Shattered Commonwealth: Wrath of Fate (Semi-Open, Attn GD)

[Morrdh]

Canongate House
Morrdun
Commonwealth of Morrdh
Ten years ago

A grim silence was upon the room, only broken by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the ticking of a clock upon the mantelpiece. Every seat in the wood-panelled room was occupied, but none of the occupants dared to speak. Smoke hazily lingered from cigarettes, cigars and pipes as half-filled glasses and empty bottles littered the low table that sat in the center of the room. Somebody sighed. The others turned to look at him expecting a word, a sentence, to be spoken. But they were to be disappointed as the man withered under the gaze of his fellows and silence still reigned supreme.

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

It was a shrill, sharp noise like a banshee's cry that disturbed the quiet of the grave. All eyes turned to the small, mechanical fiend in the corner of the room that shrilled for attention. One man, seeing that none of his comrades dared to make a move, walked over and picked up the handset of the telephone and spoke. "Yes? Sir Thomas Reid. I see. Yes, yes...I shall inform the others."

"Gentlemen," Sir Thomas said to the room at large after replacing the handset. "His Majesty King Alfred Cathmore the Fourth has passed beyond the veil, we must now decide his successor."

"What of Lothwyn?" A voice asked.

"She's still two years too young to take the crown." Another voice answered.

"So a Regent then? Who?"

"It would have to be the King's brother..."

"Herein lies our problem gentlemen." Said Sir Thomas. "Viktor cannot be allowed to become regent. If he takes the throne, he'll want the crown."

"Not one of us?"

"No, a member of the Provost Council becoming regent would go against the spirit of the Council. Not to mention that Viktor would force the issue into becoming a constitutional crisis." Explained Sir Thomas. "Instead I propose allowing Lothwyn assume the crown early. All those in favour..."

[Morrdh]

Viktor Cathmore quickly made his way to Canongate House soon as he received summons from the Provost Council, though he frowned when he encountered a cold reception from the Garda¹. The Garda all carried sheathed swords, though the clasps were undone to allow the swords to be drawn freely. A pair of Gardaí escorted Viktor to where the Council awaited him, though Viktor couldn't help but feel like a condemned prisoner on his way to dance death's jig at the end of a rope. The Council itself was subdued with most unwilling to meet his glaze, except for Sir Thomas Reid who greeted him in a cold tone. "Your Grace."

"Lord Provost." Replied Viktor in a similar tone. "It's not often I see the men-at-arms ready to draw their blades at the drop of a hat..."

"A necessary evil Your Grace." Sir Thomas answered. "But these are uncertain times that we live in."

"Yes, I have heard about the death of my brother."

"Yes, so I presume that you've already deduced why we've summoned you here?"

"Who'll be succeeding my brother you mean?" Viktor asked, noting the discomfort of some of those in the room. "Ah, it's her isn't it? A mere slip of girl, that's who you want wearing the crown?! Somebody who you can easily control? Should I even me surprised?"

"Enough!" Snapped Sir Thomas. "She's still young, but she's popular with the people. On that basis, it was the decision of this council to forego a regency."

"I see." Viktor replied dryly. "You're cutting me out just like that."

"It was deemed the best course of action."

"So, now what?" Asked Viktor, eyeing the Warders who'd taken a step closer and rest a hand on the hilt of their swords.

"You'll be escorted from this place." Answered Sir Thomas, nodding at the two Gardaí to take another step forward. "And then you'll find yourself no longer welcomed."

"Exile...but you're too cowardly to say it." Viktor said angrily.

"Its for the good of the Commonwealth, so don't make it more difficult than it should be." Sir Thomas said as he motioned for the Gardaí to take another step forward.

"Very well, but mark my words; You'll come to regret this."

"Gentlemen." Said Sir Thomas, addressing the Gardaí directly. "Remove this man from the council's sight."

1. The Gardaí an Rí (King's Guards), ceremonial guard for the Morridane Crown and the Provost Council.

[Morrdh]

The Warders escorted Viktor to the courtyard where a black sedan waited, its driver hurried round and opened the door so that Viktor could get in and sit on the back passenger seat. Viktor's aide, Douglas Montewick, climbed in a moment later and kept quiet when he saw his master's grim face. After they'd left the courtyard and pulled onto the street, thus joining the traffic of the Morridane capital, Montewick spoke up. "Your Grace, I heard what happened..."

"They are spineless fools." Viktor snapped angrily. "They seek to use my brother's brat as a pawn because they didn't trust me...though the feeling was mutual."

"I see Your Grace." Replied Montewick. "But what will you do know? Where will you go?"

Viktor didn't reply, at least not straight away. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, listening to the snarling traffic around him and the rain pattering on the car's windows. He sighed and then spoke. "They say, Montewick, they say that destiny is written in the stars."

"Your Grace?"

"Space Montewick, space." Viktor explained. "We must go to space, go far beyond the glaze of the Provost Council and forge our own destiny."

"My liege....I must caution you against such a vague and dubious plan."

"Where else am I to go?"

"Stevid? The Golden Throne even?"

"Stevid...well, my welcome would be outstayed before I even arrived." Answered Viktor. "As for the Golden Throne...I'd be too much like an ant is to a man to achieve much of value there. No, space it must be!"

"Your Grace, I fail to see what can be achieved out there that cannot be achieved within Greater Dienstad."

"Greater Dienstad is, shall we say, too overcrowded and within the grasp of the Provost Council." Viktor responded. "Space, if you'll forgive the phrase, has plenty of space. Plenty of space for a man to disappear and plenty of space to put plans into motion."

"I...think I follow you my liege." Replied Montewick. "But of more immediate concern to me Your Grace is our next few steps."

"Lunar first Montewick, one final gathering of those still loyal." Sighed Viktor. "Then Gilbert and a sojourn into the black, it'll be a great journey I feel..."

[Morrdh]

Summerhill Boarding School,
Nephi,
Free Republic of Lamoni

"Halt!" Cried the referee, Mr Mordecai. "Time's up!"

Both fencers lowered their blades, took off their masks and turned to face Mr Mordecai. Satisfied, Mr Mordecai addressed both fencers. "Well done both of you, that was close. Three points to Wallace, four to Andre. Now join the others on the bench."

The two boys nodded, disconnected the cords used for electronic scoring and walked over to the bench along one wall where the rest of the class was seated. Their fellow classmates greeted them with calls of congratulations as Mr Mordecai noted down the scores. A moment later, Mr Mordecai looks up at the student and calls out. "Next up...Caitlin and Lothwyn."

Lothwyn gathered her blade and mask, took a deep breath and stood up. She was aware of the looks from her classmates; one-part awe and one-part distaste. She, one of only a mere handful of Morridane students to have attended Summerhill, was effectively an outsider and found it difficult to gel with the other students. True some of the other girls had tried aping her braided red hair with varying degrees of success, but she still didn't quite fit. A key part of Morridane culture was tattoos and these made Lothwyn stand-out from the other students. Celtic spirals ran down her upper arms whilst another tattoo hooked round her right eye.

That accounted for the distaste.

Fencing was were the awe came in. She had proven to be a natural at the sport, in particular with the sabre. She had found it not too dissimilar to the Morridane style of swordplay she'd grown up with, plus the fast pace of sabre fencing had meshed well with her aggressive streak. She was even tipped to become school champion, possibly even complete at the national level if she had a mind to do so. Though Lothwyn knew that she could never have a sporting career, instead it would remain more of a hobby and something to be indulged from time to time.

Caitlin was another who'd taken to fencing just as well as Lothwyn had, plus she had proven herself to be as capable during the many bouts she and Lothwyn had had. On overall scores, Lothwyn was only ahead of Caitlin by a slim margin and she wouldn't be surprised if Caitlin went onto complete on the international stage. Lothwyn's only advantage over the other girl was that she was lighter in weight, which gave her a slight speed advantage over most opponents. Generally, both girls were an equal match.

Lothwyn eyed her opponent as they walked over to the piste, plugged in the cord before doing a few test hit to ensure the electronic scoring equipment worked. Lights on the scoring box lit up and a small buzzer sounded to help signify a hit, prompting a satisfied nod from Mr Mordecai. Both girls then retreated their start, or en-garde, lines and turned to face one another. They saluted each other by raising their swords to a vertical position with the guard at face level, then lowered them again.

"En garde!" Mr Mordecai calls out and both girls don their masks and adopted the fencing stance with their front foot behind the en-garde line and blade held ready.

"Ready?" Called Mr Mordecai, to which both girls nodded. "Fence!"

Lothwyn, true to her aggressive style, lunged immediately and caught her opponent off-guard. Caitlin, for her part, managed to parry by the slimiest of margins. Lothwyn then alternated between feints and attacks, but kept it random to keep her opponent second guessing. She had to parry a few strikes as well, which came wilder and wilder as Caitlin's frustrations grew. There! Lothwyn saw as Caitlin let anger get the better of her and ended up leaving herself open for an attack. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Lothwyn feinted once again and then quickly went to stri-...

"HALT!" Cried Mr Mordecai. "En-garde positions please!"

Both Lothwyn and Caitlin lifted up their masks and looked at each other, but otherwise did as instructed. The reason for the interruption soon became clear as Mr Mordecai went over to speak to a member of the school staff who'd entered the hall, seemingly to speak with the fencing instructor. After a brief conversation, Mr Mordecai turned round and called out. "Lothwyn, you're excused from the rest of today's lesson. Go change and then go with Miss Bradshaw here."

"Ah...yes Mr Mordecai." Lothwyn replied, stunned at the sudden turn of events. She left the hall not hearing, or even caring, about the sudden buzz of conversation among her fellow students.

---

After freshening up and changing into the school uniform of navy skirt, blue-and-white-striped blouse, and navy jumper, Lothwyn tailed Miss Bradshaw through the corridors of the school. The older woman seemed to be one of the school secretaries and was wittering on about something or other, only catching perhaps one word in five Lothwyn just responded with what she thought to be a suitable word when she thought she was being prompted. At last they arrived at a room simply labelled '10B', Miss Bradshaw stuck her head round the door and spoke to somebody in the room before gesturing for Lothwyn to go in. Inside there was another woman who smiled warmly and said. "Ah Lothwyn, please take a seat. I'm Miss Tisdale, one of the school counselors."

"Erm, am I in trouble?"

"No, nothing of the sort!" Exclaimed Miss Tisdale, before switching to a quieter tone. "But I'm afraid the reason I've called you here is that I have some bad news."

"How bad?" Lothwyn asked warily.

"Your father, he's been ill for a while correct?" Miss Tisdale asked, then continued after Lothwyn nodded. "Well...we received word that he passed away late last night."

"Oh..." Lothwyn said, suddenly feeling hollowed inside of her as tears started to well up in her eyes.

"Its fine to cry, just let it out." Miss Tisdale said re-assuredly as she handed over a box of tissues. "But understand that I am here to help you through this difficult time."

"The Provost Council." Lothwyn said after blowing her nose and wiping her tears. "I need to know if they've sent any communiques, it'll be important."

[Morrdh]

Welcome to Lunar Industries

Lunsport
Commonwealth Luna

The meeting had proven to be something of a letdown with a disappointingly small number of his followers in attendance, the others had made excuses for their not being there. He suspected that the truth of the matter was that they were distancing themselves from him now that he'd fallen from grace in their eyes. More names to add to the list, more persons to feel his wrath at some later date. Right now he had more immediate concerns to occupy his mind with.

"Your Grace." Montewick said as he entered the room, a Luna hotel suite with metallic walls that was cramped by Earth standards. "The papers you requested."

"I presume they contain everything?" Viktor asked.

"Yes Your Grace." Answered Montewick. "Accounts, investments, the works."

"Excellent." Nodded Viktor as he took the papers and slid them into a briefcase. "Passage booked to Gilbert?"

"Yes, I have a berth booked for Your Grace on a vessel that leaves in three days time."

"First class?"

"Naturally Your Grace." Montewick replied. "Is there anything else that Your Grace requires?"

"No, no...that'll be all Montewick."

"Very well Your Grace." Montewick nodded and then left the room, leaving Viktor alone once more.

Such a loyal adjutant... Viktor mused. Almost a shame to have him be disposed off.

The trouble was that Montewick knew too many secrets, far too many for Viktor to allow the man to continue living and breathing. The man knew about the stolen Mokan gold that built Viktor's fortune, knew about Viktor's efforts to ensure that his brother didn't have an heir and he knew about half a dozen other things. No, the man was too much of a liability as far as Viktor was concerned. But it would be almost a shame to have the man killed.

By the time Viktor departed for Gilbert, his aide would be buried somewhere out in the Lunar dust. Viktor had made arrangements that if Montewick's body was ever found it would be dismissed as the tragic demise of yet another dumb tourist from Mother Earth. 'Death by misadventure' would be the verdict with the case quickly and quietly closed with nobody even confirming the cause of death, thats how Luna dealt with its so-called 'dust corpses'. No fuss, no hassle and no awkward questions from the higher ups.

The Moon was always a harsh mistress.

[Morrdh]

Gilbert Colony,
8 Months Later

With glass of whisky to hand, Viktor stared through the large pane window at the snow filled landscape beyond. Here and there, where the snow was pretty shallow, could be seen strains of Gilbert's famous red grass still stubbornly clinging on as autumn passed to winter. As he stood and watched, a small furred creature scurried through the snow. It wasn't unlike a squirrel back on Earth, perhaps larger and more shaggy looking. A flicker of movement under some nearby trees catches his attention and he spies another creature. A Gilbertian Snowcat, an indigenous carnivore with superficial similarities in appearance to a Lynx, stalking one of the planet's native vermin. The Snowcat advances cautiously, each paw treading carefully across the snow. When it gets within a few hundred yards of its prey, the snowcat crouches before pouncing forward and captures its target in an explosion of snow.

"Almost five decades and this world has still managed ta retain its primal character." Viktor muttered.

"...Sir?" Asked the other occupant of the room, a man in plain black combats and with a dangerous air about him.

"Nothing, nothing..." Replied Viktor as he turned to face the man. "I trust you've had success making a few contacts?"

"A handful." Answered the man. "A drink and the promise o' coin goes a ways, but I've had to employ other methods ta reach more influential contacts."

"Much trouble involved?"

"Nothing that couldn't be handled...." The man said, leaving the sentence hang.

"Good." Nodded Viktor before handing over some dossiers. "Here are some others, all currently serving time in the Commonwealth's penal system. Look at each and everyone of them, then tell me if any o' them are worth our attention."

"Want me ta do some preliminary planning on retrieving them?"

"Yes, that'll probably be prudent." Agreed Viktor.

"Very well, unless theres anything else I'd like ta get started."

"O' course, don't let me detain ye any further." Viktor said, to which the man nodded and left. Once the man had departed the room, Viktor seated himself down to enjoy the rest of the whisky.

Sykes.

That was the man he'd just been speaking to. He'd been in the platoon Viktor commanded during the Mokan Intervention and was the only surviving member of that unit who knew about the Mokan gold that filled Viktor's coffers. Thanking Sykes' sin was Wrath rather than Greed, otherwise Sykes would've gone the same way as some of the other members of the platoon. By the time of the Intervention, Sykes had already failed selection for the Morridane special forces and was a hair's breath away from being drummed out of the army. But Viktor had seen a potential in the man that others had not and took him on as his personal armsman. Skyes, for his part, developed a grudging respect for Viktor but neither could even remotely be considered friends.

Both considered the other to be a disposable tool to be discarded when they had no further purpose.

Viktor picked up a copy of the local newspaper to read and noted that Montewick's death only warranted a handful of lines on page eight...

[Morrdh]

Geeport Spaceport
Geelong
Colonial Capitol
Adelaide Colony
Four Months Later

The thirty-six Earth hour long 'evening' electrical storm meant that Sykes finally step foot on the colony world at the beginning of the world's five terrestrial days long 'night'. It was just as well as the night-time temperature was pleasantly cool compared to the day-time temperatures which could get up to seventy five degrees centigrade, coupled with a lower air pressure meant a dangerous risk of dehydration with the occasional fatal results. Pressure accelerated dehydration, as it was known, was a real risk for newcomers who were encouraged by the low gravity and high oxygen to over-exert themselves. Of course, the cooler night-time temperatures greatly reduced the risks and so it was when the colonists of Adelaided preferred to conduct outdoor activities.

Thankfully he wouldn't be here long enough to worry about the world's other hazards.

He hurried through the half-lit, grotty side-streets of the spaceport to the address his contacts had managed to dig up. The lack of a moon for this planet meant plenty of deep shadows for him to dart into in order to dodge the roaming patrols of armed Colonial Police, his business here meant it would be better if he kept his interactions with the law to an absolute minimum. Adelaide was still very much a frontier world with a thriving criminal underworld, the local Colonial Police were known to be heavy handed in their attempt to deal with this situation. The last thing Sykes wanted was to spend a night in a police cell, especially when that 'night' was at the discretion of the local law enforcement officers.

Un-harassed, he reached the address he'd been given and quickly looked round before knocking on the weathered wooden door. A slot slid open and a pair of eyes stared out, Sykes quietly said 'redrake' and the slot was slammed shut. A moment of silence passed and Sykes wondered whether he'd said the right password, but then he heard heavy bolts being slid before the door opened and he was allowed in. He was immediately assaulted by a cloud of cigarette smoke that made his eyes water, he had to spend a moment or two blinking his eyes before the room came into a hazy focus.

There.

His contact was sat on the far side of the barroom, a wide-brimmed hat was perched on top of a glass bottle as the agreed sign that it was safe to talk. Sykes went to the bar and got himself a glass of drink before sitting down at the table. The man pulled out a packet of cigarette papers and a pouch of tobacco before he spoke. "Took ta time..."

"That crazy weather ye have here, spent the best part o' an earth day stuck in orbit." Sykes replied, sipping his drink.

" OK, I'll give ye that."

"Good." Nodded Sykes. "Gots wot I need?"

"Depends. Got me payment?"

"The agreed sum." Sykes answered, passing over a bank receipt. "Funds should clear by the end o' the week."

"Then I've gots wot ya want." The man grinned. "Uniforms, passes, schedule, the works. Had ta grease a few palms, but ye should be able to hijack the ship and bust yer guy out."

"I trust those palms aren't ones ta tell tales?"

"I'm very selective with whom I work, plus I didn't get ta be the best fixer on Adelaide fer nothing!"

"Co's if things go wrong..." Sykes said coldly. "...Heads will roll, starting with yers."

[Morrdh]

Morrdun Castle,
Morrdun,
Commonwealth of Morrdh

Though the sun had scarcely risen a couple of hours earlier, the day was proving to be extremely busy and extremely long. Over a year ago she'd been at a boarding school in Lamoni when she was informed of her father's death and the proclamation of her being made queen. Now at seventeen years of age, she faced her coronation which would see her crowned as the youngest monarch within the region of Greater Dienstad. Her peers, the other crowned heads of the region, were many years her senior and in recent months she'd had to fight off suitors who were twice her age. At the formal dinner, scheduled to take place that evening after the ceremony, she was expecting to fend off more advances from foreign dignitaries.

Young and unattached, she was the prime catch for somebody seeking to worm their way into quite an influential position.

There was a knock on the door, though that didn't surprise her much since servants had been bustle in and out of her room since the crack of dawn to help prepare her for the coronation. As a formality she called out. "Enter!"

"Ser Thomas!" She exclaimed after she'd turned to see who it was. "This is a surprise!"

"Yer Majesty." Ser Thomas, the Lord Provost of Morrdun, noted a greeting. "I'm afraid this isn't a social call."

"I see, well take a seat then." Lothwyn replied, gesturing to a nearby chair. "Though I'm expecting the dressmakers to arrive at any moment with me gown."

"Then I promise not ta take up ta much o' yer time then."

"Oh I'm gonna hate hearing that phrase long 'fore the day is out..."

"I imagine ye will, though I promise this will be brief." Replied Ser Thomas. "Its 'bouts yer uncle..."

"Go on..." Lothwyn replied, narrowing her eyes.

"We've been keeping tabs on him, though not an easy task since he went off-world." Explained Ser Thomas. "But as o' a couple o' months ago, he's setup permanent residence on Gilbert. My agents report that he seems quite content to stay put there...for the time being at least."

"So ye do not believe he'll try ta interfere with the coronation?"

"Ta be honest I'd be surprised if he doesn't, but we have Commonwealth Intelligence working overtime ta minimise the chance o' action ta either disrupt the ceremony or ta cause ye harm."

"Hm, is there anything that we can do ta placate him? Perhaps make him Duke o' Gilbert or something?"

"I fear that he'll merely reject the olive branch as it were."

"Even so the olive branch, as ye so describe it, must be extended." Replied Lothwyn. "And thats not a request."

"Yes Yer Majesty." Ser Thomas responded. "I shall go draft the communique immediately."

[Morrdh]

The 'Dust Disc'
Gilbert System
Two Months Later

The so-called 'Dust Disc' was the collective name given to the Gilbert system's inner and outer asteroid belts, both formed dense rings of dust and astronomically speaking very little distance separated the two. The effect was a thick and distinct 'fog' of dust debris that made the orange hue of the system's small and unusually dim star darker than it actually was. The Disc also contained a very high density of comets which forms a significant hazard for shipping within the system.

Picking its way cautiously through the Disc was the Prison Transport Aldgate, carrying convicts to a prison outpost in the outer belt. Both its crew and 'passengers' were given magnetic boots to offset the effects of zero gravity, though the convicts' boots simply had metal in the soles and related on the floors of the ship being magnetized. The advantage of this system is that the 'gravity' in individual cells could be turned off in case a prisoner started getting rowdy; the crew wore boots that were magnetized and thus held the advantage over their charges.

For Sykes, it had been an anxious trip as a nagging worry in the back of mind at his plan being foiled would not go away. He'd spent a fair number of sovereigns ensuring that he got the position of first mate and then hire his own men as part of the crew, thankfully the ID papers from his Adelaide contact proved to be flawless. Despite the maddeningly long journey, none of Sykes' men had aroused the suspicions of the rest of the crew. but soon it would be time to put the plan into action.

The Aldgate had its own callsign which it used on a certain radio frequency to regularly check-in with Gilbert Traffic Control, a failure to check-in at certain times resulted in the Royal Space Force being alerted and the closest patrol redirected to investigate. Since the Gilbert system had a strong Space Force presence and regular patrols, space pirates weren't a problem and thus the Aldgate didn't have an escort which suited Sykes' purposes just fine. He was on the ship's bridge when the next check-in was required, though before the radio officer could sent the check-in he was given a note by Sykes. "Wot's this?"

"Cap'n asked fer an amended message ta be sent, a code fer Traffic Control so that they know we'll be arriving at our destination soon."

"Beats relying the rugby scores I guess..." The radio officer shrugged and then transmitted the message, though the man wasn't to know that there were others listening in on the same radio frequency.

---

"Sir..." Called out the crewman manning the radar station. "Picking up a contact on the scope."

"Noted." Sykes replied, then reached for the ship's intercom. "Connell ta the bridge please."

Connell was the name assumed by one of Sykes, it was also the code-word for his men to get ready. A short while later 'Connell' arrived on the bridge and nodded at Sykes, who in turn addressed the bridge crew as he pulled out a gun. "Yer attention please, do as instructed and nobody gets hurts...savvy?"

"Good." Replied Sykes as the stunned bridge crew nodded. "Stay strapped in yer seats and remove yer boots, me colleague here will collect 'em."

Sykes covered Connell as he went round collecting the bridge crew's boots, thus making it difficult for the crew to fight back as they would be floating in zero G the moment they unstrapped themselves from their chairs. Once satisfied that Connell had gathered all the mag-boots of the bridge crew, Sykes once again got on the ship's intercom. "This is Sykes. Have control o' the bridge, do as instructed and ye'll see yer loved ones again."

"Me men are armed and will shoot ta kill, so no bloody heroics." Said Sykes. "So stay in yer quarters while me men confiscate yer weapons and mag-boots."

Sykes waited for over half an hour before couple of his men came to the bridge and reported that the rest of the crew were detained in locked quarters. Sykes nodded and said. "Two o' ye stay here ta watch the bridge. Connell, we're going ta meet our special guest."

[Morrdh]

Prison Transport Aldgate
Gilbert System

Among the Aldgate's many 'passengers' was a certain Darian Hist, destined to spend the rest of his life rotting away on some forsaken rock floating in the deep black. He'd been one of the most feared pirates in Commonwealth Space, least until he'd gotten stupid and let drink and a fine woman get the better of him. A show trial at a Space Force version of an 'admiralty court' saw Hist getting what he expected; life imprisonment on some miserable rock.

Confined to his cell onboard the Aldgate, there was little for him to do other than read the few books allowed by the crew or exercise. Being a former Royal Astro-Marine, Hist was accustomed to keeping fit in low gravity environments. He was also a master of hand-to-hand in zero gravity, something that the transport's crew were aware of and were careful when they escorted him through the ship. It had been an uneventful voyage, so he was surprised and curious when he heard shouting outside his door. He was in for an even bigger surprise when the intercom crackled to life and a voice spoke. "Darian Hist...yer sentenced has been commuted!"

The cell door opened with a clank and one of the ship's crew greeted him, though Hist noticed a grey armband that wasn't part of the normal uniform. Hist growled. "Who the frick are ye?"

"A friend..." The man replied. "Well, unless ye rather stay on this tin can."

"A 'friend' of mine typically wants me dead." Hist replied.

"OK, associates then." The man responded, before noticing a couple of other men approaching. "Either way, the boss is here."

"I'm Sykes." One of the men declared. "I gots an offer fer ye..."

Hist stared at the man called Sykes, tension crackled in the air before Hist sighed and said. "Alright, lets hear it..."

---

A short while later another craft approached the Aldgate and briefly docked with it, then uncoupled and moved away once more. As it opened the distance, a single missile streaked from the new craft and struck the transport amidships. The explosion tore through the Aldgate ripping it in half as air and flames were vented into the void, the broken halves spiralling apart from one another. It would be another month or so before a RSF vessel found the wreckage and the Aldgate was declared lost with all hands.

Unbeknownst to anyone in authority, the most dangerous man in Commonwealth Space was very much alive and kicking.

[Morrdh]

Northern Highlands,
Ellesmere Province
Gilbert Colony

The last of the redgrass had disappeared beneath the snows of the, mercifully, short Gilbertian winter. Alot of the planet's native fauna had gone into hibernation to avoid the worst of the harsh weather, though some remained active throughout the winter. Amongst the latter was the Gilbertain Snowcat, the local top predator that sought out some of the hibernating creatures as easy pickings. One of these seemingly giant cat-like hunters move cautiously through the treeline, taking care to tread carefully through the snow in order to keep the noise of its movement to an absolute minimum.

Though the hunter was unaware that it may become the hunted.

Laying a few hundred yards away and camouflaged amidst the snow, a man watched the creature through the scope of a bolt-action rifle. The creature paused and the man began to squeeze the trigger of the rifle, though the sudden rumble of an approaching vehicle startled the beast and it disappeared into the treeline with the rest of its pack. Cursing, the man got to his feet and dusted the snow off of himself before making his rifle safe. He turned and started making his way over to the nearby track where a vehicle, a Land Rover, was already parked and was soon joined by a second as it came bouncing round a bend. Pulling open the back door of his vehicle, the man placed his rifle and some of his hunting gear into the Land Rover as the other vehicle pulled up with a squeal of brakes. The man sighed and called out. "Impeccable timing Sykes."

"Ye weren't easy ta find." Answered Sykes as he and two others climbed out of the newly arrived vehicle. "The staff at the house said ye were out hunting, but fair bit o' land ta cover."

"I suppose, but there is a reason fer that." Viktor replied, slamming the door of the Land Rover shut and turning to look at one of the two men who'd arrived with Sykes. "So this must be Hist?"

"That I am." The man growled. "Wots it ta ye?"

"I'm the man who went ta alot o' trouble arranging fer ye avoid a fate rotting away in some Commonwealth prison." Answered Viktor. "Depending on whether ye accept me proposal, I'm also the man who could make ye very rich indeed."

"Rich ye say?"

"Very." Nodded Viktor. "Sykes, if ye'll do the honours."

"Sir." Sykes nodded and then fetched a briefcase from the Land Rover he'd arrived in, placed it on the bonnet of the vehicle and then opened it. "This just a taster."

"All twenty sovereign notes, a few thousand sounds good fer an advance payment wouldn't ye agree?"

"Ya feckin' having me on ain't ya?" Hist laughed as he walked over to the briefcase and lifted up one of the wads of paper money, quickly counting it. "Wait, yer feckin' serious?!"

"I'm not a man ta joke around." Said Viktor. "That money is yers ta take...but only if ye accept me offer."

"And wots this offer o' yers?"

"I want ye ta work fer me." Viktor answered. "Though there is a hunting lodge close by where we can discuss the details, but lets say yer skillset makes ye more than perfect fer the role I have in mind."

[Morrdh]

Camp Hidden Hammer
Northern New Garrack
Eastern Greater Dienstad
Present Day

Least they act like bloody professionals. Viktor mused as the driver of the Land Rover conferred with the Huron Authority guard and handed ID papers over. Unlike those JNF yokels and farmboys.

Viktor waited as the guard went over to the gate hut and made a quick telephone call, then the gate barrier was raised and they were permitted entry into the PMC base. With the JNF committed against Gormanville and Whitton's Creek (though not with the greatest of success at the latter), the camp mainly consisted of Huron personnel and guards from the mining consortium that Viktor had used as a front for this operation in New Garrack. Despite the failings of the JNF things were still going to plan, the New Garrack government was being destabilized and the Commonwealth was preparing to send troops to try and restore the situation. Soon, it would be time to start the next stage of his plan.

The Land Rover trundled through the camp, past billet huts and canvas tents to a large cleared area on the far side of the complex. Here a stage had been setup, opposite was a mass crowd of people lounging on the ground. Scythians. Several thousands of whom the Ordenites had considered to be undesireables and had been interned in prison camps, though they were now bound to his service. They'd been transported here to New Garrack some weeks prior and had spent their time being trained by Huron personnel, though to a much higher standard than their JNF counterparts. It was time that they found out who their new master was.

Huron soldiers began moving amongst the Scythians and getting them to their feet as the Land Rover pulled up by the stage and Viktor climbed out and walked onto the wooden platform. A microphone had been setup ready for Viktor to use and he took a moment to glance over the mass of people before him. The Scythians still were little more than a disorderly mob not willing to fight for anyone but themselves, yet Viktor was confident that he could bring them over to his side and make them the soldiers to carry out the rest of his plan. The JNF were little more than fodder to him, a tool to be discarded when it had served its purpose. The Scythians, on the other hand, were going to be his shock troops.

"You are here because the Ordenites do not want you!" He called out, his voice amplified by the loud speakers. "To them you are undesirable, outcasts, scum."

"I do not care who you are, what your beliefs nor your creed." Viktor continued, noting that he had the attention of them of them. "I only care about one thing, whether or not you'll fight for me!"

"I will make no illusions, chance are you'll either get killed or maimed. But I can promise that you'll be fed, clothed and even paid if you join me. You may even get the chance to fight the Ordenites and exact some revenge upon them."

"You will find that I am a generous man, I reward both hard work and merit." Added Viktor. "But do not consider me soft."

"I will punish those who break the rules and have no qualms carrying out such punishments." Viktor continued as a young man, a JNF fighter with his hands tied behind his back, was brought out in front of the stage by a pair of Huron guards. "See this man? He was caught stealing rations."

"This crime betrays the trust of his squad mates and threatens morale, after all what good is the man next to you if you cannot trust him?" Said Viktor as he pulled out a pistol. "This breaking of such a scared bond between squad mates is something I cannot allow."

A single pistol shot rang out and the JNF fighter crumpled to the ground. "As I said, I have no qualms serving judgement upon those who deserve it."

"I only expect you to fight." Continued Viktor. "Fight well and fight hard and you will be rewarded generously. Break the rules, well you've seen the consequences...."

Viktor left the last sentence hang before turning and heading back to the Land Rover, he was pretty confident that he'd won most of them over. It would be telling whether or not their performance during training changed at all. Though he'd told them the truth, not one single lie left his lips during the entire speech. Being forthright and honest would probably help convince them to join his cause, though he had dangled the proverbial carrot of revenge against the Ordenites. He suspected this carrot would perhaps be the motivation and driving force for his new Scythian soldiers, but who was he to argue if they fought for his cause first?

After climbing back into the Land Rover, Viktor's thoughts soon turned to wondering how well the Lycaon campaign was going. Had Hist made his move yet? It was frustrating as reports reached him quicker when he was still on Gilbert, but with his plans start to reach critical stages he was needed here. Just as long as Hist did his part, that was all that mattered. Viktor now had to focus on the key role that he had to play.

[Morrdh]

Mordent,
Over Four Centuries Ago

The castle burned.

The central keep was well alight, flames licked out of every window and the roof was a sea of fire. Smoke bellowed high into the heavens as it, and the dark clouds up above, were brightly lit by the orange glow of the blaze. Cannon fire could be heard in the near distance, a roaring thunder as the gunners kept up their pounding of the castle walls. In between each thundering roar, the exchange of the musket fire could be heard as the castle’s defenders attempted to harass the castle’s besiegers with shot.

He stood alone in the courtyard; head bowed and tip of his sword resting upon the earthen ground. A cannonball smashed into a nearby tower and brought it crashing down, yet he did not stir. The man did not stir even when a warrior came running over and called out as he went. “M’lord! M’lord!”

“M’lord!” Cried the warrior once breathlessly as he halted in front of the man. “We must leave! The king’s army will storm within the hour, their cannon are battering down the gates as I speak! This day is lost!”

“T’was lost long ago…” The man muttered, his eyes glazing blankly towards the outer gates of the castle.

“M’lord?”

“I will not go!” The man declared. “I will stand and fight than be a coward. If I stand ‘fore Donn’s door ‘fore this night is through so be it.”

“Ye must leave m’lord,” Pleaded the warrior. “So the clan can live on!”

“There are others who’ve since fled these lands, the clan will live on in them.” The man stated, lifting his sword up as he began to stride towards the shattered remains of the castle gates. “Though it will probably remain unwritten, I shalt see ta it that there is glory fer Clan Kendrick this day!”

The warrior watch as the man strode with purpose until he was lost from sight in the smoke, then the warrior shook his head and cursed. With one last look towards the gates, the warrior turned and ran deeper into the burning castle.

---

Present Day

The castle burnt.

This was a dead place; the only sounds were the mournful wind and the crashing waves against the foot of the cliff far below. Even after all these years the stonework still bore the scars of the inferno that consumed the castle, though ivy obscured much of it. Amidst the tumbledown stones, human bones and rust centuries old remnants of weapons could be found if one looked carefully enough. It was a cursed place, shunned and forever stained by the fateful night that saw the castle’s death.

A man now walked through the ruins, passing through the once great doors of the castle and into the old keep. Startled ravens took to flight and cawed as they kicked up clouds of dust, though did little to impede the progress of the man as he walked along long dead corridors. At last the man came to what was once the great hall, where once great feasts were held but now contained rotten pieces of wood and cobwebs. There was a figure seated in a chair drawn up to the grand fireplace where a fire had been lit, the orange glow making shadows danced all around the walls. The man smiled and called out, “I hail thee, son of Daelin!”

“I hail thee, scion of Kendrick.” The figure replied. “We have much ta discuss.”

“I must know, why?” Asked the man of the Kendrick line. “Particularly given the animosity that has existed ‘tween our clans fer over four hundred years.”

“We both want the same thing; the crown and retribution upon those who have wronged us.” Answered the figure. “Also, I am without heir and have nobody ta continue me line. We are bonded by a distant ancestor, that weighs heavily in yer favour ta be me successor.”

“Ye really are going ta do yer coup aren’t ye?”

“Do try ta keep up boy, me plans there are already in motion and tis just a matter o’ time.”

“That mess in New Garrack? Forgive me fer being skeptical, ta purpose does that serve?”

“A mere stepping stone.”

“I see.” The Kendrick man said. “I trust ye have some master plan that I am not privy ta, but where does Clan Kendrick fit inta all this?”

“Clan Kendrick, despite its still pitiful state, has a key resource that I need; money.” Explained the figure. “The world runs on it and I need access ta it. In exchange, Clan Kendrick will be brought back ta where it should be; the forefront of the Commonwealth.”

“Will I have yer word on that son o’ Daelin?”

“I am a man o’ honour.” Answered the figure, Viktor Cathmore. “Me word should be more than enough.”

[Morrdh]

A Coastal Villa
Somewhere In GD

A cool breeze drifted in through the open balcony doors, bringing with it the taste of salty sea air and the crashing of the waves upon the sandy beach. Cries of gulls and holidaymakers on the sand ruined the tranquillity of the scene; Viktor drew a direct comparison with nails being dragged down a chalkboard. He sighed and sent rings of cigar (Mokan naturally) smoke up towards the ceiling fan that lazily swirled around.

He was glad that he’d brought the villa some years ago, though admittedly he hadn’t had much of a chance to actually use it and was making up for lost time. It was one of a number of properties that he’d purchased, all outside of the Commonwealth and for his own personal use. These various properties meant he could stay mobile, only spending but a few days at each one. Besides, he was pretty certain that the budget for Commonwealth Intelligence’s surveillance of the properties had dried up. After all, what good were they if he never got to use and to enjoy them?

Now his plans were coming to fruition, it was high time that he enjoy a short holiday. The Lycaon Campaign, and the recent Attack on Gilbert, had sapped away much of the Royal Space Force’s strength. Similarly, the bush war in New Garrack looked to be drawing in Commonwealth and Mokan forces. His own pieces were just about in position and he was ready to begin his endgame. It had taken him just over ten years to get to this point, a handful of days wasn’t going to make much of a difference to him. His final plan required optimal timing, so there was little point in trying to rush things even if he only had a window of opportunity to work with.

Within a week he would have what was rightfully his by birth and have retribution upon those who’d sought to deny him it.

Outside, the gulls cried again.