Cost of the Hunt

By Roger Ruffles

A bounty hunter with a long, deep past interwoven with that of the Red Empire of Mars and its many challengers dares to dream that he can have his birth-right after centuries of denial. He accepts the contract, and will lead the hunt, looking for something only he could ever find. His payment will be the return of some of what the True Emperor took from him.

A Faceless Assassin wishes to bring an end to the person it blames for its very existence, but it needs help. It has prepared, and in its own personal hunt for vengeance, salvation and saviour, no cost or price will be too high to pay.

The would-be Third Emperor of Mars turns his paranoid, power-hungry eyes to new lands, and sets in motion the plans to achieve his goal of bringing the Empire of Mars one step closer to reality. He hunts for power, control, and dominion of all.

The Hunt is beginning, and in many senses it began over two hundred years ago.

Are they ready to pay the cost of the hunt?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Ruffles
• Release date: Nov 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311749994

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 III

COST OF THE HUNT

For Jake Darby

AGE OF SECESSION : BLOOD MONEY TRILOGY PART III

COST OF THE HUNT

Third Edition

Published in Great Britain by Roger Ruffles, February 2018

www.ageofsecession.com

Copyright © Roger Ruffles, 2015

Front cover artwork on license courtesy of dreamstime

Front cover design © Roger Ruffles, 2016

First published by Roger Ruffles, November 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

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#1 : Dissolution

#2 : Rosicrux

#3 Shadow

#4 Vindicator – Full Trilogy

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#1: Crying Moon

#2 : Blood Feud

#3: Cost of the Hunt

#4: Blood Money – Full Trilogy

Age of Secession: Ascent of Mars Trilogy

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#2 : Darkness of Mars

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#4: Ascent of Mars – Full Trilogy

Age of Secession: Standalone books:

The Unchained

Out Early 2018:

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Coming 2018/2019:

Augmented Genocide

The Lost Kindred

Adare’s Legacy: Kingdom of Blood

Collective Misdirection

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Prologue

He awoke in the darkness, sweating and panting heavily. He swung his pale-skinned legs off the bed, feet touching the decking of the starship, leaning forward and placing his red eyes into his hands. The albino’s fingers ran through his sweaty, ghost-white hair. His heart rate was thumping, and his blood sang with anger and fear in equal measure.

To those that knew him, such a reaction to a nightmare would have been surprising. It was a very particular nightmare though, of a time nearly two centuries past, when he had been on the verge of becoming an adult. It was a time of when everything had changed for Karl Logan, and he had seen things he did not want to remember but was always cursed to never forget.

It was of the day the man who was to become referred to in history as the True Emperor – back then, known only as the Red Emperor of Mars – took Karl Logan from his family.

201 Years Ago

Dawning of the Age of the Red Empire of Mars

King Manfred Logan looked up at the night sky, knowing he was seeing the end of everything. Gigantic star-faring ships of war could be seen casting their tracks above and through the atmosphere of his home planet, firing out of sequence with each other at the ground below so that the barrage was constant. The incessant missiles and torpedoes streaked down in a tumult, and a multitude of massive lasers jabbed instant beams into targets that were for the most part unseen.

His teary eyes tracked down, following the rain of death and devastation. His home planet was aflame, billions dead. The hated enemy of the Red Empire had not used their viral bombs, planet-crackers, seismic charges or other weapons of planetary destruction. The Red Emperor of oh-so distant Mars wanted this planet taken and bent to his will, although not unscarred from their defiance.

We cannot take much more of this, he said, his hands upon the battlements of Loga Palace. The powerful shield generators were protecting his palace from the direct strikes they were receiving, as they could not protect his people. The energy field of the shields constantly flared with torpedo and turbolaser hits, casting the palace in an angry, reddy-orange glow that mocked the King in its mimicry of the colours of his conqueror-to-be.

No, my King, said his trusted advisor and Chancellor, Hanse Borhaffe.

King Manfred Logan turned away from the battlements, turning his back on the destruction of his people. Have the last of the refugee fleets made it beyond the borders of colonised space? he asked. His kingdom was the last before the Frontier of colonised space was crossed, with only uncolonised solar systems resting beyond, untouched by human hand or machine.

Yes, said the Chancellor Hanse Borhaffe.

Then they are safe from the Red Emperor, said the King Manfred Logan.

Yes, lied the Chancellor.

King Manfred Logan turned to stare out across his burning planet once more. His was the very last area of space yet to fall to the Red Emperor and his Red Empire. The King had forced the final fight around his home planet and home system of Apostolov, named for the woman who had founded the colony here in a time before. It had been a free colony and area of space, and it was the last the Red Emperor had seen fit to take to complete the absolute supremacy of his Red Empire of Mars. They were the last region of space in the entire colonised galaxy to defy his rule. Only twice before had mankind been united under one ruler.

Then signal the Red Emperor, and tell him we surrender, said King Manfred, quietly sounding one of the most momentous events in human history.

The planet was silent, after so long of being under constant assault.

The King stood in the Loga Palace courtyard, snow beginning to fall. It had only started since the surrender had been sent, as if some god recognised the end of the hostilities. The snow was coating everything in white, although beyond the palace it was tinged and corrupted with the red of blood.

With the acceptance of their surrender they had been instructed to jack their interstellar data network into the Imperial-controlled Star Communications Network. This StarCom was heralding the Red Emperor’s complete annexation of the last realm of colonised space He did not control, but even as the King Logan looked at the network with his minds-eye, this datasphere as the Imperials called it, the feed changed to show live images from Apostolov. The images showed the Loga Palace, and the personal barge of the Red Emperor as it descended down towards the courtyard.

The Red Emperor did not usually descend to the planets he had conquered, but this was a special occasion. He reigned victorious over the entire colonised galaxy.

King Manfred Logan looked up, at the ornate and heavily armoured barge descending through the clouds. He felt sick to the very core of his stomach, watching his nemesis landing victorious in his very own palace.

He looked away, but there was no respite. As he stared around the grounds of this courtyard, he saw the strangely armoured Praetorian Guard of the Red Emperor, in their technologically superior battle-suits of armour and weaponry forged from the know-how of many other conquered systems. His nation had always been out-classed, but he had fought so at least some of his people could escape. It was the only reason he had fought, and not surrendered like so many others had before the overwhelming might of the Red Imperium.

The barge touched down, its thrusters cutting out with a finality that brought the end of their freedom. The ramps opened, like the maw of a mouth intending to swallow them whole. The procession began, the booted feet of the Praetorian Guard inside marching in perfect precision down the ramp. It took some time for the floating throne to emerge, but when it did, it brought the Red Emperor Himself into the light of the last world to fall to His name.

He wore red battle-armour, as if He Himself had fought in the subjugation of this world. It shone pristinely in the light, the snow melting before it ever touched it. The Emperor was a giant of a man, his face recognisable instantly with its square jaw, handsome features and soul-searing eyes. He wore a helm of some description, which encased his entire head, a black-plumed crest with a long tail that was draped over his floating throne behind it.

The throne stopped at the foot of the ramp, and He spoke in a throaty voice of horrifying deepness.

Approach, he demanded. And kneel before the Emperor of the Colonised Galaxy.

The Red Emperor, who would one day centuries from now be known as the True Emperor, watched the King of this last region of space to defy Him approach his throne. Behind the King Logan walked those of his family on-planet or still alive, an impressively large family of sons and daughters, uncles, aunts and cousins to every generation of the family Logan, easily numbering over a hundred. Many more had died in His conquering invasion, and some He knew thought they had escaped beyond the Frontier.

The Red Emperor saw that the Chancellor Hanse Borhaffe walked next to his King. Hanse Borhaffe had seen how the war was going, and realised it was pointless to struggle against the might of the Red Imperium. So he had betrayed his King. Even now, the refugee fleets that had scrambled beyond the Frontier of colonised space were being hunted down, bringing to an end the whole purpose for this pointless resistance to His might.

The Red Emperor’s victory would prove to be total, and absolute.

As the defeated family approached his throne, he suddenly received a message across the datasphere that he reserved for his own, closest advisors and trusted servants.

the hail began, from one of his scientists.

The Red Emperor began to laugh, booming and loud, and to the watching galaxy and people throughout the future history it would appear as if he delighted in the completion of his Empire. The truth was that he also celebrated the end of not just one but two of his own private, personal quests.

After the Red Emperor’s speech to the watching colonised galaxy, King Manfred Logan was forced to give the Imperial Salute, right fist thumping into his left breast before extending outwards, palm open. The salute was the point where his defeat and his shame was hammered into his core, and what little scrap of defiance remained was finally broken.

The floating droid-cameras capturing the scene for history stopped recording, the holojectors and holoretta screens all around fading into nothingness, winking out of existence. Then he and the Red Emperor spoke of Manfred’s defiance, and what the Red Emperor was willing to offer him.

The Red Emperor was far from stupid. He maintained his grip on the stars mankind had colonised by knowing when to crack the whip, and when to offer salvation. He told Manfred Logan he would no longer be known as King, but as Lord, and that his family would be given alpha-class social status in his Empire. House Logan could rule a much smaller collection of star systems as one of the Houses of the Red Imperium.

The price was the induction of Logan’s landholding, as it was now to be known, into the Empire. The Red Empire of Mars would impose its organs of state, its structures and its culture on top of his own, worming its way into the society over time. There was an alternative of course; complete annihilation, every planet and every star destroyed, reduced to nothingness, with all life exterminated.

Manfred Logan chose life, and he hated the Emperor for it.

It was at this point in the dictation that the Red Emperor laughed, and Logan thought to himself as he stared at the Emperor with heavily masked hatred, do you know what I am thinking?

To which the Emperor stopped laughing, and stared directly into his eyes. Yes, the words arrived in his mind, in the unforgettable voice of the Red Emperor, arriving like the words of a God. Yes, I do. Never forget it.

Terrified beyond imagining, the former King Manfred Logan could say nothing.

The Red Emperor finished his instructions. Although his Praetorian Guard would not remain on the planet, as they were the elite of the elite, other starships would bring his administrators and his adjudicators, and the standard soldiers of his fiercely loyal Houses. They would watch over the subjugation and submission of House Logan. The Red Eagle standard was firmly planted in this planet.

I now depart, and by Imperial Edict the House of Logan is established, said the Red Emperor. The pause was as laden with menace as it was with intent. There is one final demand of you, House Lord Logan.

Anything, my Emperor, he said, bowing again, his stomach churning with bile.

I demand only one form of tribute from you, said the Red Emperor. It is a thing you will give willingly. Here the Red Emperor was later to be found to be mistaken, not that any would ever dare point it out, as he would come to demand more and more such tributes from the expansive family of Logan.

Anything you wish, without doubt, my Emperor, Manfred Logan bowed again.

It is not something you will want to give, but you will, said the Red Emperor, raising an impossibly large hand, finger extended, pointing directly towards the thing he wanted, that he had burned planets and solar systems searching for. He will come to no harm, but his genetics and his abilities are something I have been searching for, for decades. He will serve his Empire in the most unimaginable way. I want your eldest surviving son.

The Red Emperor pointed his finger directly at the young Karl Logan.

Chapter I

Present-Day

The Age of Secession

The Sovereign Hanse Borhaffe was old, approaching four centuries of life, far beyond the norm. His dependence on drugs, cybernetics and other technology was absolute, and it wearied him. Only his iron conviction not to surrender to the ravages of time was keeping him alive, even though he was almost completely made of machinery. He was almost more robot than human now, closer to the Droid Intelligentia than a borg.

Powered by legs that were completely machine, he stalked out of the chamber he used as his resting place. It was not a bed, but more a bio-vat that replenished the few fleshy parts of him that were left. A special shower cleansed the fluid of the tank away from him, and real drones that had never lived and did not really have any intelligence to speak of, dressed him.

Imperial Edict had forbidden the extent to which he had gone borg, as borgite as the Red Empire of the True and then the False Emperor had become. It was too close to the pure machine form of the Droid Intelligentia, those things that had begun the backlash against artificial intelligence that had lasted until this day. He had hidden his true nature, and so had survived to bring about the Apostolov Sovereignity as the Red Empire entered Dissolution and shattered into the Houses that had once formed it.

The Sovereign Hanse Borhaffe ruled a large swathe of solar systems that crossed the Mid-Sectors into the early Boundary. Many had become his allies or professed allies during the time of the Red Empire, this region of space always united by their shared background going back to the second great colonial expansion. The Dissolution of the Red Empire had served him well, and only cemented his power.

Hanse Borhaffe mentally commanded the metaglass windows to turn transparent, through his mental link into the datasphere. The privately partitioned part of the datasphere contained much of his thoughts and history now, secure against viruses and hackers using the best tech that could be found, as his human mind and cybernetic storage was too small to hold nearly four centuries of thoughts and feelings, plots and betrayals.

He looked out over the planetscape beyond Apostolov Civ, the capital city of the nation he had formed. It was from here that he ruled the Apostolov Sovereignity. The mega-city was heavily industrialised, a haven for machine and borg, and it stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see, beyond the curvature of the planet.

He felt tired, and weary. Two centuries ago he had been exiting the accepted middle-age of a human, serving the Lord Logan whom he would eventually betray. His reward had been the eventual banishment of House Logan, and the ascendancy of House Borhaffe by Imperial Edict. He had been feared at first, but bound the local Houses to him. He had manipulated the Red Empire of Mars for his own ends, expanding his landholding whilst also forging alliances. When the False Emperor had been killed, he had finally showed his hand, forming the nation of the Apostolov Sovereignity in his name, with Houses allied to him, and they had expanded the territory the new nation held even further.

He had waited a life-time for such an event, and now he had his dream, he would not submit to his mortal end no matter how much his body told him the time had arrived.

he ordered the mainframe.

His secure, personal mainframe computer began to download the day’s statistics, briefings and updates into his neural cortex. He had no advisors, no cabinet, and no human servants to provide them to him. He trusted no-one, not even the other House Lords and Ladies. There was a court of a description, to keep them satisfied and to play the game, which had some powers but all under his iron hand.

Amongst the many reports he had on every colony within the Sovereignity, identifying issues that the local Planetary Governor was either succeeding or failing to resolve, he had nationwide summaries. As he supped from a lukewarm beverage of coffee and nanobot soup, the nanobot mixture designed to replenish his cyborg structures more than the coffee his human flesh, he paid particular attention to the military preparations. All expansion of Sovereignity borders had ceased, and a period of enhanced construction had begun. His armed forces had to be ready to face the far greater threat now looking at the Sovereignity.

The Apostolov Sovereignity’s Houses may have tried to rebel due to his relative unpopularity, were it not for the fact that a vast Humanist state existed to their galactic north. It stared their way with hunger and loathing in equal measure.

He moved on to the political, diplomatic and espionage reports on foreign nations, particularly that of the nation of the Unified Houses of Tenanbaum. Here in the galactic north, they were perhaps the biggest nation, formed immediately after Dissolution of the Empire and unique in that they solely were based on the closest thing to old Earth democratic lines, updated for the modern age. They were still ruled ultimately by the Houses, but the people had democracy through open voting, government representatives and a leader elected by the people. Hanse personally thought it likely that if the Unified Houses of Tenanbaum survived, it would end as all democracies did, with the power shared by ever-smaller groups of people, until eventually only one or two groups became dominant. History had shown this time and time again.

The UH-Ten as it was known was also humanist, and looked upon the large borgite nation of the Apostolov Sovereignity with hatred born of old enmity dating back to Imperial times. Many of the Houses of the Sovereignity had engaged in the atrocities of the Second Pogrom, prosecuting the vicious persecution in the landholdings that had gone on to form the UH-Ten.

The Unified Houses of Tenanbaum stretched far and wide, partially encircling the Apostolov Sovereignity and covering a wider area. Hanse Borhaffe had his saboteurs in the UH-Ten, on many worlds, trying to disrupt their military industries, as it was the size of the UH-Ten that was allowing it to nearly match the production capabilities of the Sovereignity. They had more money and greater resources however, and doubtless their leaders were looking at the Apostolov Sovereignity and calculating they had to launch their war of annihilation sooner rather than later. If they did not, the greater military industrial base of the Apostolov Sovereignity would give The Sovereign Borhaffe the advantage.

Sovereign Hanse Borhaffe closed all the data-generated reports down in his mind. Moments later he was closing his augmented eyes to the real life cityscape that had returned to his vision.

He was so, so weary. He would fight until the end, and never give up, but every day now he wondered what the point was. There was no respite.

The colonised galaxy over, life was just a continual struggle and it seemed bleakly that no-one won in the end.

*

Captain Maxim Borhaffe leaned back in his captain’s chair, jacked into the datasphere that pervaded the entire starship known as the Pale Viper. It was a military ship, a mix in classification between a lightcruiser and a destroyer, modified and retrofitted many times over. It felt like an extension of his own body when he was jacked in.

The crew of the bounty hunter starship of the Pale Viper was a mix of humanist and borgite in origin, of all variations and guises, so he spoke aloud for those not able to access to the datasphere that swirled all around him. His voice was automatically patched in to the internal loudspeaker system, so the announcement carried throughout the ship.

All hands, he said, this is your captain speaking. Our current status is that we have fully recharged the jump initiation capacitors. In T-minus one hour, fifty-two minutes and counting, we are scheduled to engage the warp accelerators and enter the launch horizon. We are leaving solar system HD-4342, destination yet to be confirmed. He kept the annoyance from his voice as he said this. Maintain watch and prepare for further orders. Captain Borhaffe, out.

he said on a private datasphere link to Merissa Logan.

Merissa Logan, the sister to their leader and renowned bounty hunter Karl Logan, just smiled wryly at his annoyance.

said Captain Maxim Borhaffe.

said Merissa. she added, looking up as the turbolift doors cycled open.

Four figures entered the bridge. One was the very familiar figure of Karl Logan, the eldest of the surviving Logan children, his typically Logan albino form as alien as it was intimidating. The two Ghost-Warriors to either side were his personal bodyguards, who followed him everywhere.

The fourth figure was in its natural form, an androgynous, amorphous black synth-skin suited two-legged and two-armed shape. It had no eyes, only indents where they would be, but it saw perfectly well. It moved smoothly, and was probably more than capable of killing everyone on the bridge of the Pale Viper, or the majority at least, in seconds. The Faceless Assassin was to be feared, a cybernetic biomorph that could simulate the weaponry it needed on demand, and change its shape at will to suit its requirements.

The meeting starts now, said Karl Logan.

said Maxim Borhaffe.

said Merissa, with typical sarcasm considering what the Emperors had done to the Logan family.

The Faceless Assassin sat at the table in one of the operations rooms off the bridge of the Pale Viper, whilst it waited for the rest of the attendees from the bounty hunter posse to arrive. The Faceless Assassin had used many names in its life in service of the True Emperor, the False Emperor, and itself. Besides its thousands of assumed guises for assassinations, it had also been known as Black Ben, Mason Duboise, and others. It had yet to take a real name for itself.

The cybernetic biomorph looked at Karl Logan as he sat at the head of the table, his two Ghost Warriors behind him. There were a number of Ghost Warriors on the ship, but these two appeared to be his favourites. The Ghost Warriors had been part of House Logan before it had been stripped of its position by the True Emperor, the Ghost Warrior regiments disbanded by Imperial Edict. Tall, dressed in white and pale-skinned like the Logan family, they rarely spoke but were always present. They were never referred to by name or even acknowledged, and the Faceless had been unable to determine their names despite all he had learned of this group.

Karl Logan was albino, red-eyed, white-haired and pale-skinned, like all the Logan family – or those parts of the family that survived today. His sister Merissa sat next to him, the two un-identical twins similar in some ways but not in others. Karl Logan did not wear his black trenchcoat, exactly the same in style as the white ones wore by his Ghost Warriors, but sat stiff-backed in his suspensor-seat wearing Frontier-style garb, his arms and shoulders completely bare. A tiny collar on the jacket ringed his neck, where a red and gold medallion rested. His Frontier or Boundary style appearance was probably heavily influenced by his early years, where he had spent much of his time.

The Logan family had consisted of over two hundred uncles, aunts, cousins and brothers and sisters, although by all accounts Karl and Merissa had always been close, Karl the oldest of the defunct House Logan children by a couple of seconds. Conceived naturally, they had been further genhanced and augmented by the bioartificers before even reaching one year old.

The Faceless Assassin turned his attention to the other people entering, the ones who had stayed by Karl and Merissa’s side through much of their exile and bounty hunting life. Captain Maxim Borhaffe, besides being captain of the ship, was the estranged son of Lord Hanse Borhaffe who had taken the landholding formerly gifted to House Logan and now ruler of the Apostolov Sovereignty. When House Logan had fallen, and Karl and Merissa had escaped the executions being visited upon their family nearly a century ago, Maxim had turned his back on his father and had helped them in that escape.

The intelligence specialist for the bounty hunting group coasted up, his mobile suspensor-chair whirring to a stop at the table. Whilst the suspensor-seats the rest sat in were just part of the furniture of the briefing room, Blake had lost the mobility of his legs and refused cybernetic replacements, being a very moderate humanist free-thinker. George Blake was vastly intelligent, with an IQ far in advance of most people. He put many augmented to shame with his intelligence. Karl Logan relied upon him for much of his planning, and information, whenever a new contract for a target was taken.

The Chief Engineer and the Chief Medical Officer, Danni Ruiz, was a Nacrimosan. All the Nacrimosans on-board the Pale Viper were part of a collective linked to her, and they operated together, linked mentally into a collective consciousness at all times, maintaining the capabilities of the ship and meeting all its engineering and maintenance requirements, as well as healing those injured during the collection of bounties. She was also their chief researcher and designer of any equipment they required for particular contracts. She created weapons for them, fixed their cybernetics, redesigned the ship, and more, providing answers for all their practical technological needs.

Fernando Escobar sat at the table. He was a moderate humanist free-thinker, an unparalleled sniper who had been a wanted criminal, mercenary, pirate, privateer and bounty hunter all his life. Fern Escobar headed up the support team of bounty hunters that always had the back of Karl Logan as he led his advance team into the fray. He had been one of the people who had helped them escape the True Emperor’s destruction of the Logan family, through his connections to Maxim Borhaffe, and had remained with them ever since.

Mushurraf Mammar was their humanist quartermaster, responsible for all their logistical requirements, as well as commanding the heavy fire support team, the last of the three bounty hunting teams Karl Logan had divided his armed group into. With a strategic and organisational capability that was unsurpassed, he was from a landholding that had recently fallen to the OutWorlds Alliance, although he had long ago divorced himself of any attachment to it and its House military. Known as the Commandant, Mammar had an ordered air about him that constantly brought him to odds with the disrespectful Escobar. He was wanted for war-crimes by the surviving Houses of the OutWorlds Alliance, even though he had left his old and now defunct House many decades before.

The Faceless turned his attention back to Karl Logan, as the Commandant sat at the table. The team of his senior advisors and ‘friends’ was now fully assembled, each one bringing their own particular talents to the bounty hunters Karl Logan led. It was no wonder Karl Logan had been one of the more feared bounty hunters, not just through his reputation and his half-secret background as the son of an ex-House Lord, but he also had a small command of hard-bitten, fiercely loyal and capable people around him.

Are you planning on telling us what we’re doing, now, brother mine? asked Merissa Logan sweetly.

He did not glare at her, but the Faceless picked up on Karl Logan’s irritation with his sister as he glanced at her. Yes, he said simply.

Good, said Maxim Borhaffe brusquely. We’ve been in this system for hours, after travelling for weeks in hyperspace, and I for one would like to know what the plan is, Karl.

You have all read the contract? asked Karl to his team, to which they nodded. And you have all met our employer, this Faceless Assassin here? he gestured to his left.

We don’t usually go on a hunt with the employer on-board ship, came the rough voice of Fern Escobar. And he’s a Faceless. An Assassin. How can we trust him?

The Faceless Assassin looked at Escobar. You do not, said the Faceless Assassin. Except I have kept my word since becoming free of the Faceless.

Enough, said Karl Logan. "The contract, people, is simply this; we hunt down the