Blood Feud

By Roger Ruffles

As the Red Empire of Mars collapsed into Dissolution, it was not just the corrupt and devious Houses that flourished in the sudden vacuum of power. The underworld strengthened their grip all throughout the colonised galaxy, taking advantage of the corruption of Imperial Law. Criminal gangs fighting for territory inevitably begin to cross boundaries. Some parts of the galaxy are just too small for them all to co-exist.

The vicious Vanquistadoreans are gripped in the brutal rise of the Duboise-Cartagne family. The Ndrangaizza elect their new Capobastone, their mourning for the previous incumbent about to turn violent. The Salchuzura Mara’s elusive Maraboss looks with evil eyes at a future soaked in enemy blood.

As the new nation-states of the Houses pull themselves apart in an orgy of warfare, the turf wars that rumble incessantly amongst their criminal fraternities will deepen into a much darker, crimson conflict. The Blood Feud will be declared, even whilst the faceless from the shadows seek to bring light to darkness. A feud of bigotry, ideology, position, and power has begun.

This feud can only be settled In blood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Ruffles
• Release date: Sep 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311755513

Roger Ruffles

I was born in 1980, in Cheshire.Despite that, I view myself as a Manchester lad, having spent most of my adult life in the city. I developed a keen interest in science fiction at a very early age thanks to a very popular time travel series on BBC1. This has led to a life-long interest in the genre, which continues to this day, proving that the licence fee is worth it after all. The appeal of science fiction, and fantasy, is in the escapism, the look at what could be, and the sheer imagination and suspension of belief it requires – and how despite its groundings in the far-fetched, real-life often comes to imitate the imaginings of those insane enough to love science fiction.I completed my first book at 15, and attempted but failed to get published. Looking back on it, this is probably more of a relief to those who like to read. It certainly allowed me to do more boring things, such as work, first in banking as an office junior, then in utilities in procurement, then manufacturing and latterly construction in commercial roles. It's more logical than it sounds written down.Writing is and always will be a hobby first and foremost, a love and a way to express. An escape from reality, whilst holding a mirror up to all that is good and bad in the world. I hope you enjoy reading my books, almost as much as I enjoyed writing them!

Book preview

AGE OF SECESSION : BLOOD MONEY TRILOGY PART II

BLOOD FEUD

Life has its ups and downs,

Its momentous peaks and abyss-like troughs,

So persevere in the truly bad and celebrate the joyous good,

Remembering all the while that the journey proves at least you have life.

AGE OF SECESSION : BLOOD MONEY TRILOGY PART II

BLOOD FEUD

Third Edition

Published in Great Britain by Roger Ruffles, February 2018

www.ageofsecession.com

Copyright © Roger Ruffles, 2014

Front cover artwork on license courtesy of dreamstime

Front cover design © Roger Ruffles, 2016

First published by Roger Ruffles, September 2015, Smashwords Edition

The right of Roger Ruffles to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This ebook is subject to the Laws of England and Wales.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the author and publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Also By The Same Author

Age of Secession: Vindicator Trilogy

#1 : Dissolution

#2 : Rosicrux

#3 Shadow

#4 Vindicator – Full Trilogy

Age of Secession: Blood Money Trilogy

#1: Crying Moon

#2 : Blood Feud

#3: Cost of the Hunt

#4: Blood Money – Full Trilogy

Age of Secession: Ascent of Mars Trilogy

#1 : Oncoming Storm

#2 : Darkness of Mars

#3: Rise of the Diadochi

#4: Ascent of Mars – Full Trilogy

Age of Secession: Standalone books:

The Unchained

Out Early 2018:

Pay Dirt: Dishonest Intentions

Coming 2018/2019:

Augmented Genocide

The Lost Kindred

Adare’s Legacy: Kingdom of Blood

Collective Misdirection

www.ageofsecession.com

+++ Jacking Into Datasphere +++

+++ Datasphere Connection Confirmed +++

+++Incoming Transmission +++

JOINING THE AGE OF SECESSION

If you want

early access to new eBooks months ahead of official releases

Special offers and exclusive competitions

Direct communication with the author and creator of the series

Then send an email requesting to join the age of secession to: [e-mail]

or go to www.ageofsecession.com and register your details there.

Your details will NOT be passed to any third party,

and you have the right for deletion of those details at any time.

+++ Transmission Ends +++

Chapter I

The snowflakes were falling fast and heavy on the gigantic city of Brindisila Four Megapolis, a vast conurbation which covered over forty percent of the temperate northern hemisphere of Brindisila Four. It was the capital city of the Brindisi System, and the winter season had arrived. The snowflakes hissed and burnt as they hit the energy lattice acting as the weather shield, protecting the people out in the open down below.

The child stood at the edge of the travellator built into the footwalk, staring up and laughing gleefully at the white snow as it burnt and vaporised on the energy lattice. He held out both hands, as if wishing that some of the snow would impossibly fall through the squares of the highly energised grid some twenty metres above the crowd’s heads.

Alessandro! his mother laughed, grabbing one of his arms and then lifting the two year-old up onto her hips. He laughed as he swung up. Come on, boy, we’ve still got a lot to do.

The man at her side gave her a dark look, much to their bodyguards’ amusement. The heavies of his camorra knew that the Vangelista of the Dushku Camorra, Samvel Dushku himself, hated these types of shopping trips. His wife, Maria Bruno-Dushku, was the only person besides the Capobastone of the entire Ndrangaizza criminal organisation, which could order the hot-headed Samvel Dushku around.

How much longer is this going to take? whined the fifteen year-old Davide Dushku, an honourboy following in his father’s footsteps. One day he would grow to inherit the Dushku Camorra, after his father and mother. I’m fucking bored.

Language! his father snapped. Set an example for your brothers. My honourmen do not swear, and if you want to be one you will act like one.

Yes, papa, said Davide Dushku, waiting until his father had turned away before he hit Francesco Dushku, his other brother, around the head. Davide smirked as it wiped the smile off his brother’s face, and the heavies around them laughed.

They moved onto the travellator, beginning the journey to their next stop. It was a large party, and it was attracting a certain amount of fearful attention as it progressed through the rich, upper-class shopping district of the city. Some twenty bodyguards surrounded the crime family, themselves a mix of honourmen and honourwomen from the extended family tree, and the piccio ground-soldiers of the Camorra.

Vangelista Samvel Dushku stared at the adverts around them. The holographic advertisements were beamed directly into his eyes and brain by numerous projectors, all keyed to his personal tastes. As a borgite, he used his cybernetic brain augmentation to pay them only a small percentage of his attention.

The Vangelista was the head of the crime family which controlled most of the organised crime within the Brindisi System. He was the head of several Camorras, or families, not just his own, but the Dushku Camorra was the principal family in charge of all of them. The people in this city knew who he was, and that he was untouchable as yet, and that made them very afraid.

This part of the city was usually only peopled by the Alpha and Beta-classes of the Calamarite Confederacy. They were the only ones allowed to be married, and strictly speaking Samvel’s marriage to Maria was illegal as they were both Delta Class. No-one ever challenged it though. All members of the massive Ndrangaizza crime organisation married; it was expected and part of their tradition.

There’s the Enforcer Marshal, said Maria Bruno-Dushku, nodding with her head.

Smile and wave, dearest, said Samvel Dushku, laughing.

On the far side of the street, the Enforcer Marshal, commander of all Enforcers in the system, went red as he saw the Camorra laughing at him. There was little he could do about their less legal activities without proof though, and the Dushku family were far too clever to give that to him.

They reached their destination, the crowd parting as the Camorra group left the travellator and moved back onto the footwalk. They had a wide area to themselves, the long black or grey trench coats over the distinctive suits of the bodyguards marking them out as Ndrangaizza.

Francesco Dushku looked up at the energy lattice above their heads. How strange, he said, analysing it with his augmented eyes, the weathershield is over-charging. The snow flakes were burning harder and faster as the force field began to burn with too much power.

It’ll be a temporary surge, said Maria Bruno-Dushku.

Come on, let’s get into the shop ….. The Vangelista Samvel Dushku’s voice trailed off, and he swore, Cazzo! What is the meaning of this!

All the holographic adverts beaming into his eyes and mind had changed. They had become the same, and it was very eerie. Each one was now a simple symbol, a twisted tri-headed snake, with the gothic and bold letters of ‘SM’ written above it, and underneath the full legend of ‘Salchuzura Mara’.

The holographic adverts had changed for all of the Camorra, the rest of the family and the bodyguards all receiving the same image. Salchuzura Mara! roared one of the bodyguards, an honourman who was also a brother to Samvel Dushku.

Instantly the Camorra were reacting, pulling weapons from underneath their trench coats. There was a wide variety of guns on display, personal energy shields activating. Samvel, Maria and Davide had all drawn their handguns, and stood protectively around the younger Francesco and Alessandro.

said one of the honourmen.

asked a piccio.

Samvel demanded.

It was at that point that Alessandro, scared and frightened, screamed and pointed upwards at the energy lattice. Look! the child screamed.

The energy lattice was burning with so much energy it was lethal, heat pouring down on the crime gang below. With a series of co-ordinated explosions, the bombs went off and severed the energy lattice’s moorings. The entire section fell down, energy still flowing through it, and the Camorra screamed as it descended.

The small squares burnt and cut through the entire family and their bodyguard, the lines cutting and dicing them where they stood. The blood and mish-mash of organs washed all over the footwalk, the energy lattice finally dying itself as the power failed.

As the Enforcers rushed to the scene, the image of the Salchuzura Mara clan flashed through the advertisement holoprojectors to everybody in the vicinity. There could be no doubt who had done this.

The noise within the zeroball stadium was immense, the crowd chanting, thumping, and roaring. The four different teams had tens of thousands of supporters apiece, and they were all competing with one another to shout down the other three. It was the end of the first quarter, and only seconds away from the start of the second.

The zeroball stadium was spherical, with seating all around the inner shell. At the top and bottom were the private stands, for the important, the rich and wealthy. Inside one of them, Camorrista Matteo Esposito, head of the Esposito Camorra of the Ndrangaizza, sneered as he stared down at the field of play below.

What is taking so long? he sounded disgusted.

Papa, said his eldest daughter, Sofia Esposito, honourwoman of the Camorra, patience. The deal is being decided today, he just wants to make you sweat.

The lights began to cycle in the stadium, and then suddenly went into half-light as the horn resounded throughout the sphere. The teams began to rush at one another as the two balls were ejected in random directions, the players more concerned with meting out punishment to each other than with obtaining the point-scoring objects.

The zeroball stadium in the Podgorica System was newly built, and it was largely labour and technology controlled by the Esposito Camorra that had built it. International zeroball was finally beginning to return after the dissolution of the Red Empire of Mars, and although this was a Calamarite Confederacy internal match, in the next few months there would be international games again. Matteo Esposito wanted the broadcast rights, favourable advertising, and a cut of everything else from hot dog sellers to security to space coaches. Some of that would be protection money, some of it extortion, and some of it legally earned. Like many Ndrangaizza families, their business was both legal and illegal.

Wake me up when it’s over, he said.

Papa, I can’t believe you don’t like this game, Sofia scalded.

I’d rather shoot myself in the head, he muttered. His interest in it was only financial. He went back to reading his data-download. The headline attracting his attention was the announcement of a major event occurring on the Frontier of colonised space, where the OutWorlds Alliance aggression had suddenly been turned back by strange, alien-like ships. The ships had StarCom markings, and the colonised galaxy was awash with conjecture about what this could mean. It was just not possible for the Commies to get such a large group of fleets more than half-way across the colonised galaxy, but then, the OutWorlds Alliance had burned billions of their people in the Tears Incident. Perhaps President Pereyra wanted her revenge on the First Lord.

one of his bodyguard interrupted.

A message? He’s supposed to be here! snapped Camorrista Esposito.

He turned away from the view of the stadium, whirling his luxurious suspensor-seat around. A holographic image of the stadium owner appeared before him.

What’s the meaning of this? Matteo snapped. You’d better not be jerking me around, testi di cazzo, or I’ll have your head.

Camorrista, said the stadium owner, I was going to come in person, but two things stopped me from doing that.

What two things?

The first is that we of the Calamarite Confederacy Zeroball Association officially reject your business proposal, or threat of extortion, whatever you would like to call it.

Matteo Esposito paled. In an attempt to forestall the explosion, his daughter Sofia said, in a quiet tone, and what’s the second reason?

The second reason is about to walk through your door. Let’s just say they made me a better offer than yours, said the stadium owner. The communication abruptly ended.

What in the name of the Emperor is that frikker playing at? Matteo Esposito swore.

The doors to the private stand cycled open, the bodyguards whirling around and raising their weaponry. The people coming through the door already had their guns up, and laser-fire began to stitch around the stand.

Matteo had taken several hits to the chest, but still managed to shoot one of the incoming gang-members through the head with his legendary accuracy, before a projectile weapon’s shell blew half his face away. He collapsed on top of the dying form of his daughter, Sofia.

In the sudden silence after the burst of gunfire, the gang ensured that each was dead with execution shots to finish the Esposito Camorra Ndrangaizza gang-members off. Then they departed, as quickly as they had arrived.

Out in the stadium, the holographic images of a crab, with the gothic letters of ‘SM’ above and ‘Salchuzura Mara’ underneath appeared everywhere.

It was part of the four-month long night cycle, on the slowly rotating planet of Cerigg Primus, on the outer reaches of the Cerignola System. There were no false daytimes provided here as there were on other planets, instead the inhabitants being genetically altered to be able to survive in such a climate. The low gravity and low oxygen levels were another hindrance, which the bioartificers had biologically moulded their human population around.

The aircar slowed down and pulled up outside the non-descript building, deep in the commercial district. The region, so close to the Primusmega Starport in the city of Primusmega, was overflowing with industrial buildings.

The aircars doors opened, and the Adjudicator in full armour exited. The Adjudicator stomped forwards, up the steps at the foot of the warehouse, the two enforcers on duty outside giving the Imperial Salute at her approach.

The Enforcer Captain is inside, Adjudicator Supreme, said the Journey Enforcer on duty. He had his helmet on, but the vocaliser did not disguise how shaken he was.

Thank you, Journey, said the Adjudicator Supreme Arjeta Hoxha, kindly. She carried on to the inside foyer of the warehouse, the gloom internally as comparable to the eternal night outside. Her genetically altered eyes compensated without problem.

Enforcer Captain, said the Adjudicator, striding up to Domingo Greco, You are in command?

It’s within my precinct, Adjudicator, said the Enforcer Captain. He had removed his armoured suit’s helmet, his hair plastered to his scalp by sweat. He looked extremely anxious. Adjudicator Supreme Hoxha found that suspicious, but did not show it.

Captain Greco, said Adjudicator Hoxha, show me the scene.

This way, ma’am, Enforcer Captain Greco said, leading her through the force field restrictors and on into the inside of the warehouse.

The first bodies were in the doorway, two of them. They had been badly hacked apart, by some form of close fighting weaponry like a cleaver or shortsword. They were tranquilised by darts, said Enforcer Captain Greco, so it was a bit unnecessary, killing them. It was just pure vindictiveness.

The report says everything about this is vindictive, said Adjudicator Hoxha. Not a single person in the building was left alive.

That’s correct, Adjudicator.

They crossed through the warehouse, which had corridors and aisles created artificially between movable shelving units. They emerged into a clear space, and the Adjudicator Supreme took in the scene.

It was horrific, and she had seen some murder scenes in her time. She knew from the reports that there were forty-seven bodies within the warehouse, and thirty-four of them lay in the centrally cleared area. Several of the Camorras of the Ndrangaizza had been assembled here, from numerous systems beyond just the Cerignola System.

Several rotary cannons had been used, and there were even reports of battledroids being spotted. Heavy-duty military grade weaponry had been employed here, making this no ordinary hit. What were so many Camorra’s doing here, do you think, Captain Greco? she asked neutrally.

No idea, Adjudicator, said Greco, swallowing before adding, but I guess they were having one of their meetings.

You know they were having a family meeting, she thought. She would investigate this Enforcer Captain further. Isn’t this the Santista Cesare Columbo? she asked. He had been crucified, tortured as he had been killed.

Yes, Adjudicator, said Captain Greco, adding unnecessarily, The Santista Columbo headed the Columbo Camorra, biggest and most powerful in the region. His death will send shockwaves throughout the Ndrangaizza.

Within the complicated multi-familial structure of the Ndrangaizza, there were only a few people higher in the rankings than a Santista. A Santista would have several Camorristas, the head of the smallest possible Camorra family unit, under his or her command, and would report in to a Vangelista. Santista Cesare Columbo was unusual in that he wielded more power than some of the Vangelistas elsewhere within the Calamarite Confederacy and beyond, and more than that was a respected and well-regarded member that even the five Quintino’s were rumoured to listen to. Even his two bouts of prison time had only added to his legend.

The Adjudicator Supreme looked up, above the bloody murder scene to where a holographic projection was slowly revolving. It showed a golden bird, arising into flight, with the gothic letters ‘SM’ above and ‘Salchuzura Mara’ written underneath.

At least there’s no doubt about who bumped the Santista and his families off, said the Adjudicator Supreme, drily. It looks like the Salchuzura Mara want a piece of the Ndrangaizza. It’s a bad sign if one Mara clan is attacking this many Ndrang families. You know what it means? she asked.

War, said Enforcer Captain Greco.

It’s worse than just a simple Turf War, Adjudicator Supreme Hoxha corrected. It means Blood Feud, Captain. This is a full-on Blood Feud starting here.

said her operations officer.

the communications crewman said.

Camorrista Dafina Kastrati was young, but she headed the Kastrati Camorra of the Ndrangaizza. The Termoli System was inhabited, but not densely, and by no means was it of enough importance to warrant a full Ndrangaizza presence. Nevertheless several Ndrangaizza families visited regularly, the Kastrati Camorra being just one of those.

She piloted a tanker, which carried the Amerimax which was both mined and mixed together within the Termoli System. The Calamarite Confederacy viewed this system as far too important to let its control fall to the biggest organised crime gang within their territory, so the Ndrangaizza were reduced to influencing and controlling the shipping. Even just small quantities of Amerimax solids, which themselves were made from the liquid transported aboard the tankers, could power the food needs of entire worlds for days, moleculised into any foodstuff imaginable.

Camorra Kastrati had five tankers under its control, and all five were here in the Termoli System. All five were currently docked into the tankerstation, which was so old it even bore the original Amerimax Corporation logos faded on its hull.

said the Camorrista Captain Kastrati.

Dafina Kastrati leaned back in her chair, keying into the holographic viewers across the datasphere so she could watch them set off from the station. The Tanker Oxen Train had been in her family for generations, and this little trip would earn them a sizeable cut from the people they were supposedly delivering it on behalf of. It was not money they wanted to pay, but pay they would.

She was watching as the docking clamps disengaged, and it all went wrong.

As the clamps let go, the mated seals began to explode violently. The detonations were nuclear, and whilst the tanker was so heavily armoured that it could withstand such explosions, when mated with bulkheads open the blasts could travel inside the Oxen Train. The nuclear explosions, sabotage Dafina Kastrati realised in an instant, ripped through her tanker and ignited the Amerimax in its holds.

The volatile liquid turned the Oxen Train into a vast fireball.

It was worse than just that, though. The nuclear blasts travelled the other way, into the tankerstation. It ripped through several tanks, blowing huge chunks out of the station. The chain of detonations passed on, and began to rip into the other tankers moored to the space station. The saboteurs had ensured that certain fail safes had been compromised, and the other tankers belonging to the Kastrati Camorra were also destroyed.

The Calamarite Confederacy warships were reacting, coming closer as they looked for any sign of attack. It took vital time for it to be confirmed that it was sabotage, not an external attack. The Calamarite Confederacy was at war with the Benedict Democracy, although they were too far away for the Termoli System to be truly a threat, but inevitably the incorrect assumption that the Democracy were to blame was a natural one.

The nature of the attackers was revealed in the communication that began to flow out across the entire system. It was a holo-pictorial, a symbol of a double-headed rhinoceros with the archaic lettering of ‘SM’ above and ‘Salchuzura Mara’ below.

Capobastone Francesco Ferrari was incensed.

He had called for the five Quintino bosses to each confirm to him the disastrous reports he was reading from the Ndrangaizza Camorras. The Quintino’s had stopped what they were doing immediately, and had informed him of the woeful facts. He had asked their opinions, and received them.

The Salchuzura Mara clans were engaged in a massacre of the Ndrangaizza out there, in the wider colonised galaxy. There had been no real warning, nothing out of the ordinary. There had been some simmering turf wars between small Ndrangaizza Camorras and Salchuzura Mara clans where the two imposing organised criminal gangs had been operating, but that was normal and to be expected.

This was something else. In the space of less than twenty-four Imperial Standard hours, a number of Ndrangaizza families had been completely eliminated. Many more had been so grievously wounded they would not recover for generations. It was a disaster from the point of view of the Ndrangaizza; the Salchuzura Mara clans had acted in unison and with deadly effectiveness.

The Capobastone already had a call from the Calamarite Confederacy Enforcer Marshal waiting for him, which he was ignoring. Of course the authorities had noticed what was happening, there had been some collateral damage in some instances. The Enforcer Marshal could go to the Emperor’s own hell.

Capobastone Francesco Ferrari slammed the data-pads down on his desk, and even slapped his hand against its surface as he stalked away to the moleculiser. He swore under his breath, ignoring the synthesising moleculiser machine as he retrieved the real Old Earth whiskey from a cabinet at its side.

The Capobastone was the head of the Ndrangaizza. Ndrang politics was difficult at best, and the families listened to their leaders more than followed their orders. Capobastone Ferrari ruled by respect and fear. That respect and fear would be suffering thanks to the Salchuzura Mara. It was a direct threat to him, he felt.

He poured a generous measure into the glass, vapour rising from the ice cubes as the amber liquid swirled over them.

The Ndrangaizza had been hit hardest outside the Calamarite Confederacy, where their interests directly conflicted with the Mara. The Ndrangaizza operated all throughout the eastern Mid-Sectors. The strikes within the Calamarite Confederacy, the long-term home of the Ndrangaizza was the most shocking thing about it all though. It was like coming home to find the man who burgled your office in bed with your wife as well, Ferrari thought.

His office, at the top of the gigantic tower owned by the Ferrari family, looked out over the entire Kerkira System. Kerkira was important to the Calamarite Confederacy, one of its prime systems, and a major contributor to the economy. The Ferrari business owned many legitimate companies, as well as engaging in its less honourable dealings. The real dirty work was carried out by the lesser Camorras of course. It would never do for the name of Ferrari to be tarnished, even though rumours washed around all of Kerkira and probably even Calamar itself. Ferrari owned a significant proportion of the military factories, as well as having a high percentage of the aircar market.

There had been no formal declaration, but then there rarely was. The Ndrangaizza had suffered under the opening salvo of a massive blood feud, instigated by the Salchuzura Mara. Well, said Francesco Ferrari, I didn’t start this fucking blood feud, but I’ll damn well finish it.

He raised the glass to his lips, and took a deep swig.

The disruptor beam was in the first wave, and bit through the force fields protecting the office of the Capobastone. The laser beam shortly after it punctured the blast shields which reacted quickly, snapping into place over the metaglass windows. The pointed jacket on the projectile bullet pierced the metaglass window itself, shredding and allowing the inner bullet to continue on.

The hollow point inside the projectile bullet smashed through the glass, exploding as it entered Francesco Ferrari’s mouth. The premature detonation did not matter, as the scatter effect was still devastating. It blew his brains out of the back of his head.

Many kilometres away, the Faceless Assassin stood, quickly pulling his special rifle apart and locking it into the self-detonating suitcase. He would be long gone before the Ferrari Camorra tracked him here, his cybernetic biomorphic body already beginning to snap and break as it remoulded him into an elderly, bent-backed semi-permanent female resident of the hotel.

He had performed the hit in the name of the Salchuzura Mara. At this very moment, the skies above would be showing the symbol of a stylised, behorned red devil, the Salchuzura Mara lettering above and below. The Devil Clan were amongst the most famous of all the Salchuzura Mara clans. It was the Devil Clan that was one of the ruling clans of the Salchuzura Mara, inasmuch as these things could be certain.

A cross-galactic Blood Feud had indeed been declared by the Salchuzura Mara.

*

Special Agent Samuel Yanto no longer deserved the title ‘Special Agent’, he thought, as he walked through the living city. Special Agent Samuel Yanto had once been a member of the Imperial Intelligence of the True and the False Emperor, and he had also started working for what would eventually become the StarCom Federation’s Central Intelligence Department. He had betrayed them both though, and now he worked for himself.

Well, he thought, he worked for Mason Duboise and Karina Cartagne, but that was just for them and nobody else. He did not serve a House Lord or Lady, or a President or an Emperor anymore. He served people he counted as friends, and most importantly, he served himself.

he warned across their shared datasphere.

Samuel Yanto found this living city strange. The floor underneath was as hard as metacrete, but in reality it was a super-strong bone structure. The cavernous walls were in reality the inside of the gigantic, behemoth creature-city. The air was recycled from its lungs. The regular tremors were the footfalls as it walked. Buildings of more normal construction material had been set up within its insides, with illumination strips on the ceiling. The city was built on many levels. The creature was enormous.

The Unified Houses of Tenanbaum were indeed a very strange part of the colonised galaxy. It was no wonder both the True and False Emperors had conducted a series of campaigns and pogroms against the constituent Houses of the UH-Ten, those that had existed in the centuries before the Dissolution had taken effect. Humanists had never been liked by the Red Empire, and the use of alien life forms was against Imperial Law. This planet, Nantucket, within the Alaska System, was just one of the many weird and wonderful places within the predominately humanist nation.

He approached the door of what he would charitably describe as an extended hut. The entire architecture was anathema to Imperial structural design, yet another reason why this galactic northern section of the Boundary was never seen to be as particularly Red Imperial.

He knew what to do, having fully read the briefing material Mason Duboise had provided beforehand. He raised his hand and knocked.

A droid appeared out a small cubbyhole. We are closed for business, said the droid. Please come back in two days’ time.

It is urgent, said Samuel Yanto, the codeword is; Pride of Perepolous. He wondered at that phrase, as the Dictator Perepolous had faced the True Emperor’s father. Perepolous had also come from this region of space.

The small spherical droid buzzed and hummed, being an old design. Then suddenly there was the sound of numerous locks and mechanical bars being undone. You may enter. What is your name?

Samuel Yanto gave his cover story name, and waited for the unlocking process to be done. Although the door looked unsturdy, there were force fields around it and automated weaponry systems in the hall way beyond, and the locks and physical bars were far stronger than was normal. The bioartificer who lived here had much more money and far greater resources than he let on.

Yanto said. He walked confidently into the hallway, as if nothing had been said on the private opsnet.

He walked through the hallway, the plans giving him the knowledge of where to go. He entered the main reception lounge, and stood there in the centre of the room, waiting. His own implants were already attacking the defences within the room, quietly and unobtrusively. At his command the hidden automated weaponry systems would be deactivated.

A gentleman entered the room. He was ancient, many centuries old, and the rejuvenation treatment was not working. He was bent over, and outwardly he looked unaugmented. Yanto knew that was not true. This man had better implants than some House Lords. That he had hidden for so long in a strongly humanist nation was just another surprise.

A hand covered with liver spots trembled on top of the cane, as two suspicious eyes bored into Yanto like lasers. Who are you? the man said, I don’t recognise you, but I know that wasn’t your real name. Why did they send you, after all this time? Whatever they want, I won’t do it.

Yanto was scanning the man. His identity was confirmed. You are Professor Earl Arnheburger, the bioartificer, experimental researcher and revered scientist. And war criminal, said Yanto.

One man’s war criminal is another man’s hero, said the man. The Emperors didn’t like me, but I outlasted them didn’t I? he cackled. I’m Earl. Who are you, boy?

Someone who works for someone who wants your help, hero, said Samuel Yanto, activating his implants. he ordered on the opsnet, even as the defences in the room were deactivating. Yanto moved with cybernetic borgite speed, stepping within the personal shield of the man before it could activate and slapping the sedative hypojector pads either side of his neck. Yanto’s personal armour deflected the laser shot from the man’s droid-cane as it tried to eviscerate his stomach.

As Earl Arnheburger