FanFic: "Silence of the Heart" -- Part 4 ( Fic Complete!)

[DezoPenguin]

A long while ago, I wrote two pieces of PSO fanfiction featuring a character called "Sejanus," whom my wife had invented as part of the supporting cast for a fic she'd started but never finished. She let me use him to help develop his character, and I turned out to like him enough that not only did I write about him, but he became my DC v.2 RAmar and was my highest-level character (135).

Anyway, I started to write a new fic about him this past month, and having finished a couple of chapters, I thought I might "test the waters" with his original adventures (figuring that if no one here gave a flying frag, I'd just finish the story and have it posted where my stuff usually ends up over in the fic archive at the Phantasy Star Pages, but if people wanted to see more, I'd post both the two old stories and the one new one here.)

As some of you who know me from the PSPages already know, and if you happened to be curious, my fiction hangs out at the PS Pages Fanfiction Archive (http://www.phantasy-star.net/fanfics/fiction.html). That's me in the left-hand column there.

But enough rambling. On with the chapter!

__________________________________________________ ___


SILENCE OF THE HEART
Part I

"Thank God! You've got to protect me!" Racton said desperately. "I'm a nervous wreck!"

I could see that. When he'd taken his whiskey and soda from the android bartender, his hand had been shaking badly enough to spill about a third of it onto the table.

"Is that why you wanted to meet me here?" I asked. I didn't often come to the Hatless Dezorian. The smooth black bar and tables and the heavy crystal glasses were all right, but the retro music pumping through the speakers wasn't to my taste, nor was the atmosphere of drunken conviviality. I wasn't inclined towards parties in any case, and ever since the Pioneer 2 had arrived at the planet Ragol I hadn't exactly been in a joyful mood.

"Of course! I don't dare go to the Hunter's Guild; it's far too obvious--the first place he'd look." He squinted at me. "Are you sure you're a hunter from the Guild?"

"You haven't told me who 'he' is," I pointed out. "I don't have any idea what would or would not be obvious for him to do."

Racton, I decided, reminded me most of a pig. It wasn't just his soft, plump build or the small, beady eyes in his fleshy face. His scalp, bare except for a dark Mohawk, gleamed with perspiration, and his small mouth looked like a snout. He was a trader with a bad reputation. I'd even heard rumors that just as soon as the transporter to the planet Ragol had opened, he'd gone down to stake out a land claim. A hunter had had to rescue him from the monsters on the planet's surface and drag his greedy backside back to the Pioneer 2. Talking to him now, I could believe that story.

So why was I working for this man? Money, pure and simple. He'd put a value on his life of two thousand meseta, and for me, that was enough for me to try and save him.

Bad judgment on my part, a lot of people would say.

"Now, why don't you start from the beginning and tell the whole story? Who wants to harm you and why?"

Racton emptied his tumbler down his gullet and beckoned for a second drink.

"His name is Oliver Martz," he said. "He runs a weapons store in the shopping district near the Hunter's Guild."

I nodded; I knew the man, had even shopped there on occasion.

"And his reasons?"

"I don't know!" Racton exclaimed. He took the lead crystal glass from the android and downed half of his second drink before the server had so much as turned to go back to the bar.

My eyes narrowed.

"You don't know," I replied dryly. "There's no deal that went sour? No merchandise that had to be returned? No contract snitched out from under his nose?"

"Are you saying I would engage in shady business practices?" He was trying for a tone of offended dignity but failed miserably. He knew all too well what I was driving at.

"Let's not play games, Racton."

"Okay, okay, but I swear, Sejanus, there was nothing like that."

I kept my stare on him. Sooner or later, I figured, he'd get to the point.

"Look, here's how it went. I had a load of weapons to wholesale, so I figured, who buys weapons? Answer, you hunters. The army's all got government-issue equipment, but hunters are always on the lookout for better gear. Martz sells mostly to hunters, so I went to him, showed him what I had. At first, it's business; he examines some of the pieces, we discuss price. Then he's looking over a rifle, and suddenly, boom! He goes nuts!"

Racton tossed back the rest of the drink, as if needing to find the courage to go on.

"He grabbed me by the shirt," he said, tugging on his collar to illustrate the point, "and screamed in my face, 'Where did you get this?' I tried to talk sense to him, but he wouldn't have any of it--just kept screaming, shoved me around, even swung the rifle at me! I got out of there fast before he decided to start shooting!"

I nodded. It certainly seemed out of character for Oliver, who'd always seemed fairly levelheaded.

"Is that it? The one incident?"

"No, no," Racton said, shaking his head. "That was yesterday afternoon. In the evening, when I was going back to my home, I had just gotten out of my aerocab when I saw him in an alley across the street! I jumped back in the cab and got away fast. I spent the night with my son, but when I went to work this morning, Martz was waiting for me again! He actually chased me half a block down the street!"

"With a weapon?"

Racton shook his head.

"No, no; if he'd done that the police would have grabbed him then and there."

Which brought up an interesting point.

"Raton, why didn't you go to the police? Martz is obviously looking for you. That at least gives the authorities probable cause to haul him in and ask questions. Why call on a hunter to handle the situation privately?"

I figured that I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear what he had to say.

"Well..." He glanced around, as if looking for his next drink. "It's this way..."

That was enough.

I favored Racton with a thin, supercilious smile, the kind of look that projected arrogant confidence. It was the expression of a man who believed himself to be in complete and total control of the situation. I'd worked on that smile; it fit well with my clean-shaven, handsome face, my shoulder-length white hair, and the lean, muscular body revealed by my close-fitting red jumpsuit. I'd been told that the overall effect was like a panther deciding whether or not to play with its prey before striking. That description was a bit florid for my taste, but the look did have a decided effect on a certain type of person.

Racton was definitely one of this type.

"You didn't go to the military police," I stated, "because you knew they would ask you the same question I'm about to ask. The difference is, they're the legal authorities, while I work for you."

I paused for a moment to let that sink in, then continued.

"That question is the same as Oliver's: where did you get the weapons?"

He blanched.

"What does that have to do with anything, Sejanus?" the trader blustered. "I'm hiring you to protect me!"

"Exactly. A key facet of guarding your life is to know your enemy's mind so that I can predict his next move. Knowing why he's after you is a key part of that. Obviously it has to do with the weapons." I added a hint of steel to my voice. "Now, where did the weapons come from? The black market, I presume?"

Racton gulped, but I had read him right. Under the pressure of my stare, he gave way.

"I got them from a trader named Takamura," he admitted. "It wasn't a black market deal, though! Look, I admit that the price was right, so I didn't ask questions, but I had no knowledge or information that there was anything wrong."

Eyes blinded by greed rarely saw clearly. I wanted to belt Racton in the mouth for his selfishness, but that wasn't the right solution--especially if I wanted his money. Besides which, all he'd done was to buy weapons from one dealer and try to sell them to another; I believed him to that extent. It was hardly a crime that could justify Oliver Martz's sudden obsession. I'd have to look behind the scenes for that explanation.

Maybe this job would turn out to be interesting after all.

I slid out of the booth.

"Sejanus! Where are you going?"

"You wanted me to keep you safe, didn't you?"

"Yes..."

"The easiest way to do that is to remove the threat."


* * *

I left Racton in the Hatless Dezorian trying to puzzle out what I meant. He'd be safe enough there, even if Martz really did have murderous intent. The bar was a hangout for hunters, which made it a very bad place to start a firefight. I climbed into my aerocar and soared into the lanes of traffic that flowed in and around the buildings.

It was an amazing feat, I couldn't help but think, this huge city in the heart of a spaceship. It had been the home of thousands of refugees during their two-year journey from a dying homeworld to their new home on the planet Ragol. Only now, it looked as if Ragol wasn't going to be the paradise-like new settlement they had hoped for. The mysterious explosion that seemed to have destroyed all traces of the initial colonists from the Pioneer 1, the monsters that roamed on and beneath the surface--for now, this city was going to continue as the people's home for an indefinite future.

I shook my head. That was enough reminiscing. I had plenty to deal with at the moment, of which Racton's job was only part. From the car's computer I accessed the citizen databanks, feeding in my military access code. The unit beeped twice, then sent data scrolling across the screen.

In a way, Racton was lucky. Most hunters wouldn't have this kind of access to protected files. They'd have to make calls and ask questions to find out what had taken me less than two minutes to confirm.

I had the code because, less than a week ago, I'd been hired by the army for a long-term job. Principal Tyrell of the governing council had commissioned a team to investigate Ragol and discover the cause of Pioneer 1's disappearance, but the military wasn't satisfied with their performance. So, they'd put together a team of their own, which I'd been tapped to lead.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that the army wanted something more than they were saying. Probably, Pioneer 1 had included people working on classified military projects, and the top brass didn't want that data falling into the hands of people not in their employ. I couldn't be certain, but I did know that they were handing me my heart's desire and I wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

My heart's desire, I mused. Yeah, when you got down to it, Oliver Martz and I weren't all that different. If I'd seen what, at this point, I was fairly certain he'd seen, I'd have probably suffered much like he did. I only hoped that I would be able to cope in a better way.
Martz had already tried catching up to Racton at the trader's home and place of business. I needed to figure out where he would go next. Hopefully I could get to him away from Racton, before Martz had the chance to do something he couldn't take back.

The answer came to me in a flash, and when it did it was so blindingly obvious that I should have realized it five minutes ago, the instant I'd seen Martz's file. Racton had a son, a decent, honorable businessman best known for these qualities because his father possessed none of them. This was where Racton had, in fact, spent last night, with his son. When you were in trouble, you turned to family; they stood by you.

Unfortunately, that could also put them in the line of fire.

I didn't have to use my access code to get the address of Racton's son. I called it up from the public directory, then sent the aerocar spinning through a ninety-degree turn, taking the most direct route I could afford. I had a bad feeling about what I'd find.






<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: DezoPenguin on 2004-02-25 14:41 ]</font>


<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: DezoPenguin on 2004-02-27 14:14 ]</font>


<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: DezoPenguin on 2004-03-01 17:42 ]</font>

[DOG21313]

This is a great beginning, i cant wait to read more of your fic!

Stupid cliffhangers!! http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_frown.gif Get more up quick!

[shinto_kuji]

Very, very well written and I like the type of writing you use. Meaning, I like more character description and people that seem realistic, rather than mass details for the environment or things of that ilk.

You have inspired me to go back and revise/edit what I've been writing, for about the 100th time. Get those next chapters up! And hurry!

You get two thumbs up and two eyes wide open.

[DarkSerge27]

Very interesting fic! You seem to have a knack for stuff like this.

[DezoPenguin]

SILENCE OF THE HEART
Part II

Intuition isn't the world's most reliable source of information, which is why I preferred logic. Intuition had led me to expect tragedy at the tower of blue-lit windows and black steel that was the home of Racton's son. It had almost been right.

If Martz was going to watch the building's main doorway, he would need a vantage point, one where he could remain unseen, carry a weapon without raising suspicion. That point was an aerocar, docked in an alley between buildings so as not to obstruct traffic--and giving from its right front window a perfect view of the building's front door.

As the owner of a weapon shop Martz was undoubtedly familiar with a wide variety of killing instruments, but his citizen file had shown no military or hunter background, no special training or field experience in the arts of violence. That made all the difference. All his attention was focused on the building; he didn't have the military sniper's ability to monitor his own surroundings simultaneously. I came up on him from behind, autogun drawn, the pulsing blue sighting beam along the top of the weapon indicating that the Photon charge was armed and ready to fire. I opened the driver's-side rear door and slid into the back seat behind Martz. He was crouched in the front passenger seat, cradling a rifle in his hands. I doubted he'd so much as heard me until I spoke.

"Let go of the rifle, Oliver."

He flinched, both at my voice and at the cold kiss of my gun barrel at the back of his neck. Reflected in the window, I could see his face, drawn and tight with emotion. In the haunted eyes I almost imagined I could see his thoughts.

"It's not worth it," I said softly. "Peter wouldn't want you to throw your life away."

I reached across with my free hand and gripped the rifle barrel. I kept the gun to Martz's head while I pulled, just in case he tried something foolish. There was a slight resistance, and then the weapon slid from his hands. Martz shuddered, and I could all but feel the anger drain from him, to be replaced by a cold, numbing despair.

"Go on," he said dully. "Make it quick."

"I'm not here for that."

I powered down the autogun and put it away.

"You work for Racton; you're one of his killers."

"I work for Racton, yes. Other than that, you're completely wrong. My name is Sejanus. Racton hired my services through the Hunter's Guild for one job: to protect his life."

He turned to face me.

"I'm not here to kill you," I told him. "I don't do that kind of work." That there were hunters who would stained all of us.

"But...if that's true, how can you take Racton's money? Knowing as you do about Peter, about what Racton did?" There was a faint note of pleading, begging in his voice that was almost distasteful. It was the voice of a man at the end of his rope, who'd lost his emotional balance from too much pain and shock.

I'd sounded like that myself, more than once.

I glanced down at the rifle at my hands.

"This was Peter's, wasn't it?" I asked, running my fingertip over the initials carved in the stock. P.M.--Peter Martz. Oliver's son. "You recognized it as his."

"Peter was a hunter," he said. "He was working on a Guild quest down on Ragol, searching for a missing girl, but he vanished, too. A lot of hunters did. Now...now his weapon turns up back on Pioneer 2!"

That was about what I'd expected from hearing Racton's story and reading the file.

"Racton didn't have anything to do with your son, Oliver," I said, using his name to make it personal, help to create a connection between us.

"He had the rifle."

I nodded.

"That's true." I paused, then when he started to say something, I cut him off with a quick "But that doesn't make him involved in the disappearance."

"But--"

"I'm serious, Oliver. Racton is strictly small-time. He's greedy, yes, but that's all. He snapped up a bunch of black-market weapons because he got a good price waved under his nose. There's a man who never learned of the concept, 'too good to be true.' I doubt he even knew that you had a son, let alone that he was missing. You know as well as I do that the missing hunters case was never publicized."

That was true enough. The police and government hadn't wanted it broadcast to the public because it suggested that they were less than in control, allowing a kidnapping ring to not only form, but to operate in the restricted areas of Ragol. The Hunter's Guild had concurred, since the events tended to cast doubt on the ability of hunters to do their jobs.

As I understood it from Guild scuttlebutt, the ring had been operated by a trader nicknamed Black Paper. His people had captured hunters on Ragol and stripped them of weapons and equipment, which they then resold on the black market. A girl named Kroe Waynes had engineered the capture and arrest of the kidnappers, but the missing hunters had not been found.

I'd heard other rumors, too, the kind that were whispered in shadowy corners instead of being spoken aloud. Those rumors suggested that Black Paper wasn't a single trader but a black-market syndicate involved in much more than just a single criminal operation.

And now, after the case was supposedly closed, an item taken from a missing hunter had shown up on the black market.

Of course, I couldn't mention any of this to Martz. If I did, it would just set him off in a different direction. He might hurt an innocent person; he certainly had access to enough weapons to cause a great deal of damage. Beyond that, if he actually went up against the real criminals, he'd come to a bad end. I'd proven that well enough when I slipped into his car.

Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because Martz asked, "What is it? Is there something else you know?"

I couldn't tell him what I was thinking, so I lied to him by giving him a different piece altogether of the exact truth.

"This rifle..." I said. "It's the same as the army issues to its private soldiers. My sister used one just like it."

I remembered how happy Vel was on the day she passed her entrance exam into the army. She'd had to come home and model her new uniform for the rest of us. Vel had been happier dressed in the camouflage-painted fatigues and red beret than I'd ever seen her in a beautiful gown. It was what she'd dreamed of ever since she was a little girl.

"My older sister, Velaria," I told him softly. "She was a soldier on board Pioneer 1." One of the thirty thousand people now missing without a trace. I ran my hand along the rifle's grip. "Believe me, I know what you're feeling. The pain of losing someone you love, the sheer, helpless rage at not being able to do anything, the anxiety of not knowing. Sometimes you wish they were dead, just so you could move on, start to grieve, and then you hate yourself for having those disloyal thoughts."

I sighed heavily.

"The worry, the frustration, they eat you alive until your spirit is so raw and worn that you'll leap at the smallest clue, desperate for something, anything that will give you an answer."

His eyes went to the rifle.

"Exactly," I told him.

He stared at it for a long moment, then raised his eyes, almost pleadingly, to meet mine. I kept my gaze firm and level.

Then, as if an emotional dam inside him had broken, a great shudder ran through his body and he buried his face in his hands, sobbing. He wept for nearly two full minutes, during which time I said nothing. This was something, I believed, that he needed to confront in his own way. At long last, he raised his head, his eyes glistening and red-rimmed.

"Thank you," he said softly but earnestly. "I never stopped to think things through. It was as if I was mad, insane with grief. If you hadn't stopped me...I might have done something horrible."

I understood what he meant. Martz was not talking about Racton, now. An eye for an eye was a principle much older than any law codes.

"Now, though," he continued, "I have to take action. This might be the last, lingering remnants of the black market operation, but the rifle turning up may mean that there is more to go on. This could be a lead to my son!"

This was what I'd been afraid he'd realize. Certainly, he would no more abandon his search for Peter than I would give up on Vel. Hadn't I pulled strings, called in favors to be named the head of the military investigation team so I could pry into the mysteries of Ragol?

I decided to take a calculated risk. I handed Martz the rifle. The move surprised him.

"You're giving it back?"

"You looked over the edge once. I don't think you'll be in any rush to go back."

Martz nodded solemnly.

"What I do think," I told him, "is that you'll take that gun and place it in the hands of the proper authorities. The military police will be able to trace it to its source better than either of us could."

"Won't they go to your client and interrogate him about his black-market dealings?"

"Most likely," I agreed.

Martz looked perplexed, which was not really a surprise given the emotional strain that he'd been under. He was still coping, and would be for some time, a condition which was not exactly conducive to clear, logical analysis.

"But...charges might be filed against Racton?"

"Ten minutes ago, you wanted to kill him," I pointed out. "Now, you're worried about him facing a minor criminal charge?"

Martz ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm just trying to understand. He's your client, and you say he's innocent--and now that I'm thinking about it, I believe you--but you're advising me to do something that could get him in trouble with the law."

I shrugged.

"Racton hired me to protect his life, which I've done. I'm not his permanent employee with a duty of loyalty, or bound by any rules of confidentiality. Racton is not guilty of being involved in the disappearance of the missing hunters. He is guilty of dealing in black-market weapons. I'm not so enamored of the man that I put keeping him safe from legitimate charges ahead of finding out what happened to your son and the others. I'm a hunter too, after all."

He smiled in understanding.

"I see. Thank you, Sejanus."

"You're welcome. Just do me a favor, please."

"What's that?" he asked curiously.

I gave him a quick, wry smile.

"Just give me a chance to collect my fee from Racton before you set the police on him."

[Solstis]

... OooOOH!!!

Highly interesting and detailed... I like!

[dylcool]

Jeez. You are an awesome writer. You have a great style, very descriptive writing, and a knack to be suspenseful. I will be reading this.

[DOG21313]

On 2004-02-25 17:40, dylcool wrote:
Jeez. You are an awesome writer. You have a great style, very descriptive writing, and a knack to be suspenseful. I will be reading this.



What he said. http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif I also liked the bit at the end, a little humor to go along with it. http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_smile.gif

[shinto_kuji]

You rock! You are indeed a great writer.

Keep it comin'! http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif

[DezoPenguin]

SILENCE OF THE HEART
Part III

I had lied to Martz once again, and by the same stratagem, I thought as I left the Hunter's
Guild with Racton's two thousand meseta in my pocket. By telling him the truth about going to
the police with what he knew--which was clearly his best choice under the
circumstances--I gave the impression that I, too, was done with this matter.

I wasn't.

For the moment, I was a step ahead of the authorities. I knew that Racton had bought Peter
Martz's rifle from Takamura. That meant that Takamura was either part of the syndicate, or he
could point me to someone who was. Possibly the rifle had been sold before the arrest of the
kidnappers and only had made its way through the pipeline now and there really was no
syndicate--but I doubted that. There were too many rumors, and what was more, they were
coming from the right places, not just the Guild gossips but from people who were in a position
to know.

As I headed downtown, I tried to figure out why I was doing this, but all I got out of the
effort was a headache. I wasn't getting paid, and I certainly wasn't doing it for Racton's sake; I
figured he deserved whatever his greed got him into. Some hunters would undoubtedly see it as
a matter of Hunter's Guild honor, but I couldn't fit my feelings into that light.

The fact was, it was a tangled mess of my anxiety about Vel, my pity for Oliver, and my
contempt for people like Racton, who had no honor, no principles other than the shining star of
their own greed. By the time that all merged together, even I wasn't really sure why I was doing
this. I only know that I was, that I would no more have walked away from this than I would have
chopped off my right arm.

The trader Takamura did business downtown, which didn't surprise me. While all of
Pioneer 2's city had been built to a high standard, the basic pressures of having thousands
of people inhabiting it for two years had led to the general degeneration of the downtown area.
Here was where black marketeers and fences operated shoulder-to-shoulder with sleazy bars and
strip clubs, where the citizens of the ship could slake their need for chemicals, for sex, or for
more exotic vices.

As I landed, I saw a ring of spectators surrounding a street fight between a bulky,
dark-skinned man with spiky yellow hair and a lithe Newman with steel rings piercing nose,
nipples, and navel. There were no Photon weapons for these two; the human wore leather gloves
ridged with metal plates while the Newman had chromed claws that shimmered in the dazzle of
colored lights from the storefront signs. The spectators cheered encouragement and shouted out
bets while the two men circled in their waltz of death.

I shrugged and passed on. Blood sports did not interest me, and I had my own business to
deal with. A blue-haired Newman girl made a number of intriguing offers as I headed for
Takamura's office, but I brushed those aside as well.

It was too bad, I reflected. We'd come millions of miles to a whole new planet, but we'd
brought the same old flaws with us. It made me wonder if there would ever be hole for people.

I pushed my way into Takamura's office. Like Racton, he was a "trader" in the purest sense
of the word; he did not operate a retail business but dealt in consignments of merchandise--a
merchant, not a store operator. Principally, he dealt in textiles, manufactured in factories located
on the smaller ships accompanying the Pioneer 2. That much I'd learned from his citizen
files, which I'd accessed in the same way as I had Oliver Martz's.

That was Takamura's public persona. His private business, apparently, was not a matter of
record. That, obviously, was the goal of any criminal, but more difficult to achieve than most
would think--especially for someone that Racton was able to find and deal with. Unless this was
somehow Takamura's first foray into the black markets, I'd have expected to see at the least a
notation for "suspected of trafficking in illegal weapons." But there had been nothing.

"May I help you, sir?"

The receptionist was a female android with a snow-white face, ruby lips, and dark hair and
eyes. She was a custom model, and I wondered if she was supposed to represent a specific
individual. The outer office itself was designed to mimic traditional styles, with walls that
looked as if they were made of wood frame and paper. The decor was sparse, with only the
receptionist's desk, done in faux black lacquer, topped by a computer and an ikebana
flower arrangement in a cobalt-blue ceramic base.

Real flowers. The cost of growing real flowers in an artificial environment like Pioneer
2--where space needed to be used for production of food and other necessities--was
prohibitive. So was hiring a hunter to fetch some from monster-infested Ragol. That told me a
great deal about Takamura and his financial status.

"I'd like to see Takamura."

"May I have your name?"

"Sejanus."

The android's masklike face frowned sadly.

"I'm afraid that you do not have an appointment, Mr. Sejanus."

"I know that."

My answer seemed to confuse her.

"Tell Takamura that I'm here to see him about a shipment he recently provided. It seems
that...legal questions have recently come up and I'd like to discuss them now before they become
public and cause embarrassment."

"Oh! I see." She tapped a few keys on her computer and opened a connection to her
employer. She passed on my words all but verbatim, and in a few moments I was being shown
through a sliding door into Takamura's personal office.

Like the reception room, this room used simplicity to its best advantage, though it was
paneled in wood with what might have been prints of old paintings or may have been the
originals. An artificial fountain gurgled peacefully in one corner. This room, however, did not
seem empty. On the contrary, it was almost full to bursting, not with anything physical
but with the force of its occupant's personality.

Takamura was tall, an inch above my height, with short, square-cut hair of iron-gray. About
fifty-five, his face was weathered, creased by deep grooves, though there were no crow's-feet
around his eyes and mouth. He wore dark, close-fitting clothing--a man who had no need for
ostentation, and probably no liking for it.

"Good day," he said politely. "May I offer you refreshment?"

It was, I reflected, precisely what I'd thought he'd say. I might be wrong, but I was sure I'd
formed a basic assessment of him. Traditional certainly, with a veneer of civilization that was
very important to him, a propriety in his dealings. He showed respect because not to do so would
demean himself, and he expected respect from others.

The mannerisms, the expensively-furnished office located in the midst of the downtown area,
these all pointed towards one conclusion: Takamura was an underworld boss of some status.
Clearly, he was not a man to be trifled with. Even police authorities would tread cautiously,
since he undoubtedly had influence in high places.

All of this came together in the space of a few seconds, telling me how to approach this
situation.

"No," I said bluntly.

"I see. In that case, may I--"

"Let's save all that polite garbage," I cut him off, my crudeness slicing through the air of
civilization, as if the filth and violence outside had smashed into his little oasis. "I'm here to talk
about illegal arms sales. Stolen weapons dumped on the market into the hands of people too
greedy to care."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I am not aware of who you--"

"My name is Sejanus, and I'm a hunter," I interrupted him again. "Here's the thing.
Ordinarily, I wouldn't care one way or another about black market weapons sales. It's not like a
little free enterprise hurts anyone. The fact is, some of those weapons have been identified as the
property of hunters--hunters who went missing on Ragol. Here's the picture: those hunters are
still missing, and yet their weapons got back up here to Pioneer 2."

I could see him fighting for control in the face of my complete disrespect as well as my
accusations, both outright and implied. People did not act that way towards
Takamura--which was precisely why I'd chosen to do so.

Surprisingly, civility won out.

"If, as you say, weapons from missing hunters are being sold on Pioneer 2, then is it
not logical to believe that they were found by other hunters? After all, hunters often find
weapons and supplies from Pioneer 1 on Ragol, so why not those of Pioneer 2
hunters who may have met with an unfortunate fate?"

He spoke in a calm voice, giving the impression that he was being the very model of
reasonableness in the face of my lack of control.

"Yeah," I sneered, "Sure. Only these weapons were sold on the black market, remember, not
openly."

"I cannot be held responsible for how individuals choose to do business. Regrettably, there
are those for whom the lure of illegal profits outweighs the dictates of conscience."

I had to give him this, he was giving me every chance to back down and treat him with the
respect that he believed was his due, even to apologize tacitly instead of openly so that I could
withdraw my harsh words without a loss of face.

I didn't take that opportunity, though. Instead I rammed my point home so that there was no
way to avoid confronting the issue.

"True, and apparently you can't resist that temptation, either, seeing as how you're the
one who sold those stolen weapons."

Takamura scowled at me.

"You are an exceedingly rude individual, Sejanus, to come into my place of business and
make these uncouth accusations."

"Get used to it. See, you were stupid to have sold those weapons to Racton. Did you really
think that a greedy pig like that would be able to resell them and not get caught? You've got
rocks in your head if that was your plan. Everybody and their kid brother now knows that you're
a black marketeer and that you're tied in with the people who made those hunters
disappear. Maybe you did it yourself, eh?"

That got to him. He crashed his fist on his desk, making the pens rattle in their stand.

"You are insufferable!" he roared. "I will not stand for this barbaric behavior. To come in
here, to accuse me of criminal acts without evidence--"

"Get used to that, too," I said. "If you think there's no evidence against you then you're even
dumber than you've been acting up until now. Consider this: I'm only the first person you're
going to have to deal with. There's going to be a whole lot of other people asking the same kind
of questions, and if you think I'm being rude you haven't seen anything yet. So how about you
tell me where you got those weapons from and spare yourself the trouble?"

Of course he did nothing of the sort.

"Get out!" Takamura snapped. "I have put up with your insults for as long as I am willing.
This is my private office and I am under no obligation to listen to your baseless ranting."

"All right, I'll go--but believe me, Takamura, this won't be the last you'll hear of this
business--or the last you hear of me."

I left the office immensely satisfied with the way things had gone. He'd told me nothing, but
as soon as I'd met him I had known he wouldn't. He was far too canny to implicate whomever
was next in the black-market chain, and I had nothing to pressure him with.

There was even the chance that Takamura was one of the old-school syndicate bosses who
adhered to a strong code of honor and would never betray his comrades, but I had my
doubts about that. In my experience, among gangsters those codes of honor were followed more
by lip service than by any actual sacrifice of something in their best interests.

I climbed into my aerocar--auto theft was almost unheard of on Pioneer 2 simply
because the closed society made it incredibly easy to trace a stolen vehicle--and took off,
skimming slowly between the skyscrapers on autodrive. Before meeting Takamura I had
prepared to bully information out of him the way I would with Racton or his type, with force of
character or veiled threats of violence. That approach would have gotten me nowhere with
Takamura. I needed leverage to use against him, and Racton's testimony just didn't cut it in that
area.

That was why I'd behaved like someone who didn't know what he was doing, played the
arrogant barbarian. Hopefully my rudeness would be a slap in the face to him, an insult
Takamura's pride couldn't deal with. Anger might well provoke him into rash action, not well
thought out, which I could turn against him and use to force him to reveal more about the Black
Paper syndicate.

Presuming, of course, that I survived it.

I'd almost gotten home when a message came in over the BEE simple-mail network. It was
short and to the point: Have info about the missing hunters. Meet at 21:00 hours, 119 Valsus
Street, Suite 19. Bring 2000 meseta.

I checked the clock. There was just enough time to make it if I didn't make any side trips.
Coincidence, or was I being played for a sucker?

Shrugging, I turned the aerocar, inputting the new destination. Things were starting to move.
One way or another, I figured I'd have some answers soon.

[DOG21313]

Cliffhanger?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Dog must have more! Yes, the precious! Must... get the precious! http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_smile.gif Okay dont mind me... <.< >.>

[EdenJurai]

Excellent! How about putting up "The Summoner" and "The Running of the Penguins"? They would get quite a kick out of that, I'll bet! :^)

[shinto_kuji]

Why are people not reading this? Seriously, why aren't you R&R'ing? -curses-

Anyway, great stuff again. Waiting for that next part, and eagerly. http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_smile.gif

[DezoPenguin]

The way I figure it, Shinto_Kuji, if they don't know to look at the thread in the first place, no one's going to get interested in the story, ne? ^_^

Anyway, here's the concluding Part 4:

__________________________________________________ __

SILENCE OF THE HEART
Part IV

There was sometimes a distressing sameness about the buildings that made up the city. Yes, they were different heights and the signs that festooned them in neon blaze or brilliant holoscreen color differed widely, but ultimately they all came from the same hand: black towers studded along their sides by ranks of windows that glowed with a bluish-white light in the eternal night of outer space.

119 Valsus was just such a building, an office complex divided into suites of multiple rooms for companies to rent. Suite 19 had been the home of Ryuon Enterprises, but for the last two weeks it had remained untenanted, as the company had not renewed their lease.

I was beginning to wonder, as I reviewed this information and the suite's 3-D floorplan, just what kind of priority the military was putting on this Ragol mission. My access code was apparently high enough to get me into all manner of government files that seemed to have no connection to the army. The job was really just a vehicle for me to go and search for Vel, but I couldn't help but wonder who I was really serving and what their agenda might be.

Arriving on time, I docked my aerocar and took the elevator to Suite 19's floor. Instead of entering, though, I paused and focused my mind inward. Concentrating, I built up my inner force, then with a sharp gesture, released it. Power surged through me as my Deband technique surrounded me with a barrier of force that sapped the energy of physical attacks. This meeting might not be a trap, but I wasn't going to bet my life on that hope. Although I left my gun in its holster, I activated the photon charge, and in my left hand I palmed a pressure injector of Monomate. I wished I could have slipped into the suite by another means, but the only way I could come up with was to smash through the windows or cut a hole in the wall, ceiling, or floor, none of which were viable options.

So, I tried the front door. It was unlocked.

"You came. Good."

The man was waiting in the reception room, almost in the center. Smoked-glass windows and doors led to offices on three sides, while the room itself was completely bare of furniture, so that he and I were the only things in the emptiness. The lights were dim, filling the place with shadows.

He was short and slender, with the pointed ears that marked him as one of the race of Newmen.

"I don't know you," I said. "How did you find out that I was interested in the missing hunters?"

"The word spreads quickly in certain quarters," he said obliquely. "I find myself in a position to assist you."

"So who are you?"

"I'm afraid I cannot reveal that at this time. Perhaps later it will be possible, perhaps not. What is important is what I can tell you about Black Paper." He turned towards the door directly opposite the suite's entrance and beckoned, "Come with me."

He stepped quickly towards the smoked-glass door. Shadows moved in it eerily, but I realized just in time that the low lights were actually reducing the reflective qualities of the glass. The Newman tried to pivot his body, step out of the way as he opened the door, but I pushed him hard from behind and he stumbled. Two gunshots tore into him as the assassin in the next room fired the instant the door opened, expecting me to be following the Newman directly into his gunsights. Instead I spun aside, snatching my autogun from its holster. At the sound of the shots, the two side doors flung open and two more killers charged into the room. One I recognized as the burly human street fighter from downtown, while the other was a green-haired woman unknown to me. The man still had on his leather-and-steel fighting gauntlets, while the woman carried two chisel-pointed knives--no Photon weapons for either of them.

I ignored the two newcomers for the moment and instead sent a three-shot burst at the gunman. The assassin soon learned that while smoked glass is acceptable concealment it makes for lousy cover. My shots punched through the window next to the door and struck home; I heard the squeal of pain and the thump of a falling body.

Two of my four adversaries were now down, but I wasn't out of the trap yet. I dropped low as the woman charged me and swept one leg out in an arc which crashed against the side of her knee, knocking her legs out from under her. The last one had the barrel of my autogun leveled at the bridge of his nose before he could reach me and, having more smarts than I'd have given him credit for, he stopped cold.

I rose upright again, the gun not varying more than a few millimeters from its target point while I moved.

"Stay down," I advised the female killer. "You'll be less tempted to try something stupid."


* * *

It was well after midnight by the time I got back to my apartment. The military police had questioned me closely, no surprise in an incident involving two deaths, but eventually the investigating officer, Inspector Laleham, pronounced himself satisfied with my story.

I had to consider my provocation of Takamura an initial success. The police now had two dead men and two live witnesses, the latter who would no doubt be eager to testify to keep from escaping felony murder charges, that little tweak in the justice system that characterized any death in the course of a felony as a murder attributable to the felons. Added to Martz's testimony and whatever could be squeezed out of Racton, it gave Laleham a lever to use against Takamura.

It was also a lever I could use. Lacking official status, I could move faster, stay out ahead of things, and provoke events the way I already had. The hunters might have disappeared on Ragol, but the secrets to their disappearance were here on Pioneer 2.

Maybe that, I realized, was why I cared so much about this, because it was a way to open up some of Ragol's hidden mysteries--and, in some way, move closer to finding Vel. I unlocked the apartment door and went inside.

There was a man waiting.

If he had been an assassin, waiting there with lethal intent, I might or might not have been able to do something about him. Would I have been able to react to one of Takamura's killers? I didn't know. Nor was it necessary. The man was not pointing a weapon in my direction.

"Sejanus," he said in a deep bass voice. "You're later than I expected."

He wore a military uniform, the green tunic over leggings and a red beret. His insignia identified him as a lieutenant in the 32nd WORKS division, but his mannerisms and confidence suggested someone more used to command than a mere lieutenant. There was a glass in his hand, and the violet-colored liquid that glinted like amethyst was from a bottle of rare esqar liquor I'd brought from our homeworld.

"Considering that I didn't know when I'd be home, I'm not surprised."

"You wouldn't be. The truth is, though, we've got a better idea of what you're doing than even you do."

I closed the door behind me and dropped, bone-weary, into a chair.

"Who is 'we'?"

"My employers--and yours," the soldier said. He rose from the chair. "You've been putting pressure on Hideki Takamura, pressure which has quite obviously begun to get under his skin." He smiled wryly. "To tell the truth, I'm impressed. I wouldn't have thought he'd lose his cool quite so quickly. You must have figured out exactly what buttons to push to make him jump."

"Intuition, mostly," I said. "Is that why you broke into my apartment? To give me compliments?"

The smile disappeared.

"No, Sejanus, it isn't. As a matter of fact, we've got ourselves a problem."

I kept quiet, knowing that sooner or later he'd give up waiting for me to respond dutifully and get to the point. Eventually, he did, frowning.

"It's like this. In a few days, a team of hunters is going down to the surface to check out the situation and get some answers to the Pioneer 1 problem. Now, we understand that since you haven't formally started yet, the hunters who make up the team are going to take on other Guild quests to pay the bills between now and then." He leaned back against the free-standing kitchen counter. "What we don't want to hear is that our team leader is going around enticing a major underworld figure into a vendetta."

His voice had built in intensity throughout the little speech until, by the end, it was snapping like a whip, each word a lash at me.

"There's inherent danger in any hunter's job."

"You aren't on a job, Sejanus. You've been paid your commission. This is strictly a private matter you've taken up."

He had a point--actually, a couple of them--but I wasn't pleased with the fact that the army was keeping tabs on me. Probably every time I used that access code of theirs, it logged the time, the system being accessed, and the computer I was working from--and that was just for starters. So, I wasn't at all in the mood to give in to further high-handedness, no matter how reasonable.

"And being a private matter, before the work begins on the army's job, it shouldn't be of any interest to you."

The soldier gave me a dark look, which was about par for the course.

"Don't push back too hard on this, Sejanus. You've got no idea whose toes you're stepping on here."

My head snapped up.

"Stepping on...?"

"Let's just say that there were some people who were pushing for your immediate termination. Mr. Takamura is quite eager to see you dead, and there are individuals who see this as a significant liability. He's more than just a black marketeer, you see. His file is clean for a reason. Takamura is wired into a network of people whose influence goes all the way into the highest corridors of power."

"Lieutenant, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the one behind the missing hunters was caught. He's been arrested and brought up on charges. Are there some loose ends? Probably there are. This isn't some Net-broadcast detective story where the case gets tied up in a neat little package at the end of an hour. The point is, no one needs you stirring up more trouble than it's worth just to dot the Is and cross the Ts."

I rose from my seat and stood eye-to-eye with the soldier.

"What about Oliver Martz and those like him? People who have lost loved ones?"

"We've all lost something, thanks to Ragol. I believe that you yourself had a sister on Pioneer 1." He tapped his gloved fingers idly on the countertop. "Maybe you need to consider your own family instead of other people's, hm?"

His gaze met mine squarely as he said it, and I got the message loud and clear: Play ball, Sejanus, or we'll take away your chance to go look for your sister.

Was it a bluff? I doubted it. The "lieutenant" had been clear without coming out and saying it: Takamura wanted me dead, but others had a use for me alive, others that the trader was obligated to listen to. I wondered if Laleham was getting the same message from his superiors.

So what was it to be? Did I go on searching for the missing hunters, or did I keep the military job instead and with it the chance to look for Vel?

They say that everyone has a price. The threat of death might not have been effective, but my sister...that was something else.

The soldier could read my decision in my eyes. He tossed back his drink and set the empty glass down.

"It'll be a pleasure to work with you, Sejanus," he said, grinning. "I enjoy the company of a man who knows good liquor--and good sense."

With that, he turned and left, not bothering with goodbyes. I stared at the closed door for a long time, feeling hollow inside. Part of my brain was trying to puzzle out if the soldier had actually been part of the network that was connected to Black Paper, or if the ones running me simply didn't want to get tangled up with their schemes, but it didn't matter. I'd made my choice. Family came first.

I only hoped that Vel would forgive me if I found her.

[shinto_kuji]

Nice conclusion to it. Post some more of your works http://www.pso-world.com/psoworld/images/phpbb/icons/smiles/icon_smile.gif

-drinks some coffee-