Chapter 1

Its name is Hellion. It is my understanding that the name is a corruption of some ancient word and its meaning. It means trouble. Such naming conventions seem to create self-fulfilling prophecies. Such a name also seems testament to the human capacity for humor. Here both the star and the planet bear this name. The star Hellion is a white dwarf burning slowly in this quiet and unremarkable corner of the galaxy. Hellion, the planet is a world of brown and blue and does many things, but shine it does not. This is a place of ancient things, well….ancient by human standards. This city here is old enough that it has consumed itself many times and been rebuilt on its bones in a persistent cycle of decay and renewal. This place is voracious and it consumes with an appetite that has grown over ages. All cities feed on their inhabitants to a greater or lesser extent. This city is no different. The city is old enough to know itself. It is a world of high wonders. In many places its boulevards are wide and beautiful, as are its buildings; made from stone mined from the north of the city. However the harder living is done away from the sight of the fortunate few who live and wander it's beautiful walkways. In the shadowy places, windswept and forlorn, there is desperate existence. This is the fate of the majority on Hellion. Much of what is beautiful depends on that which is not in order to survive. Like beautiful tapestries held up by rusty nails, covering a decaying wall. A huge writhing organism, this city is many things, it is vast, it is old, and it is cold and unforgiving; unless you know the right people. The right people being those who make your life easier or longer, perhaps both if you are particularly fortunate. There are non-humans here too…but if they are here, they avoid unnecessary attention and it's certain they have good reason to be here.

Humans are difficult with which to coexist. It's been observed that humans are naturally xenophobic. Something in their design makes most of them view different species with disdain, fear or hate; it has been speculated that it is perhaps a type of ancient reflex that fights for the continuance of the species. It is by far their worst trait. But that is only one side. They don't appear to care for one another very much either, yet there are no other species that are more social than humans. They appear to need one another for comfort. This is but one of the many strange dichotomies that characterize human behavior. Humans are also insatiably curious. This is perhaps their best trait. Of course that is one elemental's perspective. Ah…yes I have been remiss. You know nothing of me. Well I am a non-human. An Elemental. A silly name certainly. They did ask us what we called ourselves, but it was perfunctory; they immediately renamed us to their liking. We would have been offended if we were not beyond such things. But I digress, I was telling you about the city. The city was named Amarante thousands of years ago. The city stretches for many kilometers in all directions on the face of Hellion and it teems with life. There are more than a billion people in this city. Most are desperately trying to survive. Hellion has two cities, Orléans is the other. It too has a certain personality that is inimical to survival. There are some…a fortunate few who can thrive here. They are mostly Furyans and there are only a very few of those. Of course that's all a universe needs.

Caron, walked down the middle of the deserted street with a loose hipped swagger, her head up, hands out and swinging easy. Her boots echoed off the walls of the man-made canyons. There was a gusting wind blowing the dust and debris that the city seemed to make without end. It was just dusk, not that it mattered. At the street level it was always dark with only the temperature changing. Hot when Hellion's star was up, cold when Hellion's star went down, but the darkening sky far above was beginning to crackle with the fiery red of Hellion's aurora; 'skyfire' as the locals called it. The buildings here in this sector were tall with black resin veneers peeling away in places due to age. They were the height of architectural wonder back when some long dead official decided that revitalization meant towers. They didn't mean anything now; just a place to live, if you were lucky. Of course living here was not lucky. The sector was known as Purgatory by the locals, Sector 29 by officials and law enforcement, not that they ever came here. It was dangerous here at the best of times. It was beyond lethal when there were food shortages; recently the food shortages had become uncomfortably frequent. During those times being alone was not so good. There were many here who were not so discriminating regarding what food graced their table nor were they particular about who or what constituted food. No one dared to venture on this street after dark. Those who did were known to be exceptionally dangerous; Caron numbered among that select few.

She could see the shadowy figures flitting just out of sight, watching her. She was fairly certain knew she wouldn't be attacked, though it was sometimes hard to say with the hungry. She didn't look like prey so they gave her a wide berth. She gave a small smirk as one actually stepped out, making herself visible for a second before melding with the shadows again. She could feel her heart thumping, she craved a fight. She could almost taste the metallic tang in the back of her throat, could feel the rush just on the edges. Still, she had a meeting to get to; no time for games.

She turned down a dead-end side street. There were whirlwinds of debris spinning about in the corners. She walked up to the only door, a large black door with intricate silver carvings of skulls adorning the entire surface. The door-knocker was a macabre caricature of a skull; she reached out and grabbed the mandible, picked it up and let it drop. It swung back down striking the door with a dull thump, returning to it the rictus as she found it. She sighed…she hated the showy pretension. A pulse cannon would work better she thought. Still she had some appreciation of subtlety. Here in this place, this is what passes for subtle.

The door comms light came on. "What?" said an angry gravelly voice.

Caron rolled her eyes, shifted her stance slightly and bit out, "It's me." She could feel her impatience rise, she did her best to tamp it down again. "Here we go." She thought. "Time to dance." She could hear the locks whirring as the tumblers fell into the place and the bolts disengaged. She could feel the vibrations through the ground; the door slid soundlessly open.

The chamber she stepped into had another door four meters ahead. She could feel the door shut behind her. The chamber was three meters wide, four tall and well lit with unadorned gray stone walls. "Ah." She thought, looking up. "There's the pulse cannon." The cannon was on a turret. She looked up directly above her. She could see the other turret positioned to create a perfect kill zone.

"Stand in the middle of the room." The angry voice demanded.

She walked to the center of the room, where the light was even brighter, and waited on the scan.

She felt the room vibrate then a slight increase in gravity as the room rose the many floors into the upper reaches of the tower. She felt the room/lift slow then smoothly stop. For a moment there was nothing, no sound. There was a deep clunking noise from ahead of her of the door engaging. The door in front of her opened. It was dark beyond the doorway. She could feel her annoyance building again. Her night vision was gone, just as they intended.

"Move it, mignon!" Came the harsh command.

She walked slowly into the windowless antechamber, feeling a bit exposed despite the kinetic armor and the various weapons strapped on her body. When she was standing just inside the door she heard it slide shut behind her. She could tell there were several people in the room with her and while her eyes were adjusting rapidly, it was still not rapid enough for her comfort.

"We need to search you." Someone said out of the gloom.

"Fine, let's get this over with." She growled. She felt hands move swiftly over her lean, form. They were swiftly withdrawn.

"You know the rules. You have to disarm if you want to go any further. It's either that or leave." Came the angry voice again.

She sighed; slowly she took her pulse pistols from both hips and laid them gently on the ground in front of her. She pulled her mini-blades from both shoulder holsters and placed them on either side of each pistols. She pulled the combat blade from her left boot and placed it above the pistols, unwrapped the monofilament garrote from her right wrist and put it on the ground directly in front of her, removed the wire bomb from her left earlobe and placed it on the ground next to the garrote and finally reached up and pulled the long pin/knife from her hair, letting her black curls tumble down onto her shoulders. She stood up, to be greeted by dead silence. She smiled faintly, "Sorry boys, it's a fetish. I like things that hurt...other people?" She shrugged as if it was something beyond her power.

The searcher came back. "What's your business with Montrose?" He said nervously. He approached warily side-stepping the weapons on the ground to pat her down again.

Her voice was low and husky in the enclosed space. "I'm looking for my father. I need Montrose's help. He is expecting me." She said in a bored business like tone. By now she could see them clearly.

Caron watched and waited. The room was perfectly silent. Her eyes scanned the arc of the seven men in the small antechamber. They stayed with their backs to the wall, hands near their weapons. It was too warm and she could smell them. She could smell the fear, anxiety and sweat. All but the tallest of them assumed postures of studied indifference while following her every move. The tallest, in a deflection vest, watched her carefully. They carried an assortment of assault rifles, mass rifles, pulse pistols, one had a heavy thermal cannon carried with the help of exoskeletal stabilizer. She was confused. She was expecting many things, but not to be detained by bounty hunters and mercs in a dirty, badly lit antechamber. She chided herself, "Always expect the unexpected. Only the stupid ones come straight at you." she thought. Evidently the bravest of them was the tall swarthy man in a deflection vest, which he activated before stepping up to her. He stepped directly in front of her and quickly and efficiently searched her again. His hands glided over her skintight armor. Experimentally he tapped the armor here and there feeling as it went from supple to rigid, confirming his suspicion that she was indeed wearing kinetic armor. She stared directly into his black eyes during his thorough search. He unexpectedly moved one had behind her and pulled her favorite blade from its sheath. He placed in on top of her other weapons. She smiled tautly but gave no ground. Her lithe body tightened slightly in anticipation. He was a full head and a half taller than her, his lean muscular form battle hardened by one or more of the many wars that followed in the wake of the Necromongers. She cocked her head assessing him, once a soldier, but now a bounty hunter…maybe merc? Maybe the leader?

"We have been instructed to tell you that Montrose will help you." He paused, "For a price." His voice was deep and raspy but surprisingly educated, former officer maybe? She reassessed him; he didn't smell of kettle weed like the others. He maintained a respectful distance. Distance within which to move if necessary. She reordered her threat priority.

She changed her stance slightly, a movement not missed by her observers. "I brought money, lots of it. All I need is information; and a guide. Beyond that I can't imagine that I have anything Montrose could possibly want." The officer stepped closer. She spread her hands as she moved her arms out to sides of her body…a position that usually signified surrender. Anyone who ever fought her father knew otherwise. He froze staring into her eyes, his black into her green…an almost imperceptible shake of negation. She relaxed slightly. He wasn't threatening her…exactly. He moved closer and put his mouth close to her ear.

"I love you." He whispered. He quickly stepped back among the others. His face was impassive. Almost mask like. The others hadn't heard. He jerked his head in the direction of the door. She remained frozen to the spot. Staring at him…something was there…chewing at her…she knew him, but she couldn't quite figure it yet.

When she didn't move the others started getting restless. "Come jeune fille, move!" The one closest to the door said. She glanced away from the officer to the speaker, white on pale, in armor that was very old but well cared for. He was holding a pulse rifle. An albino, he seemed almost luminescent. His white hair on his pale features made him nearly shine. She also recognized the voice. He was the angry one. The scowl on his face matched his tone. She dropped her arms to her sides, let out a short laugh and calmly walked to the door which opened when she stepped to it. She entered slowly struck by the ornate luxury.

As she stepped through the doorway, the memory hit like a spike in her mind. Gabriel. A little boy and a little girl playing in the corridors outside her mother's chambers when the coup attempt started, that was the day he told her with perfect seriousness and sincerity that he loved her. She laughed, then it happened. She never saw him again after that; her friend Gabriel: the pretty little boy with the black eyes. Never again, until now. "Damn." She whispered with feeling. She didn't want to remember. Not now. Was he a friend or enemy? She didn't know.

She turned to look; she could see the man with the piercing gaze watching her intently as the door shut.

She was brought back to the present by quiet laughter. The room was arresting in its opulence. The vaulted ceiling rose 8 meters above her head. The room was richly appointed in warm tones of browns, tans, red and orange with occasional accents of copper, bronze and gold. "Damn." This time louder, still with feeling. The couches and large floor cushions were also patterned with custom upholstery in red, copper, brown and gold. They were arrayed around the center of the room which contained a huge woven carpet of brown, gold, and red. What shocked her was that this still managed to be tasteful. The walls were lined with recessed shelves with objects from Montrose's many travels. The lighting was understated casting dramatic shadows upward onto the ceiling along the borders of the room. Across the room she could see a darkened corridor that went to his private rooms. The rest of the room was cast in gentle light that was probably meant to be soothing, but just made her tense.

"Problem Cher?" Her gaze drifted over the room's décor settling on the man who at the moment was sitting on the steps that led onto the balcony. His feet were bare, his legs encased in a deep iridescent blue. He was a study in elegant relaxation. He was drinking wine. Caron occasionally found it hard to square the man in front of her with the man she knew, the dangerous head of the infamous Fraternité des Retrievers; a band deadly of bounty hunters. Of course the close fitting pants and open shirt did nothing to hide the corded musculature. A tiger lying still is no less dangerous than this man. "Perhaps you would like some wine. I just opened a bottle? It's very good." he offered.

"No Montrose, I'm fine, just been a long day and I'm tired of your games. Why turn your dogs on me? You already knew I was coming and why." She ground between her teeth.

He regarded her impassively with a steady golden eyed gaze. Eventually he gave a half smile, and stood fluidly. He turned and walked up the steps which led out to the balcony. "Cher, I had to make sure they took your weapons before your visit with me." He paused meaningfully, "You can be a bit…impulsive."

She could hear the smile in his voice and she felt her anger evaporate. She couldn't blame him for something she would have done herself.

"Come out here, join me on the balcony. There is a wonderful breeze and the sky fire is burning brightly tonight."

She sighed…he was going to drag this out. "I saw it outside." She said flatly, following him out to the balcony. She glanced at the recessed retractable blast walls. They spanned the entire 10 meter span of the black tiled balcony, able to protect the broad floor to ceiling polarized windows. She found him lounging indolently in a cushioned chair, in a corner decorated in a variety of beautiful non-native plants; an oasis in a desert. She stopped, folding her arms across her chest. "By the way, you should keep the tall dark one. He's good. He actually found my black blade." She didn't sit.

He smiled. "Oui, he was a good hire, smart too." The aurora cast a reddish gold glow over everything.

"I'm glad, I want you to give him to me for this job." She gazed at him steadily, ignoring the coruscating colors radiating in the sky. The colors in the sky played across his lean features, his blond hair lit like fire. She watched the impassive expression disappear. His expression hardened. It was curious; she watched him become angry, and yet maintain control enough to keep his body fluid and relaxed. Prepared to move in any direction, even here with her; always ready for combat; never letting his guard down.

"Non, Cher. You and your father are lethal for business. Apart from losses in personnel, if anyone even suspects that I might have any idea where to find your papa, I will have the council's so-called Guardians breathing my air and taking up my space. Non, ma petit. I did my job and you are alive. Ask no more of me!" He stood; his former good humor a memory. "Mon Dieu! I wish I had told them not to let you in!" He glared at her then looked back out at the sky in disgust, his fun ruined; he flung the remainder of his wine over the railing. He stalked past her back into the living room, muttering to himself, slipping in and out of french.

She spun around following him into the room. "You are alive because of my father! I have never asked anything of you! Do this one thing for me and I'll never ask anything else of you again!"

"Never ask anything of me?" He stared at her incredulous. "Pour bite souci! Comment, dans l'enfer do you think you survived long enough living here pour m'inquiètent maintenant by your will alone? Non!" He was trembling with anger. He closed his eyes, visibly calming himself. He spoke very quietly. "You will get yourself killed looking for him. Then what good would my promise to your father be? People have been looking for him for years and no one has found him." He gazed at her with quiet intensity. "He does not want to be found Caron. Leave this be."

She felt bad pushing Montrose this way, particularly since she had been avoiding him for months. "I can't let it go Montrose. I'm sorry. Please do this for me." She said looking at the floor. She could feel his gaze on her, looking for a way in, for an opening anywhere.

"Stay with me." He whispered. "I can keep you safe." She didn't speak, didn't move. She glanced up at him, but couldn't hold his gaze. For a long moment nothing was said and neither of them moved.

Growling in exasperation; "Merde, merde, merde, Fine! If you want to die, I won't stop you. I'm sick of…" He stopped abruptly, paused and took a deep breath. For a moment he said nothing, gathering himself. "When do you plan on leaving?" His expression was easy, emotions locked away again. He was doing business now.

She exhaled. His moody darkness made her nervous. This was a Montrose she could understand. "As soon as possible."

"You brought money?" He asked, moving to his console, picking up his pictogrammer as he went. He connected the keypad to the console. He started typing. She handed him the datastore. He took it without looking away from the console, though it wouldn't have mattered, his eyes could see nothing but data when his internal data comms was active. The pictogrammer or picto as he called it vastly accelerated the transfer of information making it possible to multitask at a level far beyond normal human constraints. They were profoundly illegal outside the hands of law enforcement and certain government agencies. That he would have one should not have been surprising, yet this was impressive even by Montrose's standards. He told her long ago when he was training her that the dataflow was limited by the hardware. She suspected he hacked his data comms allowing him to manipulate greater quantities of data. She could see volumes of information streaming across the screen faster than her eye could follow. "Sit. This will take a while. I can't promise there will be much left after. There are a many bribes."

"I know." She said quietly and took a seat, waiting. The better part of an hour passed before he finally looked up, clear lines of strain on his face. She didn't understand the internal connection he had to the console, only that it gave him a clear advantage, otherwise he wouldn't have it.

"D'accord, it's done." He murmured. He rubbed his temples. "You have an orbital pass waiting for you and Ange." He held the datastore out to her. She could see his eyes were blood shot. He looked tired, clenching his jaw reflexively.

She looked up in confusion. "Ange?"

"The good one, you pointed out and demanded? He goes by Ange." She gazed at him, her expression bemused.

"Ok then, Ange." She stood up heading for the door. She wanted to get out of here. Her feelings for Montrose were complicated and NOT something for examination. The longer she was around him the more twisty and strange they got around each other. Neither of them quite knew what they were supposed to be to each other. It made dealing with each other exhausting and if she was honest, painful. She closed down that line of thinking. "No good can come of that." She thought.

"Caron?" His voice was low and measured. She could hear the fatigue in his voice. She paused, but didn't turn around.

"Don't get him killed. I had a bitch of a time finding him. Make sure you bring him back." She smiled, but didn't look back.

"I will." She keyed the door and stepped into the antechamber. Ange was leaning against the wall. He was alone. He had changed clothes while she was with Montrose. He looked at her with a steady gaze, the datapad vanished somewhere in the tunic he was now wearing. He pushed away from the wall, waiting and ready to move.

"You're with me." She said as the door shut behind her.

"I am." He said, no expression, just the deep brooding look. He reached down pick up his gear bag. He turned and walked out of the antechamber onto the lift. She picked up her own gear, now stowed in a bag, and followed him into the lift.

Ange (angel)

Comment, dans l'enfer (how in the hell)

D'accord (okay)

jeune fille (young girl)

m'inquientent maintenant (to trouble me)

Merde (Shit)

Mignon ( pretty)

Mon Dieu (My God)

Pour bite souci! (For fucks sake!)