Falconer tangent story
by Ryan Strong and Mika Lewis
[ongoing]
It was far from being the doom-and-gloom, “this is the end of my life” scenario Jacob had pictured, but returning to Falconer after seven years away – out on his own – was equally far from being a dream come true. It wasn’t just that the cities all looked smaller and filthier than before, or that he’d been required to sit through a rigorous interview and inspection before he could be allowed to enter the main gates. Looking past the high towers looming in front of him, Jacob could make out the Citadel of Priam. He would have to report there soon, but it was a place he would rather shy away from for the time being. Beyond that was the one thing he truly missed and the one thing he couldn’t wait to get back to. From this distance the Hlucrian Mountains cut a jagged line out of the sky, and he couldn’t see it but his imagination and memory filled in the soft green blanket of lush trees and sprawling underbrush. It would be good to train there again, or just set his mind at ease in the peace of the forest. Wickes shook his head. The report sitting in front of him made less sense each time he read it. He knew when he gave Ranger Mantin his orders for a reconnaissance mission to the planets in the MeraStoli League that he would have to lie to the ranger about the underlying purpose of his assignment, but Mantin should have been told three or fours years ago that he was acting as a messenger for the rising Tessman Coalition. Now Mantin was back on Falconer, and still had no idea that he had been used. Jacob walked quickly past Wickes’ young secretary. At least Wickes is managing to keeps his hand in things, that was the stenographer from my debriefing. No doubt he has all the notes from it and more besides that. He exited the building Wickes’ office was in and started to make his way through a maze of warehouses. He took a left and could see all the way out to one of the main streets, it was bustling with the late evening activity caused by the end of the business day.
He moved down the street surprised by the number of little children running around. A frown flashed across his face as he thought back to his boyhood days here, days full of work and learning. The idea of “free time” was not one the parents – or rulers – of Falconer had subscribed to back then. Yet another concession we have been forced to make.
A movement to his right made him subconsciously grab hold of his satchel, and he looked down to see a small boy trying to reach into the bag. The boy froze, surprised to be caught in his pick pocketing, then his dirty face split into a grin, which shifted into a frown and a murmur as Jacob’s face remained expressionless. The boy yelped, then skittered off into an alley way. Pick pockets? What has Falconer regressed into?
His brain jumped into action. He had hoped that passing through those gates would allow him some rest, but he now knew that wasn’t possible. A group of well-built, ill-dressed ruffians on a corner made him unconsciously check the knife he had concealed in his satchel. It was the weapon which came easiest to hand in a pinch. The fact that he did so also drove home his previous thoughts, something was different on Falconer...was it him?
The ringing of the noontime bells reminded him that while he may want to put off going to the Citadel as long as possible, he was expected to report within an hour of arrival – and being late for this meeting would do nothing to preserve what shreds of a good name he had managed to preserve since leaving Falconer. With a halfhearted sigh, he crossed the street to the Citadel entrance.
A guard just inside the gate was roused from his midday nap by Jacob’s passing. Noting the foreign insignia on Jacob’s jacket, he mustered the coordination for a sloppy salute before closing his eyes to doze off again. Jacob tossed him a look of disgust, then threw another towards the soldiers milling around the grounds, all of them looking just as incompetent as the lazy guard. This was nothing like the vision Wickes had had for the nation’s troops.
A walk through the outer courtyard did nothing to dispel the Jacob’s initial judgment on the discipline of the troops here in the Citadel. Into a hallway he found a trio who mocked him in hushed tones. They some how feel superior, in their new uniforms maybe? He didn’t look exactly pristine, his travels back were tiring and trying. And his old uniform didn’t fit terribly well, the seams tattered and frayed a bit. Yet he still carried himself with more dignity than the fops slouching around the military capitol of his world.
He tread silently through the polished hallways. At least the building itself is still maintained. The complex seemed so familiar, even after seven years. Those seven years had done a lot to Jacob; besides adding fifteen pounds of muscle, his time away from the Marble City and his adolescence had caused him to shift his views away from what they had been when he was under the umbrella of his leaders’ rhetoric. He had seen too much of the worlds to believe that Falconer still was in control in any of the interplanetary coalitions. Any who think we hold sway in the decisions there are fooling themselves. We have had no power there since before the Esae Wars, and that was nearly forty years ago. While Jacob hadn’t been deeply involved with diplomatics, his travels had made him a student of relations amongst the worlds, and he knew that Falconer was in an unenviable position. How am I to convince these new leaders of that fact? They won’t want to hear what I have to tell them.
Jacob made it to the inner courtyard. There he had to use his security ID number and provide his credentials. A momentary wait as the guards processed his information gave him a chance to tidy up as much as he could before he was ushered through to a large briefing room. Directly through the door was a young brunette girl acting as stenographer for the council. They recorded all of the information digitally, but law had always required a hard copy be made as well.
The council sat on a raised semicircle platform, and each had a personal lamp which illuminated their features dimly. Jacob recognized none of them and that surprised him greatly. At very least Wickes should be here, and he’d expected Councilor Reft to be present as well.
A grey-haired crone of a lady stood clad in military blue, signifying a ranking position in the Air Force. If there still was an Air Force. Before Jacob left it was nothing more than a ceremonial branch, long ago disbanded and made obsolete by the Space Navy’s development of Atmospheric Shielding allowing even the smallest fighter to deploy through a planet’s atmosphere with minimal effort – giving the navy dominion over everything off of the ground. She raised a clipboard and pen.
“State your name and rank and move into the center.” Her voice grated against everything in Jacob, physically and emotionally. Discipline had been a part of his life all the way up until his assignment was given, then he was not allowed to report back because of the nature of his orders. He had become accustomed to doing things his way.
“Jacob Mantin, Colonial third Class Ranger. Is that sufficient, General?”
The Crone raised her eyebrows to stare over thin wire spectacles with red tinted lenses.
“Insufficient, Ranger Mantin, please proceed with proper protocol.” The last words were practically spit in his direction.
Jacob squared up, clicked his heels, and saluted with overdone crispness. “Jacob Mantin of provincial Dranten, quartered and trained in Dranten under Corporal Grant, gained Colonial First Class Scout before being transferred to the Citadel, reached Colonial Third Class Scout before receiving my orders. Left seven years ago as Colonial First Class Ranger, I return as Colonial Third Class Ranger. If I had been at the Citadel for those years I would now contain the supplemental ranking and training as follows. Knife, Sword, Crossed Swords, Axe, Skull, Crossed Bones, Eagle, Hawk, and Falconer. My credentials and detailed reports are contained in the portfolio turned in at the courtyard post, and in my personal files which I have been sending here every two weeks...Sir” The belated sir was added almost as an afterthought, causing the eyebrows to go even higher. Jacob strode to the center of the room turned sharply and squared to the group.
A man to his left began speaking. “Ranger Mantin. As you know, this council has met to hear your report on the allanite possession of the planets in the MeraStoli League. Specifically, whether or not they are in accordance with the terms of the Esae Agreements, which state that all materials used for the Atmospheric Shielding process must be governmentally accounted for and restricted from public use.” Out of the corner of his eye Jacob thought he saw one of the other council members give the man a quizzical look, but when he glanced over Jacob saw only a row of impassive faces. “I expect seven years of observation should allow you to give a satisfactory analysis. Please tell us what you have learned.” What I have learned. Do they really want to know everything? The man gestured and a chair was brought to the center. He motioned for Jacob to be seated.
“I spent time on each of the four other planets in the League, gathering information on where allanite was available and to whom, if there was a black market for it, how accessible it was, and if the governments placed any restrictions on it as ordered.
“I was on Berta for a year and a half. Their government had the best control of allanite. It was stored in three governmental buildings with top-notch security, and only high-ranking Space Navy officials could get in – and then only if they carried with them affidavits signed by their direct superior and the naval Second in Command. From the rumors I heard, a black market once existed, right after the Esae Agreements were signed, but it was shut down within six months and has never started up again. The punishment for illegal possession of allanite is life imprisonment and torture, so no one seems anxious to get caught with it.
“Arcady was the second planet I visited. While they have a much weaker grip on their world’s allanite industry, the government does punish possessors with the death penalty, and though a black market does exist, any seller with half a brain will run an in-depth background check and require potential buyers to sit through a series of tests before agreeing to a transaction. Everyone seems to understand the cost of breaking the Agreements well enough.” Again Jacob thought he saw the same council member look at him quizzically, as if trying to see if Jacob really knew what he was talking about. But a second glance revealed only a furrowed brow and a somewhat bored expression.
“Rasselas was the most lax. The so-called ‘black market’ is really more white than black; government officials look away, but they know people are selling allanite on the streets. Because of this, prices are fairly decent, unless the dealer knows you’re from another world where allanite is harder to get. Like I said, on Berta it’s nearly impossible to obtain. Rasselas puts up the pretence of governmental regulation, with a five-year prison and a hefty fine if you get caught.
Of course, you could just slip a little money under the table and they’d forget they saw you with the mineral.
“Most of my time was spent on Theseus. No black market, about the same level of security as Berta, but a little less strict. The main difference is that they have no punishment for civilian possession of allanite. Although if someone could manage to break past their security system, kudos to them for their ingenuity. You’d have to be quite a thief to pull that off.”
The inquisitor nodded but did not smile at Jacob’s lighthearted statement. “Indeed, and what of the political climates of these Worlds? Our ambassadors assure us everything is fine on every planet, but for the payload they’re receiving that is not surprising, and any attempts at replacing them have been met with hostility.”
Jacob almost laughed. He had met the ambassador to Rasselas, and he was not only living in a penthouse of copious proportions, but was eating Dreglan, a Rasselian delicacy that most often came laced with one form of narcotics or another. Any information Jacob could have gleaned from him would have been useless.
“Is there something amusing, Ranger Jacob?” A woman on his far right voiced what they all were wondering.
“Forgive me, sirs, and forgive me again for what I am about to tell you, for I must be frank and forthright with you all. The MeraStoli League is well intact, if not politically, their trade keeps things between worlds extremely calm and cordial.”
A man in a business suit near the center stood abruptly. That he was the senator of trade relations became readily apparent. “Then how do you explain the forty-three percent drop in off-world trade from Falconer to the rest of the planets in the League?”
Jacob stared at him a moment, then with a face completely void of expression he took in the whole group of them. “The answer to that is simple, we don’t belong to the League any more.” Several people started talking at once, but Jacob spoke over all of them. “Falconer is still on the books!!” they all quieted, “But anyone born in the last generation knows close to nothing about Falconer, even the fact that we created allanite seems to have escaped most of the minds across the galaxy. You are my superiors, so I dare not withhold the truth from you. The days of Falconer being a leading voice in the Interplanetary Coalitions is over, we no longer hold sway in our own League.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair – Bones getting too old for this kind of chair – then pushed a button on his desk. “Please send Scout Pennings in to my office now.” A moment later, a gangly young man holding a large binder entered. Smiling, Wickes pointed towards the chair on the other side of his desk. “Pennings. Come in, have a seat.”
The scout seemed nervous to be in the older man’s presence. His eyes were an incredibly light shade of brown, more like the shade of sand, they possessed a light that the old man found both inspiring and tiring. His dirty blond hair fell unkempt around his forehead and ears, something not usually allowed in the military, but this young man's capabilities did not gain him special attention, but his demeanor did make it so very few people took notice of him.
“Yes sir, Wickes sir, um I brought the specs on Warehouse 42 like you asked, I also found the reports for all but two of the mechs in 41.” His eyes darted from the binder in his hands to Wickes, and back again, then around the office in a tireless search for . . . something. Wickes shook his head as the energy exuding off the jittery youth made his joints stiffen even more, making him want nothing more than to go to sleep.
“Good, good,” he said, sounding like a grandfather trying to calm an excited child, “and the files I asked you to access?” The youth’s eyes narrowed and his body tensed noticeably as he looked about conspiratorially. “I had some trouble, that Mantin set up some good defenses and difficult encryptions, but they are in here as well. Interesting stuff in there sir, this guy continued training while he was on a mission for seven years! Can you believe that? He raised three levels and gained multiple supplementary badges as well. But . . . ?” The youth scratched his head, his face scrunched in concentration.
“But what, Pennings?”
“Well sir, its just that he says he gained the Skull and Crossed bones supplementary badges, along with a few others that can only be earned in battle.”
“So what is the problem you see with the report, Pennings?”
“Well he was sent on a mission which shouldn’t have required any fighting, and just that fact that he knew those badges and what was required is a surprise. I don’t think any of those badges have been awarded in quite some time, I’m not sure anyone even knows what is required to achieve them.”
“Save for you, Pennings.” Wickes grinned good-naturedly. He had got ahold of this one early, he’d groomed him since basic training, and Pennings remained one of Wickes’ most helpful, and unknown to anyone – even the young scout – most useful troops. The potential was all there for another Falconer genius, it was being realized with Wickes’ help.
“I learned because you told me to, sir.” Pennings shrugged and was still for a moment. Then his eyes began flicking around the room again. “Anyhow, the other thing that bothered me about the report is that Mantin has been without any sort of direct superior for the last few years. That isn’t the way things work, on or off Falconer. Rangers don’t just take off for the surrounding planets for seven years, unsupervised. Yet somehow no one seemed to care. He must be something special to be permitted that kind of freedom.”
Wickes was frowning as Pennings looked back to him. The lad was bright, and one of the few people he trusted, but he often posed unasked questions that Wickes couldn’t answer. It was one of the few things he had trouble dealing with. Worse was that he knew Pennings would come up with an answer, the right one, in a few days. “I gave the orders for Mantin to go on this mission, but Councilor Reft was in charge of overseeing the details. Since his imprisonment shortly after Mantin left, it must have slipped through the cracks somehow.” It was a flimsy answer, and they both knew it. But Pennings shrugged and grunted.
“Well, it's no business of mine. You ask, I get you the information, right?”
“Quite right. On your way, I need all the invoices from 12 notarized and prepared, and,” Wickes pulled open a drawer in his desk and pulled out an envelope,
“I’ll need all of this as soon as you can. If you need more shielding time I need an inventory report on 27, but I don’t doubt the invoices will give you plenty of time.” Pennings tapped the papers, saluted, and stepped out of the office.
Wickes punched the button again.
“Marta, you can come in now.” There was a rustling outside the door, then a young brunette stepped into the office. She held a long transparent sheet of plastic. “Any problems?” She flashed him a smile full of straight white teeth, and her green eyes flashed fiercely as she handed him the sheet.
“Come now Wickes, what do you take me for?” Marta, barely 19, about faced and started to walk out.
“Marta?” Wickes called bringing her head back around the door. “I need to know where this young man will be staying and how to get ahold of him.” He held up the copy of stenography notes as he spoke.
“Sure thing, Wickes.” The door closed softly as Wickes set to perusing the record. There wasn’t much that surprised him here; he was one of the elite few who had known for years that Falconer was out of the League. To say that it “no longer held sway” was so characteristic of how he remembered Mantin – blunt. Turning to the last page, he figured out what did worry him. The record showed just how inept the Council members were. These aren’t just figureheads. At least they shouldn’t be. But maybe we’ve come that far. Or gone back that far.
He set the notes on the desk and walked to the window. Out in the courtyard, he could see a group of soldiers – most likely fresh Scouts, from the looks of
them – gathering around a large sign. Presently one of them jumped on the back of another, they started a friendly wrestling match, much to the delight of the onlookers. Wickes grinned as he remembered many of his cadets were like that when he found them. That grin faded quickly as he thought about what he had done to Mantin, what he was doing to Pennings and even Marta. Most soldiers on Falconer, and most kids, lived life in peace. Falconer really was a beautiful planet and the Marble City held beauty too, if you knew how to look past certain things. And all of it was wrapped in a mythical cocoon of peace, which most people believed was inherent to their planet’s superiority over the others in the league. As made blatantly apparent in the notes from Jacobs debriefing, a large portion of the officials labored under that delusion as well. What will that Jacob’s information do to their supposed peace? Now that they truly know that the reason they haven’t been invited to a council in so long isn’t because councils aren’t being held, it’s because no one told them when and where.
That thought brought him back to the questions Pennings had asked. While it was true Jacobs reconnaissance mission was a facade, even if he discovered the truth, he shouldn’t have run into enough trouble to earn him even the Skull badge, let alone the Crossed Bones. He should call him in right away and talk to him, but it would be too soon. While he was the one who issued the initial orders, and was his last Superior officer, it would be viewed as suspicious to call him in a few hours after his de-briefing. Better to wait until at least tomorrow, after Jacob had a chance to rest for a few hours, and Wickes could get people watching him.
A buzzer sounded, and Wickes pushed the button on his desk. “Yes?”
Marta’s voice crackled through. “You have a visitor...” She sounded confused. “Ranger Mantin is here to see you.” Wickes' mind jumped at that. Jacob came to talk? Maybe I should’ve had people watching him already.
“Okay, he can come in.”
Jacob opened the door just enough to slid his frame through, but he didn’t give the appearance of being paranoid. His shoes made no sound as he crossed to the desk. He was thicker than Wickes remembered him, and his jaw was more angular, and darkening with stubble. Jacob stopped short and dropped a file onto Wickes’ desk, staring into his ex-superior officer’s eyes the whole time. Wickes held his gaze for a moment longer, looking for emotion that wasn’t there.
Wickes opened the file, then gasped after reading the first few lines. He looked up aghast to find Jacob holding a knife. He was fairly certain Jacob wouldn’t kill him, but it didn’t keep him from involuntarily scooting back. Jacob seemed to smile at the show of fear. But he just started rolling up his left sleeve.
“There is a small community of blacksmiths on Berta, they’ve been working metal for 18 generations. You wont find sharper, more durable knives anywhere. I currently own twenty-three handmade knives, and one sword. This one I was going to bring back to you as a present.” His sleeve was above his elbow when he stopped. “But I decided a ways back that I would just use it to return your gift to me.” His right arm jerked across his left forearm, which was now bottom up. At first nothing happened and Wickes thought no cut was made, for no pain registered on Jacob’s face, but as he watched a red line one inch long oozed out of the skin. The tip of the knife deftly dipped into the cut and then came back out with a slim piece of metal. Jacob tossed it onto the folder, then smiled. “It’s good to see you, Major Wickes – it is still Major, isn’t it? Even though you have been moved to head of shipping and receiving?”
His mind was too confused with all that had happened in the last few minutes to allow a verbal response, so Wickes just nodded. The look on Jacob’s face was almost like a grin, but with none of the friendliness he’d had towards Wickes before this mission. He reached across the desk and took a small Falconer flag from its stand, using it to wipe the blood from his arm before tossing the flag on top of the file and metal strip. “I’m sure you’d love to know how I figured all of this out. Well Major, you’re welcome to read every council record and personal report of mine you want, and still wonder. Just as I will always wonder what makes a good man do the things you’ve done.” He turned and walked out of the office without another word or glance back.
Wickes looked at the door for several minutes while he tried to collect his thoughts. The telephone ringing interrupted what little sense he could make of Jacob’s visit. The familiar voice of Degler, a prison guard who acted for Wickes, greeted him. “I thought I should call you before this hits the streets. They just found Councilor Reft dead in his cell. Hung. Suicide.”
On the roof of one of the warehouses a figure clung to the edge, watching Jacob head towards the throng. Its forearms were huge, and his hands thick, with fingers used to gripping and crushing. It squat so its long powerful legs rose up to head leve on its right and left. A tail absently flicked left and right as its midnight blue eyes, twice the size of a human’s, followed Jacob’s progress. It lept from the roof it was on across the twenty foot gap effortlessly and silently. It let out a small growl of annoyance as Jacob splashed into the crowds, tracking him through that would not be fun. Fortunately that meant it would be harder for others to follow him as well. The Rasselian had already had to dispose of a man who, up until the point where his skull was crushed in, was doing an excellent job of shadowing Jacob. What could have been taken for either a grin or a (silent snarl) appeared on its face as it remembered the expression on the dead man’s face, a mixture of agony and surprise. There had been no indication of why he had been trailing Jacob, but there was no sense in taking chances. The assumption had to be that all others were enemies, and that this figure from Jacob’s past was his only ally and friend.
The streets and roads were still busy as Jacob navigated through the crowds to the Firesong, a run-down inn and tavern a few blocks south of the Citadel. He had considered paying a visit to his brother, maybe staying with him; but both the distance from the main city and the less-than-satisfactory relationship kept him away. Instead he opted for the cheaper, closer discomfort of the Firesong, whose keeper he knew to be a surly but competent host. Jacob could go enjoy, or try to enjoy, a good meal and at least a mediocre night’s rest, plus listen to the gossip and rumors flying around amongst the more drunk of the patrons. Maybe one of tonight’s tales will be useful.
Jacob sat at a table in a corner with his back to the wall, his meal was placed before him, a plate of steaming stew. Conversations muttered about him, he listened, catching phrases here and there. But one couple in particular drew his attention, he leaned over his plate and cocked an ear so he could hear better. It was two men talking, one was in uniform, looked like a low rank in the Navy, the other a man in an grey overcoat. His beard was cut close and greying, but his frame filled out the coat giving away the strength the man carried.
“Hung himself, in the cell with his sheets. Darndest thing I ever heard. He didn’t have that much time left, they never actually had anything on him,” the older man cut in.
“He was never getting out, they never had anything solid on him, but Reft had his hand in everything. There’s no guessing who killed him with all the enemies he had.”
“Wasn’t killed,” the soldier said, “it was suicide. I talked with the guard on duty at the time, no one had gone or come out of the block in fourteen hours.”
“Bah, he wouldn’t kill himself. With the info he had, he was going to stay in jail forever, but another few weeks and he would be in the poshest cell on the planet still tugging strings.”
Presently a man walked in the door. His dirty blonde hair hung messily around his eyes and his fidgety manner made his youthful face seem that much younger, even though he couldn’t have been that much younger than Jacob. They made eye contact and the youth ducked his head and started toward him. Jacob leaned back and eased the knife in his satchel out of its sheath half an inch.
“Uh hi,” the boy’s eyes darted everywhere at once and Jacob wasn’t sure if the greeting was meant for him. “My name is Brent Pennings, most people just call me Pennings, I...I,” Jacob's face was impassive as Pennings stumbled over his words and went pale. “I work for Wickes,” he finally spit out. Pennings didn’t notice that Wickes’ name brought a interested glance from the man in the overcoat, who then turned and leaned over the bar, halting any conversation that was going on with the soldier.
Jacob raised a hand, “Pennings, just sit down, and do me a favor?”
“Yes Ranger Mantin, anything.” Jacob’s eyes strayed back to the man in the overcoat. His back stiffened when Pennings said his name and the drink that was on its way to his mouth halted halfway to its goal.
“First, don’t use my rank or my name. Notice,” Jacob tugged at the collar on his jacket, “I’m not in uniform. Second, keep your voice down.”
Pennings’ eyes and voice both dropped. “Sorry.” The eyes came back up, holding Jacob’s gaze for a second before dancing around the room again in a way that was more inquisitive than anxious. “Did you get rid of the second transmitter?”
The question caught Jacob off guard. He checked his initial response of wondering how Pennings knew he had taken out the device and instead let a hint of a smile appear on his face. “Our friend would have me paranoid about being followed? Seems like a waste of energy. I already knew I would have people watching me, like they have been all along.”
The youth shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that. Not a tracking device. The transmitter they put when you were prisoner on Theseus.” Jacob opened his mouth but closed it after no words found their way out. He nodded for Pennings to continue. “In your report at the Citadel today you said that Theseus doesn’t punish civilians for having allanite, you didn’t say anything about foreign soldiers.”
Jacob leaned back, taking in what Pennings was saying. He glanced towards the bar, then tensed; the man in the overcoat was gone. Deciding to worry about that later he smiled and turned back to the youth. Jacob had spent his entire seven years off of Falconer learning how to read people and he had gained quite the talent for it, but Pennings, he couldn’t get a read on him. His youthful exterior was believable enough, and he had the restlessness of many of the computer geniuses Jacob had worked with pre- and post-Falconer. As he watched Pennings he had an idea and decided to roll with it.
“Wickes doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” The young cadet shook his head. “He also doesn’t know that I was a prisoner on Theseus.” Again the answer came, Pennings’ eyes held no guile and made Jacob want desperately to believe him.
“Wickes doesn’t, but if my hunch is correct there are others who do know, and unlike me I believe they know exactly how you came across the allanite.” Jacob knew it was a question but how much could he divulge to this upstart, who he knew nothing about. “According to you allanite on Theseus is not easy to come by, so...”
“Listen, Pennings, I realize now there is no way that Wickes sent you ‘cause you are doing a horrible job of extracting information from me. But even so I’m not gonna tell you anything. Besides...” Three men walked in through the doors, they were all wearing overcoats. “…Why would I tell you? If you aren’t working for Wickes, then somebody must want the information you’re trying to get, right?” Jacob watched the men nonchalantly box them in, he still couldn’t see any of their faces.
“Wickes isn’t as bad as you seem to think. No, that doesn’t mean I’m trying to find out this info because he asked me to, but I am trying to find it out for him.” A fond smile spread across his face. “Wickes really likes you, he’s talked about you since he first took me on. I’ve always kind of looked up to the mythical version of you, now I am trying to sort fiction from truth for me, and get the truth so Wickes has what he needs to keep you safe.”
“Well right now I have one question about your relationship with Wickes.”
“What’s that?” Jacob slid the knife from his satchel but kept it under the table, his right hand reached back to the small of his back where a plasma pistol waited.
“Did he give you what you need to keep yourself safe?" Just then one of the men in the overcoats let out a growl.
“Mantin!! I’ve been waiting a long time for this!!” The over coat bulged beneath his outstretched arms, then the fabric shredded as four mechanical arms unfolded themselves from the creatures cybernetic torso!! His right cheek was covered thick with scars, and that eye was a dull grey, contrasting with his good brown eye. Jacob finally recognized him as a man he thought he had killed on Arcady. The hunter’s name was Belign, and he had been ordered to kill Jacob shortly after Jacob realized what he was really doing on his mission.