stuff he so cheerfully buys and sells to pad his own pocket"

"I.. I.."

"Yeah," chimed in another, shorter one wearing a bandana, "I think that he should distribute the wealth a little"

"Yeah", nodded the third.

"I.. I wonīt give you any money... I work hard for this.."

"Yeah yeah, fat man, spare me the tears, I ainīt begginī, Iīm tellinī you what youīre gonna do." The taller one punctuated his sentence with a swift blow to the traderīs stomach. He doubled up with a grunt, and his breathing became heavier.

As he fell to the floor the others in the group started kicking him around.

Time to intervene, Arouin thought.

Stepping into the light and aiming his pistol at the largest, evidently the leader, he cleared his throat, slightly louder than was strictly necessary.

"So boys and girls, what are we doing here?"

"What the fuck does it have to do with you?"

"Naughty, naughty, donīt swear."

Arouin brought the gun up level with the youthīs head and pulled the trigger. The blast in the narrow alleyway was deafening, and blood showered down on the man on the floor. The half-headed corpse fell over backwards slowly, making a meaty thud as it hit the floor.

"I suggest you leave, kiddies, the party is most definitely over"

There was a scramble as the remaining four fought to get away from the over-armed figure, one of them retching as he did so. Arouin leant down and grabbed the trader by the hand, pulling him upright.

"You okay?"

The larger man was still breathing heavily, and was obviously still in pain.

"Iīll... be okay... thank you, thank you very much..."

"No problem. Always glad to help."

Arouin was looking impatient.

"I... had better be on my way... I was... on my way to... an important conference..."

Arouin was looking more impatient.

"Excuse me... no reward?"

"No... you did a good deed that should be enough in itself, surely?"

How naive

A split second later the over-sized firearmīs barrel was stuck in the traderīs mouth.

"I disagree, a reward is compulsory."

Holding the gun in the other manīs mouth with one hand, Arouin went through his pockets with another. The trader was sweating profusely, red in the face and very wide eyed.

"Oooo, look," Arouin held up a wad of cash in front of the man, "thatīs about twenty thousand credits... thatīs very, very kind of you."

He grinned, then hit the trader on the side of the head with the butt of his gun. Stuffing the money into his inside jacket pocket, he moved back into the main aisle, holstered his pistol, straightened his clothes, and headed for the hangar . . .

- Part XI -

Shouldering his way through the crowds, Arouin entered the hangar entrance area, turned a corner into the hangar proper, and moved towards his ship. Passing a couple of Solrain light fighters, he noticed the guy in the blue shirt from in the mall working under one of them; he must have needed some information from the terminal in the mall to fix his ship. Raquel wasnīt working on the Lithe Shadow... although he could see she had been; the cockpit locking system had been added and replaced, he could see. Raquel was standing beside it, looking at him, tapping her foot as he approached. When he finally came within armīs reach of her, she grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him towards her, and whispered urgently in his ear,

"Thereīs a stack of Lance warheads arranged in a starburst cluster around your power plant and engine... where the hell did you get this ship from?"

Arouin took a step back, looking suspicious.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." she confirmed, stepping aside to reveal a pile of munitions on the floor behind her. Arouin knelt down beside the warheads, picked one up in his hands, and tossed it up and down thoughtfully.

"Would you mind not doing that?"

"Oh, sorry" He carefully put it back down on the pile. "How were they rigged to blow?"

"Radio transmitter, simple, I know, but whoever it was could blow you up at will anywhere thereīs a TRI comms beacon..."

"Which is everywhere."

"Right. Who would want to do this to you?" she looked at him, appalled.

He grinned, Raquel sighed, "OK, stupid question, who wouldnīt want to do this to you, right? But who wanted to and had the means?"

"Oh, I have a pretty shrewd idea who wanted to do this, and who had the means. A guy just over my height, think heīs from Hyperial. Grey hair, likes to wear black clothes a lot."

"Personal?"

"Oh no, strictly business."

"That doesnīt sound good."

"Well, no, itīs not exactly ideal."

He stood up again.

"How much do I owe you for removing that pile?"

"Well, Iīm guessing youīre pretty short on cash right now, so whatever you can spare. Iīm not exactly going to put them back, and it really wouldn't look too good for me if your ship blew up after I had carried out work on it, would it now?"

"No, I suppose not. Well, tell you what, Iīll give you my pocket change"

"Oh, I had hoped for a little more than tha...."

Arouin pulled out the big wad of cash from his pocket, smiling mischievously

"This do?"

"Uh... Iīm not going to ask where you got that from, but Iīll take it. There is more, by the way. When I was running through the computer systems on that thing, I found two small additions to the escape capsule computer system; one is a transmission that the system is programmed to send out every second to the nearest TRI beacon; itīs highly encrypted, and I havenīt managed to break the encryption, but I guess it isnīt good news."

"No, I think not. You can remove it?"

"Yes, Iīve isolated it, all I need to do is literally hit the delete button. The second addition that is coded into the escape capsule computer... itīs programmed to open the escape capsule hatch... while in deep space."

Arouin put his hands behind his head, whistled, and looked at the ceiling.

"Son... of... a... bitch. Son of a bitch. This guy is going down. He is going DOWN."

"Thought you wouldnīt appreciate it. Iīve got that rigged for removal too."

Arouin had an idea, "Donīt remove it, Iīll pick up an EVA suit from the parts store just outside the hangar."

Raquel grinned, "You are a fiendish bastard arenīt you?"

"Yeah, yeah, so sue me" he said, walking towards the hangar exit again.

A few minutes later, he returned with an EVA suit, and dumped it into the cockpit; the cockpit sealed itself separately from the rest of the ship, in the event of an emergency, and headed for the nearest friendly station. Raquel stood outside, watching him. "Anything else?"

"Yeah honey, one more thing. Can you go up to launch control and arrange for me to be launched in 90 seconds, from when you get there."

"Sure thing, youīve deposited the money in my account."

"Yeah," he smiled, "donīt spend it all on booze"

"I hear yaī"

Raquel headed for the entrance into launch control, as Arouin prepped the ship, then walked into it. It would take her 10 seconds to get up to launch control, and another 10 to organize the launch. 110 seconds.

Arouin vaulted out of the open cockpit, and walked towards the man with the blue shirt, in his brown jacket as well now. The man was at the ship beside Arouinīs, a Quantar Typhoon, working on some power couplings under one wing.

Arouin tapped him on the shoulder.

"īScuse me, what are you doing?"

"Iīm fixing up my īphoon mate." The man nodded and grinned, his black hair swinging back and forth as he did so.

"So what about the Interceptor earlier?" A flicker of indecision in the eyes of the other man

"That was my friendīs, Pather." 90 seconds.

"Ok," Arouin rubbed the stubble on his jaw, "that still doesnīt explain why you are using a plasma blowtorch to fix power couplings. You need a wrench mate, you need to unscrew here," Arouin indicated with one, accusing index finger, "not fuse it together." 70 seconds

"I.. uhm...."

"You... uhm... what?"

"I was just looking, wasnīt starting to repair it yet."

"Ok, so how long have you spent on this, and your friendīs Interceptor?"

"Oh, Iīve been the past 3 hours, yeah, the past 3 hours easily" 50 seconds

"Well, that Interceptor wasnīt even here when I docked, 2 hours ago, and I saw you in the mall not 45 minutes ago."

"I... uhm..." 40 seconds

"You... uhm... die?"

Arouin whipped out the pistol and stuck it in the manīs mouth, flicking off the safety and cocking it in one swift movement.

"Mffffff! MMMfefffffff! mmmmfffmfffmmmmm!"

"Sorry, I didnīt quite catch that" Arouin pulled the gun out of the manīs mouth, punching him in the stomach with the other hand. He doubled up with a grunt, the Arouin pulled him up by his hair. A few people around nearby ships were paying attention now. Street theatre rarely got better. 30 seconds

"Why are you spying on me?"

"I... I... Iīm... not!" he answered in the strained tones of the hypnotically conditioned, sweating feverishly

"Wrong answer amigo" The lift the Phoenix was on started powering up.

Arouin aimed the pistol at the manīs chest at armīs length, then pumped the trigger six times. The shots rang out and echoed across the hangar, the light from the blasts savagely illuminating Arouinīs impassive face with a cold, yellow light.

As the body finished twitching, Arouin span, reloading, and sprinted for the side of the Lithe Shadow . He was half way up the ladderīs rungs to the cockpit when there was a rush of movement and two armed hangar guards pushed through the crowd around the body, pointing their weapons at him. Without hesitation he started firing at them as he continued to climb. The first shot hit a guard in the shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor. His second shot missed and ricocheted off the Typhoon fighterīs armour. The second guard was moved into a crouch and started firing before Arouin could adjust his aim, so the third shot went high, ploughing into the hip of a bystander, knocking them to the ground, screaming. The fourth and fifth shots hit the guard square as the lift started to descend, sending her sprawling. He jumped into the cockpit and slammed the hatch down as the Phoenix dropped beneath the level of the hangar floor. The light from above was cut off again as the doors closed over him, and there was a sensation of movement as he was brought into line with the launching tubes. The doors before him opened, and the Phoenix was spewed into space.

A few moments after the Lithe Shadow launched, a pair of station defense droids were sent in pursuit. Arouin decided not to engage them - he had enough pure speed to outrun them and he couldnīt spare the time to destroy them. He had other business to attend to. Possibly a bad idea to remain in Octavian space though, so it looked like he would have to leave his business here for later. His ship was modified; he could change his shipīs electronic and physical serial number at will, and he was ready for any nastiness The Director could pull on him in his own ship... so, time to head for Quantar space.

The Director looked over his desk at the young Lieutenant.

"Your spy was killed?"

"Err, yes sir, I.. have the report right here."

He handed over a data-wafer to The Director.

"And the electronic tracker removed as well you say?"

"Report on the same wafer sir."

"Very well."

He drummed his fingers on the desk before him.

"Well, the other trackers are still operational, arenīt they?"

"Indeed they are sir."

"Well, we have no immediate problem then. Assign another spy to him. Someone slightly more subtle than the late Mr.Iffre."

"Yes sir, very good sir"

The Lieutenant walked stiffly out of the room. The Director regarded the door he walked out of quietly for a few moments, then tapped a control set into the sleek, black desk, and the tracking screen slid out of it. He leant forward.

Quantar space, eh? Very interesting.

It took Arouin 30 minutes longer than the normal trip from Outpost station to Quantar space; he had to lie low in an asteroid field for quarter of an hour to avoid some unwanted attention from a TRI-bounty-induced manhunt for a multiple murderer. Notoriety wasnīt as good as fame, but it tended to spread faster.

Jumping into Quantar Core sector, he accelerated rapidly away from the jumpgate, turning swiftly to avoid a large rock that was right beside it. Checking the radar he could see hundreds of asteroids of all sizes and types spread throughout the sector, many of the larger asteroids with mining ships sitting beside them, leeching their mineral wealth. he surveyed the beige mass of the station as it hove into view. It really was damn ugly, spikes housing transmitters and mineral processing plants stretching out from it, asteroid impact craters spread all over it, the green Quantar factional insignia plastered here and there for good measure. And all beige; the Quantar colour of purity; the same colour robes that their infernal priests wore. The place was hell in a dogfight too... smaller opponents who had flown around the station for years loved to exploit their knowledge of it by flying fast and tight around itīs structural supports, weaving around the asteroids liberally scattered around it. And the damn greenies had even towed a īroid into position near the docking rings, so their Quantar brethren learning to dock could steady their nerves by taking a glance at the soothing big rock. Supposedly the rock showed the strength and steadfastness of the Quantar religious faith. But that rock scared the shit out of Arouin - what right minded person would stick a lethal lump of rock in the docking rings of a major space station... nutters...

After waiting for a few minutes for an Octavian cargo tow to complete itīs docking, Arouin moved the Lithe Shadow forward into the docking tube. The hatch closed behind him, blocking off the light from the stars, and a sincere voice boomed out over speakers in the airlock,

"Welcome, heathen, to Quantar Core station. Let Roh guide you through your troubled life. Take the One True God into your Soul, embrace Him as he is willing to Embrace you..."

The voice boomed on, and lights came on in the airlock as the lift started up.

That speaker, thought Arouin, is really beginning to piss me off.

Checking that the lift was filled with air, he over-rode the cockpit release, and pushed it open.

"...he will cherish you, and embrace you as the True Quantar embrace the Rock. For he knows that is not your fault that you were born a heathen, and he wants..."

Three shots rang out, reverberating off of the closed walls, and there was a whine from a ricochet. The speaker buzzed in a very broken way. Arouin sat back down in the cockpit. There was a crackle again from off to his left. He looked. There was another speaker.

"Do not forsake the Great God Roh, for He has not forsaken You. Love him with your heart..."

Arouin looked incredulously at the speaker before unleashing another four rounds, it descending into electrical hell along with itīs sibling. Arouin pulled out a clip from his inside jacket pocket, hammered it into place, and recocked the pistol. He looked to his right. Another speaker. He sat there for a moment. It crackled into life. He raised the pistol again, raising one eyebrow with it. The operator of the system evidently thought it best not to push his luck, and there was another crackle as power was cut. Arouin relaxed, holstered his pistol, and sat down.

The lift continued upwards for another twenty seconds or so, before the doors above him snapped open and the lift locked into place in the hangar floor. he swung his legs over the edge of the cockpit, closed it, then had second thoughts and opened it again. Rummaging around in his locker beside the base of the chair, he pulled out another four pistols one after another. Two went into his belt at the back, one into each inside jacket pocket. He took another handful of clips for good measure and stowed them in pockets about his person. Closing and locking the cockpit, he climbed down the ladder and made a run for the closest hangar exit as three priests converged on him from different angles, desperate to convert him to the One True Religion. Making it to the exit without too much priestly attention, he headed for the central mall. He was looking for some Chaplains.

There was a noticeable difference from the Octavian mall that made up the center of Outpost station; in a way the mall was the station. The only reason that anyone went to a station was to buy or to work. And, with the exception of the hangars, the malls were where everyone bought stuff or worked. the interior of the cavernous space was painted beige, the entrance to any shop was an arch, there were actual waste receptacles for rubbish instead of dumping it wherever you felt like. And there were Peacekeepers - security guards with a very strict view on any misdemeanor. Now... the Green Chaplains... where would he find them. He looked around the mall at the various entrances into establishments that it offered. Pick a church, any church. There were four on this level alone. Each catering to the same faith, but with a slightly different spin or emphasis on the same teachings... the four here were the Church of the Undying Rock, the Church of the Pure Soul, the Church of the Ebon Night, and the Church of the Smiting of Infidels. The Green Chaplains were Quantar factionalist hard-liners... so...

Arouin turned to the Church of the Smiting of the Infidel, and walked into the gaping maw of the entrance.

Inside there was a congregation of twenty to twenty-five people sitting on pews, facing the pulpit, where a beige-robed priest stood, reading from a chained lectern, preaching on how evil the ways of the other factions were; how they threatened to corrupt the souls of all Quantar. Arouin cleared his throat loudly, and the priest looked up at him.

The people in the pews turned, many with a glint in their eye; a glint Arouin was not too sure he liked. He felt distinctly out of place.

Arouin made eye contact with the priest.

"I need... to see... a Chaplain."

The priest relaxed, and most of the congregation turned back. The robed man at the pulpit gestured off to one side of the front row of pews.

"Through here, converted one"

Arouin bowed slightly, then, with his head down, walked past the congregation and shouldered his way through the wooden doorway that was before him.

Behind the doorway there was a small room with a desk, bookshelf, and computer terminal. The wizened man behind the terminal looked up at Arouin distastefully from behind a pair of glasses. Although laser treatment was readily available, some Quantar churches forbade their members to have any surgery unless the problem was life threatening; altering the body was dangerously close to altering the soul.

"Yes?"

"Iīm here to see a Chaplain."

"I can see that, you had to have been; otherwise you wouldnīt have made it through the church alive."

"Ah."

"First time?"

"Uh... yes. I need to speak to someone about a spy in your organization."

The old manīs brow creased into a frown.

"A spy?"

"Yes."

"Hmm... well... you had better follow me."

He stood up shakily and walked unsteadily towards the second door in the room. Arouin followed him out into a high-ceilinged corridor, where they stopped outside a wooden door. The man held a finger to his lips, then knocked three times, quietly, on the door.

"Enter, brother."

The door slid open quietly, well oiled hinges not letting out so much as a murmur. Inside there was another desk, with another, younger, bulkier man sitting behind it. he was wearing the same beige robes, but with body around, two holsters, a rifle slung over the back of the chair, and a shaved head. There were pieces of paper framed on the walls behind plexi-glass coverings, and bookshelves cluttered with a mix of religious texts and books on maintenance and use of a variety of firearms, some of which Arouin had never even heard of. And he had heard of a lot of different firearms.

"This... Octavian," the old man almost spat out, "wishes to speak with you... about a spy."

That drew his attention away from Arouinīs somewhat thuggish attire and to his face.

"A spy?"

"Indeed... Chaplain."

"You may leave us, brother Methrew."

Arouin watched the little man bow slightly, walk backward out of the office, and shut the door quietly behind him. He turned back to the man behind the desk.

"You have information on a spy?"

"Yes, yes I do. But I want payment."

"That can be arranged," said the man, smiling at him, "but money is trivial compared to faith. And you have information on one of us whose faith is somewhat... lacking. But Iīm not going to take your word for it... Iīm going to need proof."

"Okay... you deposit half a million credits into this account," Arouin passed over a small card with a number scrawled on it, "and I will then give you the name of the spy, and go to get the evidence for you. Then, when I have the evidence, you will deposit a further million credits into my account. Are these terms acceptable?"

"They seem acceptable to me; you may watch me deposit the money now."

Arouin stood, and walked around the desk to view the terminal screen. A few deft taps later, half a million credits were transferred into Arouinīs personal fund. He smiled as the man turned around to him on his swivel chair.

"The name?"

"Thorest Vippen"

"Hmmm... let me check the database." He turned back to the screen, then looked irritably over his shoulder at Arouin, "Do you mind?"

"Oh, sorry." Arouin walked back around and seated himself again.

"Yes, we have him registered, he is preaching here in Quantar Core... on the forty seventh level, G sector. Door to door conversion of heathens; he has an apartment in the same area, serial 47-G-7482-A. Well, at least part of your story is true... we do have someone under that name. And the evidence."

"Iīll be back here with it in two days time, maximum, hopefully only one."

"May the Great God Roh go with you" said the Chaplain, standing.

"Uh.. thanks I guess." Arouin, smiled, nodded, opening the door and walking out, the closing it behind him.

A spy?! In the Green Chaplains?, thought the Chaplain, If the Octavian heathen is right... it could be very dangerous, and best if the problem was... exorcised. If he was wrong... he could be.. taken care of.

The Chaplain smiled grimly to himself.

- Part XII -

Arouin walked back down the corridor, occasionally glancing toward the door he had left behind him, then pushed open the door into the small ante-chamber. The old man was there again sitting behind his desk and looking very annoyed, a massive furrow across his brow which was contorted into a scowl. He barely glanced up as Arouin passed, eyes focussed on the terminal screen before him. Arouin barely spared him a glance as he passed into the church proper, avoiding eye contact with the congregation, walking quickly and fidgeting with his large-cal pistol out of sight under his jacket.

The screen was showing a view of the interior of the office within which Arouin had talked to the Chaplain. The Chaplain looked pleadingly up at the camera.

Arouin looked around suspiciously as his left the church, wary of anyone who could be watching his movements. It wasnīt exactly common for an Octavian to walk right into a Quantar church, let alone into a Church of the Smiting of the Infidel. It was even less common for one to come out. Well, walk out. He pushed through a throng of people looking at and listening to a beige-robed figure on a wooden packing crate, blank looks on their faces as his shadow passed across them.

The old man looked furiously at the figure on the screen.

"One and a half million credits? We donīt have that sort of money to throw around!"

Now... to find a certain verdent preacher. thought Arouin to himself as he strode with seeming confidence through the middle of the mall towards the nearest grav-lift. His eyes flickered over faces in the crowd.

Who have I seen before? Who havenīt I seen before... but has seen me?

The technician summoned his superior to his monitoring console in the dimly-lit room with a swift beckoning of his hand.

"Heīs left the Church alive"

The senior officer leant over the other manīs shoulder.

"Well, so he has. Bring him in, we will want to find out what he is doing... Well... someone will."

"Very well," the technician paused for breath, switching comms channels, "this is the Rock to Pebble three seven niner. Subject Charmed is to be brought in immediately."

Arouin had picked up his shadow now. He was good, he knew his craft; but Arouin had been hunted for the past 5 years. You learnt fast as a pirate, or you stopped being one a lot faster than you anticipated. The man was thirty, perhaps thirty five, Mr. Average, as every good field agent should be. His hair was starting to grey a little, light blonde colour though, easily dyed, no amazingly obvious facial features, a reversible jacket, had a pair of shades in one pocket, and Arouin had seen him wearing glasses at least once. Turning off to one side, Arouin popped into a small shop and picked up a magazine, spending a good two or three minutes browsing the shelves. As he walked off again with the mag tucked under one shoulder, his shadow appeared about five meters behind him, and continued tailing.

"Well," said the old man, "heīll have to take two hundred thousand instead of the million. We need the proof that Vippen is a spy... and we wonīt get the proof ourselves with violence... you know as well as I do that any decent spy has at least three wayīs to suicide. This Octavian might be the only way we have of uncovering any heretics that the Chaplains are harbouring. Weīll wait it out"

Arouin was looking at his shadowīs reflection in a show window when the unobtrusive stalker put his hand to his ear, and tilted his head to one side. Then he nodded, and