Dragonstar – Part 04

After dumping Korodo in the alleyway, it took Trace nearly ten minutes to skirt around the city core. The flight from the noble’s penthouse had left him on the opposite side of the city from the guild garage where he needed to take the jumper. He could have taken a short cut through the core, but in a stolen and damaged vehicle, it was not worth the added risk. So he had been forced to fly a circuitous route avoiding the known police hot spots. Eventually he arrived at one of Jurrika City’s sprawling industrial zones. Although traffic here was relatively light at this time of night, there was still activity taking place below. Alchemical furnaces belched noxious fumes into the night sky and robotic manufacturing complexes operated without biological oversight. The scarcity of people at night made this particular area a haven for illicit activities.

As he flew over the industrial sprawl, certain that any danger of pursuit had passed, Trace failed to spot the assault jumper close rapidly from behind. Before he had even realised that he was being followed, Caldrin’s jumper had fired its plasma cannons. The bolts of superheated matter struck Trace’s jumpcraft, shearing off the remaining thruster pod and disabling the vectored-thrust lift fans. Robbed of its propulsion and lift, the jumpcraft tumbled out of the sky, careening towards the ground. Emergency levitation enchantments tried to slow the descent as Trace struggled with the controls but it was all in vain; the vehicle was already flying low and it lost altitude rapidly, clipping an exhaust vent. Caldrin watched as the jumpcraft smacked onto the low roof of a warehouse, scraping across the top before tumbling into an alleyway and out of sight. After circling around the crash site, Caldrin landed his assault jumper nearby.

Trace dragged himself out from under the upside-down wreck of the jumpcraft, still dazed by the crash. Crying out in pain when he tried to stand, he looked down at his left leg. His leg was broken below the knee, the fractured bone piercing the skin, blood flowing freely out of the wound. He glanced up as Caldrin entered the alleyway. Trace immediately recognised his black body suit as the same type as the one worn by the assassins earlier, although the drow’s appeared to be significantly bulkier. Drawing his pistol, he brought it up in an attempt to fire at the approaching figure.

Caldrin was quicker, bringing up his weapon and shooting the gun out of the boy’s hand. As he strode towards him, Trace reached down and pulled small knife that had been tucked into his sock. Before he could do anything with it, the knife was kicked out of his hand. The drow picked up the boy by the collar of his top, the muscle enhancers of his suit making it seem like he weighed almost nothing, and threw him down the alley.

He grunted as he struck the ground, rolling twice before coming to a rest against a support pillar. The drow was on him in a second, binding his hands behind his back. As he lay slumped against the pillar, Caldrin knelt down in front of him. “Hmm, compound fracture to the left tibia. I expect that’s extremely painful.”

As Caldrin leaned in close, Trace recognised him. He had seen the drow at Dorga’s bay two or three times over the last couple of weeks. Rumour had it that he had been an ISPD agent and it looked like for once the rumours were right. “Screw you snakehead,” muttered Trace painfully, using the street slang for an ISPD agent.

Caldrin merely smiled as he leant forward, grasping the broken bone and applying pressure. Trace screamed as Caldrin gripped the wound tightly, the sudden and intense pain bringing unwanted tears to his eyes. The drow released his grip and stood up. “Where is Lord Korodo?”

“Who?” Trace responded, failing utterly in an attempt to look innocent.

Caldrin slapped Trace across the face angrily. “Don’t play games with me boy,” he hissed, “you know exactly who I’m talking about.” He punctuated his point with kick to Trace’s side. The boy grunted with the strike.

“I ain’t telling you nothing,” he answered defiantly.

The drow stamped on the broken leg, causing Trace to scream again. “Fine,” he said unclipping a length of black rope from his belt, “we’ll do this the hard way.” Placing one foot firmly on Trace’s chest in order to prevent the boy from crawling away, Caldrin looped the rope around a crossbeam connected to the support pillar. Hoisting Trace up on to his feet, he tied the loose end into a noose around the boy’s neck, pulling the rope taut. Trace was forced to half-slump against the pillar, placing all his weight on his right foot. If he slipped or fell, the noose would quickly tighten and strangle him. “Let’s try this again,” Caldrin said quietly, menacingly, “where is Lord Korodo?”

“Get bent!” The ISPD punched him twice in the stomach and chest hard enough for Trace to feel at least one rib crack. The blow caused him to stumble slightly, the rope tightening around his neck.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know, the last time I saw him was ten minutes ago. He could be half-way across the city by now!” The answer failed to satisfy the drow and it earned Trace another blow. This one to the face, breaking his nose with a wet crunch and smacking the back of his head against the metal support. The questions continued, as did the beating. Blow after blow, alternating between his body and his head. With each blow, Trace got dizzier, finding it increasingly hard to stay on his feet. “Please,” he begged, “I don’t know where he is, I swear.” In truth, he could no longer remember where had had left the noble, he was having trouble thinking clearly through the pain.

Caldrin paused and looked at the boy. Blood was pouring from his broken nose and several gashes to the face. One eye had already swollen closed and with every breath, he seemed to cough up more blood. He leaned in close and whispered in Trace’s ear.

“Honestly, I think you’re telling the truth.” He began to walk back and forth in front of Trace, cracking his knuckles. “It was supposed to be a simple operation. Hire someone from the Guild to bypass the penthouse security system so that my men could perform their mission. Afterwards, planted evidence would point to a bungled theft and the Guild thief would be blamed for Korodo’s murder.” He fixed Trace with a smouldering glare. “You were perfect, a no name street punk with a record a mile long. No one would care when they frog-marched you to a firing squad without even bothering with a trial.”

“Dorga set me up.” Trace whispered.

“Not quite, I doubt he even had an inkling of what the plan was. In fact, he actually seemed concerned about your welfare.”

“Yeah right.”

“Nevertheless, the plan is dead now. All that’s left is to eliminate any loose ends that might lead back to the agency,” Caldrin said, smiling cruelly. Trace realised at that moment that he was one of those loose ends. The realisation made him struggle even more in an attempt to free his hands. A blow to the side of his head stunned him, almost knocking him off his feet. Without being given a chance to recover, more blows followed. Trace could feel himself starting to pass out but he struggled to keep awake and on his feet. If he lost consciousness and fell, the noose around his neck would tighten and then it would all be over. He started to panic, crying out for help. Desperately hoping that someone, anyone, would be able to hear him. At the back of his mind however, he knew that the chances of anyone being nearby were slim indeed. Eventually he fell silent except for the occasional plea for mercy, his vision starting to blur from the pain and blood loss. He knew that he only had a few minutes left until he could no longer stand.

—-

Fastening the straps on the body armour, Korodo turned to the orc at the controls of the jumper. “Barak, are we still locked onto the homing beacon?”

Barak tapped the small screen in front of him and nodded. “Yeah, we’re still getting a strong signal. It hasn’t moved in the last ten minutes though.” Like Korodo, the orc was wearing body armour. Unlike Korodo’s, which was relatively clean, Barak’s was scuffed and scarred; a veteran of many battles, like its wearer. “ETA two minutes, I’ll set us down some way off. No telling what sort of situation we might find, this area is not a good place at night.”

“That’s why I employ you and your big gun,” Korodo said, smiling.

Behind the two of them, in the armoured passenger compartment, sat a young human women, also in body armour. Her armour only barely fitted he slight form and she didn’t appear comfortable wearing it as she played nervously with her pendant. Korodo leaned round in his seat to look at her. “Tsukiko, when we land, stay here in the jumper in case we need you.”

“You got it L K,” she responded.

“I mean it, no heroics. You’re the only one with proper medical training and I’ve already lost one person tonight.”

“Activating stealth mode,” Barak reported, tapping several buttons on an overhead control panel. “Time to see if that enchantment was worth the money we paid for it,” he muttered under his breath. Magical energy flowed through special conduits to a series of small crystals embedded beneath the bodywork. Together they created a field around the jumper rendering it invisible. The enchantment also dampened the sound of the jumper’s engines.

The now silent and invisible jumper approached the location of the source of the homing signal. Luckily for them, although the security system and tracking device on the stolen jumpcraft had been disabled by Trace, the manual homing beacon that he had activated as they escaped the penthouse was still transmitting. After being picked up by Barak and Tsukiko, they had tracked the jumpcraft into the heart of the industrial zone. As Barak piloted the jumper, Korodo looked down at the warehouse and saw the damage inflicted on its roof. “Looks like it crashed onto that warehouse and slid into that alleyway.”

“I’ll set us down a short distance from the alley’s entrance.” Barak said as he brought the jumper in for a landing. “You remember our little talk on the buddy system?” He asked Korodo.

“You lead, I follow.”

As soon as the jumper had landed, Korodo and Barak jumped out, weapons ready. Barak took the lead, advancing stealthily towards the alleyway, assault blaster in hand. Approaching the alleyway, he held his fist up, signalling to the following Korodo to stop. He could hear sounds from around the corner. Barak signalled again to Korodo, his hand a blur of signals. The half-dragon responded with a blank look unable to understand the complex military signals. Barak rolled his eyes and, as clearly as possible, indicated that they would enter the alleyway on the count of three.

With their weapons ready to fire, they quietly ran into the alleyway. Halfway down its length, they ran up behind the wreckage of Korodo’s jumpcraft, using it as cover. Korodo looked over the top of the jumpcraft, shocked by what he saw. Barak, a former imperial legionnaire, acted as his training took over. He fired a warning shot, a single blaster bolt striking the wall near the drow. “Step away from the kid!”

Caldrin slowly turned, facing Barak and Korodo. At the sound of the voice, Trace forced himself to look up, his blurred vision focusing on the figures behind the jumpcraft. Confused, he recognised one of them as Korodo. For a few brief tense seconds, no one moved or said anything, and then Caldrin turned his head slightly towards Trace. A sly smile was on his face, a smile that only the semi-conscious boy could see. In a blur of speed, his foot lashed out and connected with Trace’s right ankle. With a sickening crack, Trace’s ankle snapped under the force of the muscle-enhanced kick. The pain caused him to scream, but as he fell, the noose tightened choking off his cry. Caldrin rolled to the side as Korodo and Barak opened fire, blaster bolts and gyrojet rounds streaking down the alleyway. Crouching behind a dumpster, the drow fired his own weapon at his attackers, the yellow beam of his laser gouging rents and pits in the crumpled bodywork of the jumpcraft.

As Barak stitched the dumpster with sprays of blaster fire, Korodo looked over at Trace. The boy was desperately trying to stand up, but with a broken leg and ankle, it was proving to be impossible. As he watched, his struggles were becoming weaker and less coordinated. From his position behind the dumpster, the drow had a clear shot at Trace. If he wanted to, he could shoot the boy in the head, but it was obvious that he wanted the boy’s death to be slow and painful. Realising that he only had one chance, Korodo took careful aim at the rope. Breathing out, he squeezed the trigger severing the rope with a single gyrojet round.

Trace dropped to the floor just as his vision darkened. Although his body weight was no longer pulling on the noose, it was still tight around his neck preventing any air from getting into his lungs. Unable to remain conscious any more, the boy passed out.

Caldrin looked to Trace as he fell, the boy’s lay still on the floor and his eyes were closed. The agent was considering shooting him in the head just to make sure he was dead when a burst of blaster bolts finally ripped through the metal of the dumpster and struck him in the chest. The armour weave of his body suit absorbed the energy of the bolts but the force of their impact drove him to the floor, gasping for breath and dropping his weapon. When he reached to pick it up, he discovered the barrel was a mass of melted plastic and burnt wiring. One of the bolts must have struck it, rendering it useless. Thundering footsteps heralded the imminent arrival of Korodo and his damned orc lackey. Unarmed and outnumbered, Caldrin sighed and activated his internal teleport web. Magical energy surged from spellware, erupting from his body like cracking electricity. In an instant, space around his form seemed to implode inwards and he vanished with a pop of inrushing air.

Barak rounded the dumpster, his weapon aimed at the spot where Caldrin had lain and cursed. Korodo meanwhile had rushed over to the unconscious boy. He quickly loosened the noose and removed the rope from around his neck. “Tsuki, we need you over here pronto.” Less than a minute later, Tsukiko ran around the corner clutching a medical kit. Korodo looked up as she knelt down “He’s got a pulse but I don’t think he’s breathing.”

“Gods, I thought you just wanted to ask him a few questions not beat him to a pulp!” She said as she began to treat him. Korodo scowled in response and was about to reply when Tsukiko continued. “These injuries are bad, I can’t treat them here. We need to get him to a hospital.”

Korodo nodded reluctantly and pulled out his comm. Before he could dial the number, Barak placed his hand over the comm. “Taking him to a hospital would be a mistake.”

“If we don’t take him, he could die from these injuries,” Korodo said.

“If we take him to hospital he’ll die for sure,” Barak explained, “because if his injuries don’t kill him that drow will find a way to finish him off.”

“Excuse me,” Tsukiko interrupted, “while I’m sure this is a fascinating conversation, whilst you two are dithering, this kid is probably bleeding to death internally.”

“What do you suggest then Barak?”

“We take him back to the ship; Tsukiko can use the facilities in the medbay to treat him.”

“Fine,” Tsukiko said as she began to make Trace ready to be moved using the force stretcher from the medical kit. “But I still say he should be taken to hospital.”

“We can better ensure his safety on board the ship,” Barak stated as Korodo activated the force stretcher generating a horizontal wall of force between the folding handles. “He’s still got questions to answer and he can’t do that if he’s dead.”

Tsukiko looked up at the orc, an amused smile on her face. “Aww, and here I was thinking you had gone soft on us.”

Helping her move Trace onto the stretcher, Barak smiled back. “Hey, beneath this gruff exterior lies a caring, sensitive soul that just happens to wear body armour and carry a very big gun.” The two men carried the stretcher to the jumper, securing it in the back with Tsukiko. As he sat down in the pilot’s seat, the orc picked up a communications headset and started the jumper’s systems. “Bolts, wake up.”

—-

Back on Korodo’s luxury yacht, a man shorts, t-shirt and trainers had his feet up on the console. The three seat cockpit was cramped, almost every spare surface covered in controls. Bolts, the yachts engineer, put down his comic book when a voice came over the communicator. “Very funny; what’s up?”

“Launch prep ASAP, we’re coming in hot plus one. ETA 8 minutes,” responded Barak’s tinny voice on the other end.

Bolts paused, rubbing his temple before answering. “You know I’ve got idea what you’re saying when you lapse into military jargon.”

“He means,” Tsukiko said into her own headset, “we’re on our way back and you need to fire the ship up ‘cos we’re taking off as soon as we arrive. We might have someone following us, oh and power up the medbay, we’ve got an injured kid to take care of.”

“Then why didn’t he say that,” he said tapping commands onto a forearm-mounted computer. “See you in eight.” He accessed the ships control systems by remote, entering the codes to start up the main reactor and switch to internal power, disconnecting the starport umbilical.

Dragonstar – Part 03

Swallowing his pride, Trace got up into a crouch and ran across the gap between the two jumpers, blaster bolts striking the concrete floor behind him. Firing his blaster wildly, the boy dived into the backseat.

“Move over scale face,” Trace said as he clambered into the front, “I’ll drive.” Although he bristled at the racial slur, Korodo nonetheless relinquished the driver’s seat to Trace and climbed over onto the passenger seat.

“Be my guest squirt, she won’t start.”

“Course not,” Trace said punching the keypad, “I reprogrammed the start code, it’s easier than hotwiring it.” Trace quickly started the jumpcraft, and seeing the display lights shining a solid green, wasted no time in accelerating out of the garage as the assassins sprayed the back of the jumper with blaster fire. Fortunately, the jumper’s bodywork was made of a special material designed to be impervious to personal blaster fire.

Streaking out into the cityscape, it took all of Trace’s concentration to weave in and out of the heavy traffic. A collision at these speeds and at this altitude would be fatal. He was dodging under a large commercial jumpcraft when twin bolts of plasma skimmed the sides of the jumpcraft and plunged into the trailer of the commercial jumpcraft, detonating its cargo in a massive fireball. Korodo and Trace whipped their heads around to look at the falling flaming wreckage just in time to see two jumpers burst through the smoke in pursuit, both sporting plasma cannons.

“We’ve got company!” Screamed Korodo as the jumpers gained ground and began to spray the air around the jumpcraft with plasma. The half-dragon leaned forward and pressed a small red button on the dashboard.

“I know, I know!” Trace yelled back as he jinked the jumpcraft around a third jumper that appeared from the canyon like gap between two megalithic skyscrapers. Within seconds, they had all three jumpers hot on their tail in an aerial chase over 400 metres above the ground and at speeds over 300 kilometres per hour, weaving between skyscrapers and other vehicles in a deadly dance. A glob of plasma from one of the chasing jumpers sheared off the port thruster pod, a few inches to the right and it might have taken off one of their heads. As the engine spiralled away to crash into a building, the jumpcraft lurched as Trace tried to correct for the imbalance in the thrust. “Crap they got one of the engines,” muttered Trace.

Korodo’s scales flushed red and he turned to face the chasing jumpers. “Stop blowing holes in my jumper!” He roared. “And you,” he said turning to Trace, “fly faster, you’re supposed to be a jumper thief aren’t you? Well fly like one.”

“Will you just shut up and let me drive!” Trace snapped as Korodo pulled a brace of clips from the glove compartment. Slapping a clip into the socket, he took aim at the pursuing craft. As one the jumpers jockeyed for a firing position, Korodo fired. The gyrojet stuck the side of the jumper, just behind the cockpit. It was a glancing strike however, the round ricocheting as it struck the armour plating.

Trace flipped the jumpcraft on its side as he banked it violently around a tight corner. Behind them, plasma fire stitched across the side of an office block. Korodo slammed to the side, almost dropping the pistol overboard. Cursing, he braced himself and took aim again only to have his shot ruined as the jumpcraft dove into the skeletal structure of a half-completed tower, weaving between girders and cross bracing struts. “Keep her steady, I can’t get a clear shot!” Korodo yelled over his shoulder.

“If I give you a clear shot, I’m giving them one as well and they have considerably better guns than that peashooter of yours.” Trace yelled back as he held on to the controls with one hand, using the other to wipe away blood from his eye that was dribbling down from a cut on his forehead.

“Err … keep up the good flying kid. Don’t let them get a bead on us.”

With the three jumpers still on their tail, Trace piloted the jumpcraft through the mammoth building site. A new arcology complex was under construction, the whole site a hive of activity 24 hours a day. As the jumpcraft streaked through the site, Trace spotted an opportunity ahead. “Hey, crane load at 12 o’clock,” he called out to Korodo. The half-dragon looked where Trace was pointing and grinned, realising instantly what the boy’s idea was. Korodo took careful aim at the chains holding the stack of pipes together as the crane lifted them and fired. The gyrojet round struck dead on target, snapping the chain and sending the pipes tumbling to the ground just as the enemy jumpers passed beneath them. One of the jumpers was obliterated instantly, destroyed by the bulk of the pipes pulverising its front half and detonating its fuel cell. A second jumper collided with the debris of the first, spinning out of control and crashing into an electricity substation. With a flare, the power died plunging the entire area into darkness. The only exceptions were the few towers with their own generators. Flaming debris from the first jumper rained down on to the construction site sending workers scurrying for cover.

Looking back at the carnage, Korodo grimaced when he saw the scale of the damage. “Kid, take us up out of the cityscape, we’re putting innocent people at risk.”

“Buckle in,” Trace said as he secured his own seatbelt. He waited for a few seconds for Korodo to do the same before turning to the half-dragon, smiling as he did so. “Hold on.” Before Korodo had time to answer, Trace threw the jumpcraft into a vertical dive. Despite himself, Korodo let out a scream as the jumpcraft fell through several intersecting layers of traffic.

“Are you trying to get us killed? I said take us up, not down.”

“YES!” Trace yelled glaring at Korodo, “my lifelong goal is to die aged 15 in a horrific jumper crash while being chased by gun wielding psychos who want the arrogant noble in the passenger seat dead.” As he yelled, Korodo started pointing out the front windscreen. “As you can see, I’ve had a real bad day. Now if you’ve finished giving orders, Your Highness, kindly shut up and let me get on with saving our collective asses.”

“Kid?” Korodo asked meekly.

“WHAT?” He asked, still glaring at the half-dragon.

“Ground.”

“Oh,” Trace said nonchalantly, “that.” Pulling back hard on the controls, Trace pulled the jumpcraft out of the dive. The sudden strain sent a spasm of pain shooting down his arm from the blaster wound and causing him to wince. Skimming along the ground a few metres above the heads of scattering pedestrians, the commercial buildings were nothing more than a blur as they whipped by. Carefully, Trace piloted the speeding jumpcraft into a deepening trench down which ran a pair of magrail tracks. Korodo watched in horror as Trace piloted the jumpcraft down the trench, parallel to a speeding maglev. Passengers pressed against the windows of the maglev as the jumpcraft passed by. With a determined expression on his face, Trace ignored Korodo’s protests and pushed the throttle all the way open. The jumpcraft surged forward as the trench swept around a wide corner towards a pair of tunnel openings. Behind them, the assassin’s jumper dropped down into the trench, following them close behind and lining up a shot. Ahead of them, a pair of lights from the oncoming tunnel heralded the arrival of a rapidly approaching maglev. With seconds to spare, Trace swerved in front of the maglev slotting the jumpcraft into the tunnel entrance as the oncoming maglev rushed out of its tunnel. With both tunnels blocked, the assassin’s jumper pulled up sharply, narrowly avoiding smashing into the trench walls or pedestrian walkways.

Whooping in triumph and pumping his first, Trace piloted the jumpcraft through the tunnel one-handed. Korodo punched him lightly on the arm, “Great Father, you’re insane.”

“Relax,” Trace said wincing slightly. Korodo’s punch had stuck him right on his blaster wound. “We lost them didn’t we?”

“No I won’t ‘relax’, you’re reckless and dangerous,” Korodo lectured sternly as they exited the tunnel and anonymously joined the traffic flow. “You put hundreds of lives at risk with stunt of yours; do you have any idea just how stupid that was?”

Trace didn’t answer, instead he stared straight ahead, his mouth a thin line of growing anger and his knuckles white as he gripped the controls. He jerked the controls to the left, setting the jumpcraft down in an alleyway. Before the half-dragon had a chance to continue berating him, he pulled the blaster pistol he had tucked into the front of his pants and stuck it in Korodo’s side. “Get out,” he hissed angrily. Korodo looked down at the boy, seeing nothing but hatred and anger in his eyes.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asked carefully.

“Perhaps it didn’t penetrate that thick skull of yours earlier,” Trace said, keeping the pistol trained on Korodo as he reluctantly got out of the jumpcraft. “I told you, I’m stealing your jumper.”

As Trace gunned the engine, preparing to take off, Korodo leaned in towards the boy. “So, you’re just going to leave me here?” Trace seemed to hesitate a second before his face hardened, his eyes devoid of any trace of childish innocence. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a comm and tossed it to the half-dragon.

“Call someone who cares.” The jumpcraft tore out of the alley, rising up to join the westbound traffic lanes. Left behind in the alley, Korodo watched as the jumpcraft disappeared from view. Looking down at the comm, he dialled a number and waited for an answer.

—-

Caldrin sat at the controls of the assault jumper and banged the dashboard in frustration. The operation had deteriorated, and then finally collapsed into utter failure. He had lost one assault team during the botched attack on the penthouse. Then he had lost two of his best pilots during the chase across the city before finally losing his quarry at the magrail tunnels. By the time he had circled around to the exit, Korodo and the boy were long gone.

He was still contemplating the consequences of his failure, hovering stationary beside an advertising board, when a familiar looking jumpcraft flew in front him; flying along on only one intact thruster. Caldrin could not believe his luck, right in front of him was the target, completely unaware that Caldrin had spotted him. The drow slowly manoeuvred his jumper a few vehicles behind the target and began to follow him. As he concentrated on the target, his heart sank when he realised that Lord Korodo was not in the jumpcraft, only the guild thief. They must have parted ways somewhere between the tunnel and the time that Caldrin had reacquired his quarry. If this mission was to be salvaged in any way, he had to find out where the boy had dropped off Korodo. With the resources of the Imperial Special Police Directorate at his disposal, he could blanket Jurrika City with satellite surveillance but even with all the technological and magical knowledge that the Dragon Empire possessed, located a specific individual amongst the tens of millions that inhabited the city would be impossible. If he could narrow the search to a specific area of the city, it would increase the chances of located him. Should the boy choose not to cooperate, that decision would cost the boy dearly. Part of Caldrin hoped that the boy would be stubborn, after what had happened he wasn’t in a very forgiving mood.

Dragonstar – Part 02

Yawning, Lord Korodo chewed on his breakfast as he watched the news. Death, destruction and mayhem in the Outlands. Ever since Emperor Mezzenbone had taken the throne, it seemed the Dragon Empire had set itself on a path of aggressive expansion, with legion after legion sent to primitive pre-technological worlds on missions of conquest. The policy sickened him. He may have shared the blood of the red dragons, but that was all, he did not share their love of conquest. Some members of House Mazorgrim seemed to revel in the bloodbath their Emperor was causing and after 5 thousand years of relative stability, the Empire was entering a period of turmoil. That this period coincided with the first royal house of Asamet to take throne was not a coincidence. Five thousand years ago, the Pact Draconis had ended the terrible war between the metallic dragons of the Kingdom of Qesmet and the chromatic dragons of Asamet, a war that had almost brought both kingdoms to the very brink of destruction. The Pact was an agreement between both kingdoms to end the war and form a joint empire under the rule of the dragons. Each noble house would rule for one thousand years before handing over to the next. The Houses of Deserene, Sarava, Handor, Aranath and Golion, the five royal Houses of Qesemet would be first to rule. The Houses of Mazorgrim, Osorus, Noros, Esmer and Altara, the five royal Houses of Asamet, would follow them. It was not an ideal solution, but it was the only one that had a chance at ending the bloodshed. For five millennia, the Empire had prospered under the rule of the metallic dragons but fifty years ago, House Mazorgrim had taken up the baton of lordship. Since then, many of the reforms enacted under the Qesemet houses had been repealed and many were predicting the Empire would tear itself apart. No one seriously believed that the stability of the Empire could survive the rule of even one chromatic dragon.

The half-dragon switched off the TV and walked over to the window. A hundred floors up, he was afforded an impressive view of the city that sprawled from horizon to horizon in all directions. Korodo sighed as he looked out over the urban landscape of towering megascrapers and downtrodden slums. Despite being born into the nobility, he knew that he had as much ability to change things as the teeming throngs of commoners below. The sound of a throat being cleared alerted him to the presence of someone entering the room.

“M’lord, your jumpcraft is ready whenever you are.”

Korodo turned to face the person addressing him. It was his driver, and pilot of his personal yacht, Duncan. The cat-like Pershalan, unlike Korodo, appeared smartly dressed even in his old flight suit. Korodo on the other hand looked more like a street-gang member than a scion of the empire’s nobility. “Excellent, I need to get out of the city and kill something.”

Duncan took one look at Korodo’s ripped sleeveless t-shirt, spiked bracers and choker and pants with torn knees and grimaced. “Sir, I wish you would wear something more suitable to your station.”

“Duncan old friend, I’m going hunting in the royal preserve, not negotiating with a bunch of bankers,” he said picking up a well used but lovingly maintained hunting rifle. “Besides, I wish you would just call me by my name once in a while.” Checking that the rifle’s power pack was fully charged, he made his way through the penthouse and down the stairs to the private garage. Duncan followed close behind, talking into a wrist communicator and informing building security that Korodo was leaving. The lights in the skygarage automatically activated as the security sensor registered their presence. Duncan climbed behind the controls of the Utility Jumpcraft as Korodo sat in the passenger seat. After receiving the all clear from building security, Duncan piloted the jumpcraft out of the garage into the city.

—-

As Korodo left the city, deep below the base of his luxury apartment building, Trace was connecting a handheld computer to a junction box. He was in the undertunnels, a vast network of passageways that spread out underneath the city and provided access to utility conduits and communication lines. Although they were meant to be watched at all hours of the day by surveillance systems, their coverage was patchy and the private company contracted to maintain the security system was often slow to respond. Trace hated travelling through the undertunnels; more than just the odd criminal called the tunnel home. “Things” hid in the darkness and people who ventured down here had a habit of disappearing. However if he wanted to break in to a noble’s penthouse, this was his only chance of defeating the security system. The only illumination in this part of the tunnel was the soft blue glow of the computer screen and the small chemical light stick attached to his cap. Although it did not give off a great deal of light, it was more than enough for him to see in the darkness thanks to the diluted elven blood flowing through his veins.

With the computer connected, Trace executed a series of programs, his fingers racing over the keypad at near zen-like speeds. Within seconds, he had logged onto the building’s mainframe and was navigating through its maze-like file structure. An indicator in the top left of the screen alerted him that his connection had been flagged for attention by the security system. Trace had been expecting and waiting for this and he activated a subroutine that when the system interrogated his connection, it responded with a coded response that identified the user as an authorised maintenance worker. However, that was merely the subroutines secondary function. Its primary purpose was to piggyback a signal back to the security system giving Trace access to its inner workings. It was ludicrously easy, the sign of a complacent security force. Now that he had full access, Trace loaded a special program of his own devising on to the system. The program cross-connected the security system with the building’s communications hardware. Lying dormant in the comm software, it waited until the building’s switchboard received a call from one specific number. Until then it was completely undetectable, but when activated its effects would be fast and devastating. It acted by reprogramming the security system to ignore all input from the sensors in the penthouse. Surveillance systems would begin looping their feeds and alarm systems would be silenced. Even the panic buttons in the penthouse would be disabled. Trace figured it would be at least twenty minutes before anyone noticed this quick and dirty hack once the program activated it. The only problem would be the door lock system. They were on a different circuit, separate from the main security system. Although the system monitored the door locks, it did not control them. Trace would have to bypass them manually when the time came.

After logging off the system and erasing his tracks, trace disconnected the computer and packed it carefully into his messenger bag. The nearest street exit was at least a kilometre away but it was in the heart of Jackson’s Gate, one of the richest and most tightly controlled areas of the city. A safe exit was at least five times that distance. Trace unclipped the jetboard from his belt and extended the front and back footpads, the crystals beneath each pad glowing blue as the levitation enchantment activated. The magic allowed the jetboard to float, its altitude controlled by a mental command from the rider but horizontal propulsion had to be provided by the microjets mounted on either side. As Trace hopped onto the board, the microjets emitted a high-pitched whine as the board began to move down the tunnel rapidly picking up speed.

Trace had only travelled a dozen or so metres when he collided with a metal pipe which appeared out of nowhere in his path. The pipe stuck him lengthways across the chest, stopping him in mid-air as he doubled over the pipe while the jetboard continued without him, clattering to a stop several metres down the tunnel.

Winded by the impact, Trace crashed to floor gasping for breath. “Sonuva…” he groaned, looking up just in time to see the metal pipe swing down towards his head. Rolling to side, the pipe struck the ground where his head had been just moments before, its impact chipping the concrete surface. A man dressed in the filthy remains of a maintenance worker’s outfit held the pipe. With emaciated skin and stringy hair, it bared a fanged mouth as it howled a scream of feral rage. Springing up into a crouch, Trace realised with a cold dread that the creature in front of him was a ghoul and that he was probably on its menu. He reached behind him, drawing a scuffed blaster pistol from where it had been tucked into the belt of his pants. Holding it with two shaking hands, he fired at the ghoul, its blue-white particle beam illuminating the tunnel like a bolt of lightning. The shot went wide, missing the ghoul and harmlessly striking the wall behind it. Reacting to the shot, the ghoul launched itself at Trace intent on using the metal pipe to crush the boy’s windpipe. Knocked back to the floor by the ghoul’s leaping attack, Trace lost his grip on his pistol and watched helplessly as it skittered across the floor coming to a rest just beyond his reach. It took all his strength to keep the pipe from pressing down on his throat and the ghoul’s face was just centimetres from his own, its foetid breath making Trace gag.

As the ghoul’s strength started to overpower his own, he began to panic, his mind scrambling to find a way out the situation. The boy thought back to the stories told by some of the older, more experienced guild members. A few years ago, an eleven-year-old Trace had sat listening with a small amount of awe to a story told by an old fortune hunter. The old man had been all too eager to tell an impressionable youth about the time he and his partners had raided an ancient tomb complex on some outland world only to be ambushed by undead. As the ghoul lay on top of him, Trace remembered something he’d been told about the undead, the one thing that could possibly save him. Undead gained a semblance of life from being imbued by negative energy. Healing magic worked on living creatures by imbuing them with positive energy. If negative energy magic harmed living creatures then perhaps healing magic had the same effect on the undead.

With no other option, Trace decided to take a chance taking his right hand off the pipe and pushing it into the ghoul’s face. As he did so, the ghoul presse the pipe against his throat, preventing him from breathing. Struggling for air, he realised that he would only have one shot at this so he focused all of his concentration on his healing ability. The ghoul screamed in pain as the positive energy surged into its body and it fell off Trace, writhing in agony. Scrambling to his feet, Trace wasted no time running over and picking up his pistol. Firing two shots into the ghoul, Trace didn’t wait to see if they slowed it down and instead ran to his jetboard. Jumping on board, he sped down the tunnel as fast as its microjets would allow.

—-

Several kilometres away and in the parking lot of a drive-through fast food restaurant, Caldrin watched on the small screen of a datapad as the boy fled from the ghoul. He smiled, mildly impressed that the boy had actually gotten away unscathed. A small surveillance drone that Caldrin had tasked with following the boy was relaying the images. Although he had been ready to intervene to save the boy’s life if necessary by using the drone’s suicide mode, Caldrin would rather not jeopardise the mission by revealing its presence. However, the boy’s use of magic had surprised the experienced ISPD agent. There had been nothing in the boy’s file or criminal record that even hinted at possessing such a power. “Remind me to update his file later,” Caldrin thought as he instructed the probe to continue following the boy at a discrete distance. “Perhaps Dorga wasn’t overselling the boy’s resourcefulness after all,” he said to himself as he munched on a cheeseburger.

While the drone followed the boy, Caldrin rewound the recorded video footage to the fight with the ghoul and focused on the weapon as it flew out of the boy’s hand. The drow freeze-framed the footage and rotated the image, zooming in the weapon and starting an image-recognition algorithm. Accessing a number of databases through the Imperial Infonet, the empire wide communications system connecting the various local networks via magical ansibles, the datapad was quickly able identify the make and model of the weapon.

“This is Caldrin; arm the assault team with Infernix Arms mark 19 hand blasters.” With the boy’s weapon identified, another hole was filled in the boy’s intelligence file, not that its accuracy would matter soon. More importantly, the assault team now had a weapon that would leave identical forensic traces to the boys making the set-up much more convincing.

—-

Trace slammed the door to the apartment closed and leaned against it. He was still shaking from the “fight” with the ghoul, adrenaline still pumping through his system. After leaving the undertunnels, he had returned straight home. Sliding down the door into a sitting position, Trace took several deep breaths and closed his eyes in attempt to calm down. Slowly he started to laugh, quietly at first but getting stronger by the second as he succumbed to the sheer exhilaration of being alive. Eventually he calmed down, wiping the laughter tears from his eyes and going into the kitchen area of the cramped two-room apartment. Opening the fridge, Trace took a bottle of water and twisted off the cap with his teeth while rooting through the dregs looking for something to eat. In a few hours, he would have to go back to Jackson’s Gate to get ready for tonight’s job. However, first he needed to get some food into his stomach. As he closed the fridge, holding a can of beans in one hand, something stuck to the fridge door caught his eye. Attached to the fridge by a magnet in the shape of a chubby red dragon holding an imperial flag was a photo. It was a picture of Toby and Trace leaning against each other with Samantha in between the two sucking on a sugar stick, the two boys grinning for the camera. The photo had been taken during the Empire Day celebrations two months ago.

“Looks like I couldn’t stay out of trouble for very long eh Tobs,” Trace asked as he plucked the photo from under the magnet. Looking at the photo as he sat down on the sofa, he sighed and placed the folded photo in a pocket before reaching for a relatively clean fork. Twisting the bottom of the can activated its internal heating element and while it heated, Trace turned on the small portable TV and channel surfed. After a minute, the can beeped and Trace carefully opened it, grimacing when he smelt its contents.

“Ahh re-heated cardboard.”

Trace spent the next few hours preparing for his attempt to break into Lord Korodo’s skygarage, making sure his “intrusion bag” was packed and programming his comm. As the sun sank below the horizon, he reluctantly mounted his jetboard and set off for Jackson’s Gate, more than a little apprehensive about what he had to do.

—-

By the time Caldrin spotted the boy approaching, it was nearly midnight. Putting down the digital binoculars, he turned to the squad behind him. They were already in their intrusion suits, armoured body suit made of phototropic duraweave. It created a form-fitting hologram around the wearer and his equipment that matched the colour and texture of the surroundings. Coupled with the built in thermal wiring, the suit rendered the wearer almost invisible to sensors. For the last couple of hours they had been getting increasingly impatient waiting for the ISPD agent to give the go order.

“Get ready, the guild asset is here. If he’s able to disable the system as promised, you move in on the target.”

—-

Trace bit his lip as he fiddled with the door’s electronic lock, a bead of sweat dribbling down his face. He brushed his hair out of his face and connected the leads to the keypad next to the maintenance door. As alphanumeric sequences rapidly flashed across the screen of the small electronic lockpick, Trace took a moment to look around. He was kneeling on a narrow ledge a hundred floors above street level outside a maintenance hatch that led to the skygarage. It had just gone midnight when he had decided to make his move, dialling the building’s main switchboard and triggering the logic bomb. Getting up here had been a chore in itself, the police came down hard on jetboarders in the richer sectors of the city so getting this far had been a challenge. As long as Korodo stayed upstairs in his penthouse, this job should be a cakewalk. With a beep, a sequence of numbers on the lock pick’s display flashed green indicating that it had found the unlock code. Trace unclipped the leads and closed the keypad’s cover before punching in the code. With a buzz, the door lock disengaged and the door opened with a click.

Stuffing the lockpick into a pocket, Trace stepped into the darkened garage closing the door behind him. There were two jumpcraft sitting in the parking bays, even in the low light one of them caught Trace’s eye. Sleek and low slung, with its propulsion units lying flush against the body, it was a four-seater luxury sports model. As he traced his hand across its smooth surface, Trace whistled. “Now this, this is a thing of beauty.” He peered in at the dashboard, the odometer was only a few points above zero; the jumpcraft was practically new. “It’ll be a shame to see a slimeball like Dorga get his hands on you,” he sighed. The other was a rugged looking utility jumpcraft that looked like it had seen a lot of use.

Slapping a button on the wall, the garage door slid open allowing the cool night air to stream into the garage. Using a small pocketknife, Trace popped open an access panel on the side of the jumpcraft and began to disable its alarm system and tracking device.

—-

Upstairs in his penthouse, Korodo was cleaning a disassembled plasma sword. A modern version of an ancient weapon, the plasma sword had fallen out of favour as ranged energy weapons became more reliable and versatile. Korodo had spent years hunting for parts and schematics in order to build one. He was reconnecting the plasma emitter when Duncan entered into the study on his way to bed.

“Are you still playing around with that, we’ve got an early take-off in the morning,” Duncan sighed, leaning tiredly against the doorframe. Korodo smiled and looked up from the plasma sword, opening his mouth to answer. Before he could speak, the blue-white beam of a blaster shot ripped through Duncan’s chest, leaving behind a smoking and cauterised wound. The half-dragon watched in horror as Duncan slumped forward onto the floor. In the corridor behind the now-lifeless body was a ripple in the air, reminiscent of the heat-haze that rises of tarmac on a hot day. Korodo could just make out a vaguely humanoid shape and the effect was only ruined by the pixelisation of the background seen through the haze. The figure lifted an arm, pointing what Korodo assumed was a weapon at him. Instinctively, the half-dragon inhaled and breathed out sharply. A gout of flame erupted from his throat engulfing the would-be assassin.

“Bet you didn’t expect that eh?” he yelled at the figure wreathed in flames. The hologram flickered and died as the assassin died with it. A second assassin leaned around the doorway, firing into the room. “Damn,” Korodo muttered as he dived behind the desk, the blaster shots striking the desk, gouging great pits in its surface and scattering the equipment on it onto the floor. Korodo looked down as the cylindrical hilt of the plasma sword rolled against his clawed hand. He had practiced and trained with it over the years but had never considered that he might have to use it in anger. Now it appeared that he would have no choice.

Taking a deep breath, Korodo grasped the hilt tightly and rolled out from behind the desk. The half-dragon charged at the assassin, dodging around several shots and thumbed the plasma swords activation switch. The hilt thrummed as powerful emitters within it created an enclosed and focused magnetic field. With a hiss, white-hot plasma flooded into the space enclosed by the field creating a 6-foot long blade of pure energy. Surprised by the sudden appearance of the unfamiliar weapon, the assassin stepped back around the door into the corridor outside. With a bellowing roar, Korodo impaled the sword into the wall, its plasma easily burning through the thin wall and stabbing the man in the back. Slumping dead to the floor, his comrade gritted his teeth and combat-rolled into the room. The third assassin brought his blaster pistol to bare and shot at Korodo. Luckily, it was a glancing shot that skipped across Korodo’s scales. Turning to face the assassin, he reactivated the blade and leapt across the small coffee table. The assassin nimbly sprang out of the way, rolling under Korodo’s swing and pressing a button on his left wrist. The wrist-mounted device generated a circular plane of force. Its magical energy was capable of deflecting or resisting any form of energy-based attack. Korodo again tried to strike at the assassin but his blow was blocked by the energy shield. The assassin tried to shoot his target but Korodo deftly dodged the blaster bolt, spinning around and striking the assassin’s left leg with his tail in an attempt to sweep him off his feet. Although knocked back, the assassin stayed on his feet but his shield arm was knocked aside by an elbow strike. Using the opening, Korodo brought the sword into a sweeping strike across the assassin’s abdomen. As the insubstantial blade struck the assassin, his body broke through the magnetic containment field and met the plasma. The extreme temperature of the plasma melted through the duraweave of the intrusion suite and burned the unprotected flesh of the assassin. Howling in pain, the assassin collapsed towards the carpet and as he fell, Korodo span bringing the plasma sword slicing down onto the man’s unprotected neck. The searing heat of the plasma burned through the flesh and bone of the neck, decapitating the head.

Panting heavily, Korodo turned back to the door into the study and went to kneel by Duncan’s body. After feeling for a pulse and finding none, he gently closed the man’s eyes. “Goodbye old friend,” he said quietly.

—-

“Dammit to pus-spewing, blood-gutted hell!” Caldrin yelled as the third assassin fell, “this op is getting more fubar’d by the second.” He turned to face the two men behind him in flight suits, a human and a fellow drow. “Fire up those jumpers, if the second team fail as well, we’re going to plan B.”

—-

Korodo pressed a red button on the wall next to a comm panel, expecting to hear the comforting tone of the security alarm. When no tone was forthcoming, he tried to contact security on the panel but the system refused to connect. In the reflection of the monitor, he saw the telltale distortion of two more assassins, about to fire. Ducking under their shots, Korodo began running down the corridor towards the stairs the led to the skygarage. As he ran, he slapped at a set of door controls and a heavy-duty security barrier slammed down trapping the two assassins. Wasting no time, Korodo reached the top of the stairs and virtually bounded down them in to the garage below. He skidded to stop at the foot of the stairs when he saw a figure silhouetted against the open door of the garage. The figure was smaller than the assassins were and clothed different. Snarling and in no mood for games, he drew the plasma sword and advanced on the figure facing away from him.

At the sound of the plasma swords activation, Trace, who hadn’t heard the blaster fire from upstairs because of the skygarage’s soundproofing, span round and jumped backwards as the point of the plasma blade pointed threateningly in his direction. Korodo’s scales flushed from a dark red to a vibrant blood red. “What in the nine hells are you doing in my house?” Korodo yelled.

“Technically,” Trace smirked nervously, “I’m in your garage.”

Korodo stepped forward, bringing the point of the blade towards Trace’s face, the light from the plasma illuminating it with a harsh white glow. “What then, are you doing in my garage?” He asked growling.

Trace took a step backwards, the heel of his left foot hanging off the edge of the ledge. He glanced behind him at the hundred-story drop and gulped. Holding his hands up in what he hoped was a placating manner; he turned back towards the irate half-dragon. “Looks like it’s painfully obvious,” Trace said, glancing nervously at the open access panel in the side of the jumpcraft, “I was trying to steal your jumper.” “If you can’t tell ‘em a good lie”, the guildmaster had once told him, “then surprise ‘em with the truth.” It seemed to work as the half-dragon’s mouth opened as if he was trying to come up with something to say, and the point of the blade lowered. He was interrupted as a blast from upstairs rocked the skygarage and the sound of the heavy-duty doors being blown open could be heard.

“I haven’t got time for this elf.” Korodo said dismissively.

Trace’s face flushed red with muted anger. “HALF-elf!” he retorted back in a raised voice, glancing upwards at the ceiling.

“Whatever kid,” Korodo said as he deactivated the sword and turned his back on Trace. Ripping the leads from the jumpcraft’s computer ports, he slammed the access panel closed and jumped over the door into the driver’s seat. The seat automatically adjusted itself to accommodate his tail as he sat down at the controls but when he entered the start-up code, the jumpcraft refused to respond.

As Korodo got in the jumpcraft, Trace quickly unclipped the jetboard from his belt and extended the front and back footpads. Standing at the door of the skygarage, he prepared to jump out on the jetboard when a blaster shot from the stairs struck him in the upper arm causing him to cry out in pain. He dropped the jetboard, damaging one of its microjets as he stumbled behind the utility jumpcraft, clutching his arm. Trace tried to focus his healing ability, but the weakly flickering blue field around his hand told him that he would have to wait until tomorrow before using it again. The incident with the ghoul earlier had used up what remained of his finite healing energy. Cursing his luck, Trace gritted his teeth as he tried to stop the bleeding; ducking as another shot struck the bodywork of the jumpcraft above his head.

Korodo’s head snapped up from the controls of the jumpcraft at the sound of the blaster shot just in time to see the boy fall behind cover. Reaching for the glove compartment, he pulled out a gyrojet pistol and fired at the two assassins as they came down the stairs. As the rounds left the barrel, expelled by magnetic repulsion, miniature rockets ignited and small spin-stabiliser vanes deployed. The gyrojets rocketed across the skygarage, striking the wall by the assassins with enough force to punch their way through the wall. Leaping into the skygarage and taking cover, the assassins returned fire. Exchanging fire with the assassins, Korodo saw that the blaster bolts were not solely aimed at him. Quickly, he stole a glance towards the boy and saw with some surprise that he was bleeding. He had assumed that the boy had been in league with the assassins, albeit in some minor form. Yet there he was, as much a target as he was.

Trace, for his part soon got over the shock of being shot; it wasn’t the first time that he had been shot but the amount of pain was always seemed to surprise him. He looked over to jetboard lying on the floor of the skygarage. The left microjet was damaged but it was not beyond repair, if he could just reach it, he might be able to fix it. With this thought, he reached out for the jetboard only snatch his hand back as blaster bolts lanced towards it. “Screw this,” he muttered pulling the pistol from where it was tucked into the back of his pants. Trace considered uttering a short prayer to the Trickster, or any of the twelve Gods of the Unification Church that happened to be watching. However, he figured a deathbed conversion is more likely to draw their ire than their blessing so instead; he cursed the name of the man that forced him into this crazy venture. Screaming, he knelt up behind the utility jumpcraft and fired at the assassins. His aim was unsteady, partly due to the pain from his wound and partly due to fear. Fear that increased when two more men came down the stairs to join their comrades. One of his blaster bolts lanced across the skygarage and struck an assassin between the eyes. With a spurt of evaporating blood and cauterised flesh, the assassin dropped, dead before he hit the floor. Trace froze for a brief second when his shot connected. A shot from the one of the assassins ricocheted off the jumpcraft’s bodywork, a sliver of the fuselage striking Trace just above the eye and slicing a cut across the forehead. He ducked back down behind the jumpcraft, shielding his head with his hands as he glanced over at Korodo.

Across the skygarage, Korodo looked over towards Trace at the same time and their eyes met. The boy’s earlier cocksure attitude was gone, replaced by wide-eyed fear. Rolling his eyes and questioning his own judgement, Korodo made a decision. “Well kid, you waiting for an invitation? Get in.”

Dragonstar – Part 01

Trace was picked up off the floor of the office by one of the guild’s enforcers, an orc and shoved roughly back on to the wooden chair. Wiping his split lip, the young half-elf contemptuously spat a glob of blood at the orc. This earned the 15-year-old another blow to the face, almost knocking him back off the chair. The coarse skin of the orc’s fist scraped across his cheek leaving behind a series of rough scratches and the force of the punch sent a tooth clattering across the floor. Only the grip of the thug’s partner kept him in the seat. Pulling his fist back for another blow, he was stopped by the dark-skinned human sitting behind the desk. “That’s enough,” the guildmaster Dorga ordered, “You’re getting blood all over my floor.” Growling, the orc cuffed Trace across the back of the head, hard, causing him to grunt in pain. “Brak!” Barked the guildmaster, “I said enough.” Sneering down at Trace, the orc stepped back. Standing up and walking around the desk, the guildmaster stood in front of Trace. “How many times do I have to beat it into you? I own you, you work for me. What’s yours is mine.” Dorga grabbed his chin, forcing the boy to look him in the eye. “Now, I’m only going to ask this once. Where’s the money you owe?”

Without blinking, Trace calmly answered. “I spent it.” Dorga looked into the boy’s face, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, he slapped Trace angrily across the face. Pulling over a chair, he sat down in front of the boy. Gingerly rubbing the bruises on the side of his face, Trace looked at the guildmaster who seemed to be appraising him like a slice of beef. “You know, I’ve got a camera if you want a picture,” Trace said sarcastically.

As Dorga reached forward with his hand, Trace flinched involuntarily, his reaction causing the guildmaster to smile. “I like you Trace,” Dorga said stroking Trace’s face affectionately, an action that made the boy squirm with discomfort, “you’ve always been one of my favourites. You’re one of the best boosters in the guild and, until recently, you’ve been a good earner for me. I’d hate to see something happen to that pretty face of your’s.”

Trace smirked and hitched a thumb at the two orcs standing behind him by the door. “Bit late for that, looks like Teeny and Tiny over there already happened to it.” One of the orcs cracked his knuckles in anticipation of being told to continue the beating. Dorga, however, merely smiled. “Crud,” Trace thought to himself as he saw the guildmaster’s smile, “that is NOT a good sign.”

Dorga went back to his desk and picked up a tissue. “Kid, in a way, you remind me a little of myself when I was your age. Guess that’s why I’m giving you this one last chance.” He tossed the tissue over to Trace and looked at the boy sternly while he used the tissue to wipe away some of the blood from his mouth. “But this IS your last chance. You screw this up, or if I find out that you’ve been keeping the guild’s cut for yourself again, you’ll get a one way trip to the pound with the other mongrels.” Trace bit back a retort, if there was one thing he hated more than being called an elf, it was being called a mongrel but now was not the sort of time for backchat. Those sent to the “pound” quite literally ended up as dog food, or worse.

“So,” Trace asked sullenly, “what’s the job?”

“Nothing you can’t handle. You’re going to steal Lord Korodo’s new jumpcraft,” Dorga said smiling, his hand running through his short black hair.

“What!” Trace cried out in disbelief. “Are we talking about THE Lord Korodo, of House Mazorgrim, fourth nephew to the emperor umpteen times removed? THAT Korodo?”

“Yes, is that going to be a problem?” The guildmaster asked innocently.

“Gee Dorga, why don’t you just shoot me now and save the cops the trouble.” Trace said sarcastically.

The guildmaster shrugged, pulled a pistol from a shoulder holster and aimed it at Trace’s head. “If you say so.”

“Okay okay, I’ll do it.” Trace said holding his hands up.

“Good,” Dorga said smiling, “I want that vehicle at the usual place by noon tomorrow, no excuses. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.” Brak grabbed Trace by the arm and roughly dragged him towards the door out of the office. “One more thing,” Dorga said as Trace reached the door. As he turned round to face the guildmaster, he caught a small object that Dorga tossed towards him. Looking down at his hand, he saw that it was his tooth that Brak had punched out earlier. “Don’t leave your crap on my floor.”

With that, Brak pushed him out of the door, down the short corridor and into the back alley bar that served as one of the guild’s safe houses. It had only just turned midday and there were already several people sitting at the bar or in traditional dark corners. Trace recognised a couple as being members of the guild, one or two of which smirked when they saw the bruises on his face. Brak shoved him of the front door and into the alley. On the way out, Trace tripped and landed in a dirty puddle cursing. The orc learned over him, sneering. “See you tomorrow kid, unless the cops get you first.” Laughing, Brak went back into the bar leaving Trace sitting in the puddle, the water soaking through his tatty pants.

“Great,” Trace said to no one in particular as he picked himself up, “either way my ass is toast.” Keeping his head down, Trace exited the alley and made his way down the street towards the nearest magrail stop. Trace smiled however as he looked down into his hand. In his hand was a wallet, he had lifted it from Brak’s pocket as he was manhandled through the bar.

Back in the bar, Dorga looked up from his desk as the door to his office opened. A drow strode in acting, as they always do, as if he owned the place. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down opposite Dorga. “Are you sure that we can entrust this task to a child. My superiors are paying you for results, not for a baby sitting service.”

“Come in Caldrin, take a seat why don’t you.” Dorga said sarcastically.

“Don’t be facetious, we are concerned that the success of our operation depends on the skills of a mere youth,” snapped the drow. “This isn’t like bypassing the security on a convenience store’s safe, how can we be sure that the boy will be able to handle the pressure.”

“He may be young but he is the best slicer I know. That noble’s security system stands no chance.” Dorga said in an attempt to reassure the drow. The drow, however, still seemed unconvinced. “He may have a smart mouth on him, but he knows who’s calling the shots. He’s pistol-whipped worse than an unwanted puppy. He’ll do the job ‘cos he knows that he’s got no choice if he wants to see next week.”

The drow sat back in the chair, contemplating Dorga’s words. “There’s is a very good chance that the boy will not escape unscathed from this operation, are you so willing to sacrifice him considering that he seems so valuable to you.”

Dorga hesitated before answering. It was only a momentary hesitation, but it was enough for the attentive drow to note its presence. “He’s an asset, as long as the money is good, I don’t care if you put a bullet in his head to keep him quiet once the job is done.” Despite the fact that Dorga was skilled at deception and manipulating people to do his bidding, the drow was better. He could immediately tell that Dorga was lying.

The drow smiled as he handed Dorga an envelope containing several thousand credits. “I’m sure it will not come to that,” he lied, “if he is truly as skilled as you say, then I’m sure he will be returned to you safely.”

“Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you wanted the security taken down?” Dorga asked as he started to count the money.

Caldrin stood up and walked over to the door before turning to answer. “There are certain aspects of our operation that my superiors wish to minimise our connection too. An outside contractor is necessary. See to it that your boy does his part.” Not waiting for any answer, the drow left the office and headed outside. Once on the street, he walked over to a jumpcraft parked some distance away. The jumper’s cab was lined with a special material designed to both soundproof the cab and block any concievable type of surveillance device. It also acted as a magical Faraday cage, disabling any sort of magical communication making the cab secure for private communications. Activating the comm system, Caldrin connected to a number only know to a few people on the planet. The video screen showed nothing but static and the voice that emitted from the speaker was heavily distorted.

“Report.”

“Everything is proceeding according to plan. The local thieves’ guild has provided us with an expendable asset to bypass the security system.” Caldrin reported.

“Then the mission will proceed as planned?” The voice queried.

“Affirmative, by tomorrow morning Lord Korodo will be dead and nothing will link his assassination to the ISPD. Given the criminal record and background of the guild asset, the local authorities will have no trouble assuming that the death of Lord Korodo was due to a botched robbery attempt. We can expect a quick conviction followed by an even quicker execution.” Caldrin said devoid of emotion.

—-

Trace’s short ride through the slums of Jurrika City, planetary capital of the planet of the same name, was an interesting study in the mindset of the average citizen. On any other world, a teenage boy with extensive bruises to the face and blood on his clothes might have attracted at least some attention or wary looks. However, House Mazorgrim, the royal house of the red dragons, ruled Jurrika and people learned at an early age to keep their heads down and feign ignorance in regards to what happened around them. Whether the bruises on his face were from a mugging, a punishment at work, an abusive family life or just the general violence a scruffy looking teenager might get involved in; people just didn’t care, especially in the poorer regions of the city.

Eventually the graffiti covered magrail pulled into Crystal Point, a warren of run down tenements and labyrinthine alleyways that served as Trace’s home. The buildings here were packed claustrophobically close, single and double story shacks filling the space between high-rise blocks of cheaply built apartments. Despite thousands of years of continuous habitation, Crystal Point was still without a decent power supply and they were still relying on the crumbling and ancient water system constructed before the chromatic dragons conquered the planet during the Dragon War over five millennia ago. Only the ministrations of the local temple kept the slum free from a deadly cholera outbreak.

Picking his way carefully through the garbage and rivulets of raw sewage overflowing from the drains, avoiding some of the darker alleyways, Trace made his way through the throngs of people packed together in the street. As he passed one of the market stalls, he stopped and slapped several of the notes from Brak’s wallet down on the counter, purchasing a few old loafs of bread and other food items. Keeping a tight hold on the bag of food, Trace eventually made it to a derelict tenement block that jutted up against the elevated magrail track. A steel security barrier blocked the front entrance. Fixed to it was a notice reading “Condemned – Unsafe Building” in common and draconic. Ignoring the sign, Trace went around the side of the building and climbed up an access ladder onto the magrail track. As he got to the top, one of the three-car maglevs swept passed at over 320 kilometres per hour. Trace had to hold onto the top of the ladder to avoid being blown off by the blast of wind. Once the maglev had passed by, Trace clambered onto the track and jogged over to a hole in the wall of the tenement abutting the track.

The hole opened up on to a cramped corridor that provided access to the various apartments. Trace had to be careful climbing in through the hole in order to avoid touching the heavy duty cables running through it. The cables connected to the power line supplying electricity to the magrail’s superconducting electromagnets and illegally tapping into to it to provide the building with power. Although the cables were insulated, Trace was not going to take a chance with several thousand volts flowing just centimetres from his face.

Flickering lights illuminated the corridor as Trace quietly made his way down it. Strange smells assaulted his senses; smells of cooking, of rubbish and filth, smells of decay. The walls were scrawled with graffiti in a melange of languages, common, elven, draconic, dwarven, orcish and goblinoid, languages from across the empire. The odd discarded needle or drug patch on the floor joined the occasional bloodstain on the wall. Eventually he made it a door at the end of the corridor and holding the grocery bag in one hand, rapped a sequence of knocks on the door.

An eight-year-old girl opened the door; she looked up and smiled when she saw Trace. “Hey sprocket,” Trace said in greeting as he tussled her hair.

“Hi T,” she said taking the bag of food from him as he entered. “Toby, T’s been fighting again.” She called out as Trace closed and bolted the door.

A ten-year-old boy, her older brother, entered from the next room. “Shiv,” he said as he saw the bruises on Trace’s face, “what the hells happened to you?”

“Just a disagreement at work,” Trace explained as he headed towards the bathroom, “nothing to worry about.”

Closing the door behind him, Trace looked in the mirror as he filled the sink with water. He grimaced as he saw his appearance, he hadn’t realised just how bad he actually looked. Underneath his scruffy blond hair, his face was a mass of bruises and dried blood. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his dislodged tooth. Trace opened his mouth and pushed the tooth back in place, wincing with the pain. Concentrating, he called on his one special ability and a blue aura of energy enveloped his hand. Passing the hand across his face, maintaining a contact with the skin, the bruises disappeared and the cuts healed instantly. The tooth also reattached itself to its root, a process that wasn’t exactly painless. Trace had no idea where his healing ability came from. As far as he knew, healing was the province of divine magic and only the faithful followers of the Gods had such magic bestowed upon them. Trace was not particularly devout and couldn’t remember the last time he had been inside a temple. However, on days like this he was glad to have it and didn’t question its origin. Trace finished by washing off the dried blood and changing into his favourite orange hoody and a new pair of cut-off pants.

When he opened the door a several minutes, he was confronted by a stern faced Toby. Trace could not help but laugh aloud; Toby didn’t have the face to make an intimidating presence. With his blond hair, freckles and short statue, he was just too cute looking. That didn’t stop him from trying as he stood there with his arms crossed. “I know what you’re doing T, but you can’t keep taking the chance. One day they’re going to loose patience with you.”

Trace sighed and scratched his head, “It’s not as if I have a choice Tobs, we need the money.”

“I know,” Toby said as Trace flopped down on the sofa, “but there has to be another way. If you keep narking the Guild, they’ll kill you like … like they did to my dad.”

Toby’s and Samantha’s father had been a police officer, one of the few in Jurrika City that was honest and sincere in his job. He had never taken a bribe or been “persuaded” to look the other way. This integrity had unfortunately been his undoing when he refused to bow to intimidation during a drugs investigation. The Thieves Guild had decided to make an example of him, to show other honest cops what their integrity might cost them. During the night, gunmen broke into their small apartment and shot him and his wife while they slept. Toby and his sister were awoken by the gunshots and fled the apartment using the fire escape, evading the guild hit men. Later the landlord had evicted them from their apartment and their neighbours turned their backs on them, refusing to get involved over fear of reprisal. With no living relatives on the planet, the two orphaned children were forced to live on the streets. It had been here that Trace had found them a month later and, out of a misplaced sense of guilt, decided to take them in.

Trace got up and walked over to Toby. “That’s why I need to keep…” he began but was interrupted by Toby.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it wasn’t your fault? You didn’t have anything to do with their deaths. Just because you’re a member of the guild doesn’t make it your fault.” Toby looked into the older boy’s eyes as he continued. “You’ve done more than enough, if it weren’t for you I don’t think Sammy would’ve made it through last winter. It’s time we started paying you back. I could help you out when you…”

Trace grabbed Toby and shoved him against the wall forcefully. The sudden movement shocked the younger boy. “Don’t you ever say that. I never had a choice about doing what I do but as long as I am around, YOU do. What would your father think if you started stealing? You’re smart, you went to school and everything, don’t waste that.” Trace left the room, heading for the small bedroom, leaving Toby rubbing his arms. Less than minute later he returned holding a crisp white envelope. He smiled and tossed the envelope at Toby. “Happy birthday, I know it’s a couple of days early but it couldn’t wait.”

“Thanks,” Toby said smiling as he opened the envelope, “how did you know my birthday was coming?”

“Sam told me.”

Toby pulled two ID cards and two slips of paper. When he read what was on the paper, his eyes widened and he looked at Trace in confusion. “Are these what I think they are?”

“I managed to track down your grandparents; they’re living on a planet in the Rosa system. Those are tickets on a commercial transport and travel papers to get you and Sam out of Mazorgrim, across Osorus and into the Domain of House Deserene where Rosa is.”

“Trace,” Toby said, his voice breaking, “these must’ve cost you a fortune! I … I don’t know what to say”

The half-elf pulled Toby into a headlock, rubbing his head. “You can promise to stay out of trouble and look after your sister. Those goldies can be a little uptight.” Both boys fell to the floor laughing.

—-

Two hours later the three children exited the magrail station at Jurrika City’s spaceport, Toby and Samantha each clutching a bag containing their meagre possessions. Overhead, the sky was full of spaceships arriving and departing. Ships of every size, from small one-man shuttles to massive superfreighters, roared overhead representing almost every Imperial House or megacorporation. As they approached the plate glass doors of the civilian departure terminal, their way was barred by a 3-metre tall oruk in the uniform of an Imperial Legionnaire who levelled his assault blaster at them.

“All right you punks,” the oruk, a cross breed of ogre and orc, barked in heavily accented common, “Unless you got papers you ‘aint getting in. You street rats are trouble enough with letting you in to rob decent folk.”

Smiling innocently, Toby presented his and Sam’s travel papers to the soldier who inspected them carefully.

“Humph,” the oruk grunted, “they look genuine enough.”

“They should be,” Trace thought silently to himself, “after what they cost me.”

The oruk handed the paper’s back to Toby and turned to Trace, prodding the boy in the chest with the barrel of the gun. “Where’s your’s?”

Trace grinned sheepishly. “I er, haven’t got any.”

“Then take a hike shorty.”

“Aww come on,” Trace whined, “these are my friends, I’ve come to see them off, can’t I at least go as far as the gate?”

“Yeah,” Toby added, “it might be the last time we see each other!”

“Please mister,” Sam said sweetly, looking up at the oruk with big puppy-dog eyes.

“Then saying you’re goodbyes now won’t make a difference will it? No papers, no entrance, got it yet elf boy?” The oruk said smiling, brandishing his tusks.

Toby hurriedly pulled Trace away from the heavily armed soldier before he could make a scene. He knew that being called an elf was one of the few things that could make Trace loose his temper. After Toby had calmed him down, Trace realised that he had a problem. He didn’t know how to say goodbye, he had never had anyone worth saying it to before. There was an awkward moment while Trace tried to figure out what to say. Toby broke the silence by hugging a surprised Trace.

“Hey now, don’t get all emotional on me or anything.” Trace stammered as an embarrassed Toby let go. He bent down and hugged Sam. “Take care of your brother now, promise?” The little girl nodded.

“You stay out trouble too T,” Toby said, “as much as you can anyway.” Trace grinned in response and looked at his watch.

“You two better get going, you don’t want to miss your flight,” he said as he helped Sam with the straps on her backpack.

Toby grasped his hand and hugged him one last time. “Thanks for everything Trace, I mean it.”

“No problem, you take care now.”

“You too, see you around.”

Watching as they disappeared into the crowd, Trace waved as the closest thing he had to a family entered the spaceport. He was completely oblivious to the drow watching his every movement from a nearby parked jumpcraft.