The Dark One
The town of Tremaine was a busy one tonight.
Fires blazed into the dark blue evening sky as the moon Twinkle hung big on the horizon. Whiskey and ale poured freely in the plaza as the townspeople celebrated the 125th Terran-year independence of their planet Geneon from Republic rule. Men toasted and cheered about their latest exploits over the huge gravity free tables laden with roasted pig, sautéed gumweed, fragrant lister bread and other more exotic delicacies shipped in from off-planet; women took advantage of the number of traveling merchants who had come to this small town for the occasion and had set up booths selling everything from the finest Republic silk to the latest music datadiscs from fashion world Zentradi. Children, already tired from playing throughout the afternoon in the planet-wide holiday, tried raiding the dessert table, to the mock-outrage of the attendants.
A stranger took in this entire scene calmly. Standing off to one side of the main celebration area, he walked slowly through the raucous crowd, his long, black hooded cloak billowing in the gentle breeze – a sharp contrast to the standard Confederation light blue that townspeople and citizens favored in this part of the galaxy. The throngs instinctively gave way...all but one particularly drunk townsman who tried to force the stranger into sharing a drink with him. Standing right in his path, he shouted:
"Hey Citizen! You must drink with Jorg tonight! Everyone must be as drunk as..." A mere glance from this man's green eyes stopped the townsman in mid-spiel. Without a word, the stranger drew back his hood, revealing his long, silvery hair. His face showed striking aquiline features, common to the earliest space- settlers of the old Republic. A slight upward curve of his lips dared the townsman to say more. Apparently shaken, the drunk stepped to the side. Facing his companions, the townsman angrily pushed his way through them and disappeared in the crowd. His steps light and measured, the stranger continued on, unmindful of the hush he generated whenever he passed through a group of revelers. He stopped in front of a particularly loud table. The table was occupied by six off-worlders, as could be seen from their heavy beards and blond hair, common to the bazaar planet Novy Finlovia in the Confederation. Dressed in gaudy finery of yellow and blue, the men reeked of new found wealth. Boisterous and half drunk, they boasted to each other, laughing and occasionally petting the lady's clinging to their arms. Large, precious jewels adorned their bodies. Servants rushed to and fro from their table, replenishing whiskey and food. Several of them were obviously armed with energy pistols, indicating a hefty bribe to the constabulary for allowing weapons into the town. One in particular was dressed exceptionally well. Standing over six feet tall, he cut an imposing figure over his compatriots. Well muscled, he had the look of someone used to hard labor, and would give anyone second thoughts about messing with him. A long dagger hung from his belt; a repeating slug thrower on the other side. Heavy and studded boots adorned his feet. A large shimmerstone earring dangled off one lobe. He had two women with him; An oriental from Xanadu and a blonde: the pick of the lot an observer would say. He was the first to notice the stranger. "Hey! Republic boy! What are you looking at?!? Buzz your mother!!!" Receiving no reply, noise slowly died down as the others turned to look at who their leader was shouting at. Shoving his woman away, the closest one to the stranger stood, picking up his energy pistol in the process. Coming face to face with the one who had interrupted their festivities, he tapped the pistol against the still silent man's chest. "You deaf stupid? He told you to...AHHHKKK!!! Moving faster than humanly possible, the stranger grabbed the man's arm, twisting it until the pistol had dropped to the ground. Continuing his motion, he turned the man around. A loud snap was heard, as the man's arm broke from the pressure. Ignoring the pained screams, the stranger kicked the man behind the knees, dropping him to the ground. With a twist of the man's neck, he released the dead body to the ground as the others on the table looked on in shock at the man's speed. Blood flowed out of the corners of the man's lips. An ammonia stink filled the air as he voided. Throwing off his cloak, the stranger revealed the black-drab Republic nemourlon battle armor he wore underneath, common to members of the elite Republican Guard. His muscles were long and ripped, as opposed to the "bulk" most people associate with strength. A red-laser tattoo of a long- fanged felinoid could be seen peeking out at the edges of the black spacer gloves he wore. Drawing two flechette needle guns from his hips, the man pointed them at a couple of the Finlovians who only now were beginning to rise. Speaking softly, all the while staring at the stunned leader, he said: "Your lives are of no interest to me; it is for Kolumni that I have come." Kolumni had recovered; his eyes darting from side to side assessing the situation. His men were still shaking off the shock of watching their comrade die so quickly and violently; he had to give them time. Even now, he could hear townsmen shouting for the local constabulary; they had been well paid and would give him additional troops to deal with the problem. Maybe he could bluff his way out of the situation. Standing up warily, his palms raised to show he was not going for his weapons, he boomed out: "And why have you come for me, Republic dog? Geneon is part of the Confederation! You have no jurisdiction here! I am a member of the Novy Finlovian Trade Guild! Do you wish to start a war?!? What would your masters in the Guard say! Give me your name and Operation Code!" A hint of a smile crept into the strangers face. In a voice as cold as ice, he replied: "My name is unimportant, and I am not with the Guard. You, Nikolas Kolumni, are wanted for violating sections 23-872 and 47-591 of the Redfield treaty prohibiting slave-running and piracy resulting in the death of 4 Republic citizens. The treaty supersedes any political boundaries that may exist. You have a price of 20 thousand Rep-Credits on your head. It is for this I have come." A chill went down Kolumni's spine; He only recognized the bounty hunter's accent now. This silver haired stranger was a Mantalian! That explained his speed and strength! A formerly shunned planet for their experiments in genetic breeding, Mantalia was now where the Republic drew most of its army and security forces from. A militant society, The founding settlers of the planet Mantalia were military genetic engineers whose ultimate goal was to create a race of "supermen". Throughout the centuries, they had achieved a certain degree of success. Faster and stronger than human "norms", Mantalians reportedly have the stamina to run several miles without breaking a sweat; their eyes are supposedly manipulated to allow them to see several miles without any technological aid and are even rumored to see in the infrared spectrum; their hearing was so acute that they could hear a whispered conversation in the din of a Rollball game. It was also a rare and dishonored Mantalian that would leave the Republic service for bounty hunting, Kolumni thought. Maybe he could use that to his advantage...and one other genetic fault that the Mantalian engineers had produced in their experiments and couldn't solve. "Is money all you want? I can give you double the bounty right now! And what about my men? You can kill all of us, that I give you Mantalian; but should one of us wound you first and you do not kill all of us within five Galaxy-minutes, you will not have enough time to administer your precious Clot-9 agent before you bleed to death!" As a trade off for their super-human attributes, a Mantalians body produced blood that lacked the cells needed to clot. To remedy this, scientists and doctors manufactured the drug Clot-9 which had to be applied in five Galaxy- minutes (around 30 Terran seconds) before a Mantalian bled to death. As such, all Mantalians carried hypoderm sprays filled with the drug. The chemicals to produce Clot-9 could only be found and produced in the weather conditions on capital planet New Foundland, thus ensuring control of the Republic over their superman army. It had worked for several centuries, at least. Seeing his men slowly inching their hands towards their weapons, and spying the constabulary approaching, Kolumni added: "So what about it, bounty hunter? I could even use someone like you! We could be partners!" In the same soft voice, laced surprisingly with a hint of pain, the silver- haired one replied: "If you only knew how many times I've heard that, Kolumni. Unfortunately, I must decline your offer." With a shout, one of the Finlovians drew his slug thrower. Leaping to the side, he tracked on to where the hunter was standing and fired several rounds. The three other henchmen of Kolumni likewise grabbed their weapons and sent sizzling energy beams in the same direction. Kolumni himself drew his repeating pistol and expended the entire 75 round clip in less than two seconds, dangerously overheating the weapon. Their slugs and beams passed through where the bounty hunter was standing into the lightly-armored constabulary that was just now arriving. A split second before the criminals had pulled the triggers, the bounty hunter had darted to the left. Firing one shot from his needle guns, he unleashed from each weapon hundreds of sharp, plastic spikes that expanded in a similar fashion to a vintage Terran shotgun-shells blast. Traveling more than a hundred feet per second, these spikes literally tore off and disintegrated two of Kolumnis' mens heads. Moving in a blur, he changed aim and fired again, driving more needles into the unarmored torsos of the remaining henchmen. Before the dead bodies hit the ground, the hunter had both needlers up and pointed at Kolumni's head. Kolumni dropped his empty pistol. Dropping to his knees and lacing his fingers above his head in the classic position of surrender, he spoke in a voice loud enough for those in the crowd that had not run away to hear: "You have the advantage of me...by Republic law, I am entitled to a fair trial on capital planet New Foundland. You will treat me correctly, or you will never get your bounty." Leisurely stepping closer, one of his guns still trained on the kneeling criminal, the bounty hunter drew a communicator from his belt and spoke several words in Mantalian. Several seconds later, an atmospheric shuttle dropped down several hundred meters in a now-cleared area of the plaza, crushing empty booths and tables in the process. Putting away his other needler, the Mantalian pulled out an energy- immobilizer. Fitted on a person, this headband disrupted the normal nerve impulses that the brain uses to command muscles, leaving the subject person in a coma-like state: able to see, think, and hear, unable to move. As he moved to put the headband-like device on the captured criminal, Kolumni moved quickly. Ripping free his dagger, he slashed at the knee joint area of the bounty hunter – a vulnerable point in the Republic battle armor. Twisting to the side, the hunter managed to avoid the blade; as it was, he was too close for even his reflexes to prevent the dagger from tearing into his leggings. Had it been half an inch longer, it would have cut into him; unleashing a tide of his lifeblood. Leaping away, the hunter drew his needler. Kolumni climbed slowly to his feet. "You should have disarmed me totally first! No wonder the Republic saw fit to let you go!" Leveling his gun in line with Kolumni's heart, the bounty seeker looked hesitant for a split second; Kolumni's spirits rose and he thought of darting to the side...until he looked up into the Mantalians eyes and saw nothing but hard, uncaring resolve. Whatever flicker of indecision the slaver saw was gone. "First of all, I was not let go...I left. Second, by attacking a reward- seeker while under surrender terms, you have voided the contract of a surrendered suspect and the Republic, allowing the suspect a fair trial and non-summary action. The law is quite clear on the matter. The reward seeker thus has the option." "Dead or Alive". Walking towards the dead body of Kolumni, the Mantalian drew a datapad and positioned it over the body's face. Activating the pad, the device recorded the identity of the body and its current state of decomposition. Tucking the pad onto his belt, the hunter stood and retrieved his cloak. Fitting it around him, he strode towards the shuttle. A young boy lay quivering and crying in his path. He had hit the ground upon hearing the shots and was lucky not to be trampled by the mad-rush of hysterical townsfolk trying to get away from the confrontation. Digging into his cloak pocket, the hunter produced a Confed-gold piece. Hunching low, he helped the boy to his feet. After examining him for any injuries, the hunter said... "You should go home now. Take an air-cab." As the boy looked up into those green eyes, he hesitatingly accepted the gold piece. Summoning up his courage, he asked in a quavering voice...: "But mister, aren't you a Mantalian? Why are you helping me? I thought you had no feelings...my mommy always says that the only thing you people know is to kill..." Looking into the face of the hunter, the boy saw sadness cross those green eyes. Turning away from the boy, he continued down the path towards his ship. Feeling a little guilty (hadn't his mom and teacher always told him to apologize when hurting someone else's feelings?), the boy called after the stranger, "Hey! I'm sorry...uh...mister...uh..." The hunter moved on...but a voice so soft that the boy thought he was imagining it at first wafted through the night air. "I am called...Sephiroth." Sirens filled the air as heavily armored and Gauss rifle equipped constabulary converged on the scene. Rushing from their vehicles, they were met with a strange scene – a young boy staring at twin blue flames coming from the exhaust of a departing shuttle.
----- 000 ----- Sephiroth was alone. As the shuttle pulled away from Geneon, his mind replayed the words of the boy over and over... "...the only thing you people know is to kill..." Try as he might to suppress it, the creed taught to Sephiroth at the Terran age of 12 when he was sent to New Foundland to begin his training sprung from his mouth...It was a creed honored and cherished by all members of the Republican Guard. "I am a member of the Guard I have crushed the enemy on a dozen worlds...sowing terror and fear wherever opposition may lie... Where the Grand Admiral commands, I go to show our might... Where the Senate decrees, I go willingly to fight... Where the Emperor dictates, I go to give my life. My Honor...is my Life. I am a member of the Guard" The words were bitter on his lips. Turning his face towards the command console, Sephiroth ignored the hails from Geneon Planetary Defense ordering him to maintain orbit. While his shuttle was only a Star-runner class landing boat, he knew that it could outrun the outdated ships of the Confederate fleet stationed to protect this small, unimportant planet. His fingers dancing over the controls, He set a course for where his ship, the Wolf's Trainer, lay on the far side of Geneons' second moon. Moving at eight Gees, he thought, would get him to his ship in just over 15 Terran minutes. Strapping himself down to the seat, he felt the pressure mount as the shuttle accelerated quickly. The pressure generated on normal humans traveling at a speed fast enough for eight Gees of pressure would render them unconscious in less than a minute. A Mantalian however, is able to control the blood rushing to his head, allowing him to maintain consciousness even at high G-Pressure. This was yet another reason for their inclusion in the elite Republican Army – able to travel in space faster than normal human beings gave them an edge in running past blockades or assaulting a planet with heavy defenses. The trip back to the Wolf's Trainer passed quickly and uneventfully. Docking the shuttle, Sephiroth quickly shut the hanger doors and cycled the atmosphere back. His steps measured and sure, he made for his ships bridge. An old Republic starship, the Wolf's Trainer was a Raptor class assault boat that had seen service during the Second Secession War, and had been decommissioned from service upon the introduction of the new Talon class ships. While it would have normally been reduced and gutted, Sephiroth's benefactor had enough pull to save it from becoming a target ship and leaving it virtually intact, weaponry and all. The bounty hunter had modified it further to suit his needs: Normally designed to be flown with a crew of 5 and room for 2 assault platoons of Republican Guards as well as two landing shuttles, the ship could now be crewed by one, aided heavily by the fastest computers developed by man. Upon reaching the ships' bridge, Sephiroth settled into the command chair. Linking his datapad to the computer, he uploaded the results of his recent bounty hunt into the Republic database. The screen flashed as 20 thousand Rep-Credits were transferred into his account in DeutscheLand. His green eyes narrowing, the Mantalian noticed a hyper-transfer message waiting for him...his benefactor had deemed it important enough to try to contact him during a mission. With a sharp word of command, he ordered the computer to play back the message on the front view screen. A man with a shock of white hair and blue eyes slowly materialized on the panel. Dressed in the stark white uniform of an admiral in the Republic Navy, uniform was free of any medals or decorations of any kind – save for two gold lines embroidered horizontally on one sleeve, indicating his affiliation with Naval Intelligence. He stared impassively at Sephiroth while seated behind a wooden oak desk. A window behind him showed he was on a starship, orbiting an anonymous planet. Not much could make Sephiroth turn away from another man's gaze...part of his training in fact included non-verbal cues to intimidate potential opponents. But ever since he had met Admiral Tchakosky, he could never bear the look of those blue eyes boring into his soul as if able to read his darkest secrets. Tchakosky spoke in a thick Russian accent. "My apologies for disturbing the operation. I trust however that Kolumni will not test your abilities too sorely...he is after all just a simple nekulturny criminal." Glancing at a screen off camera, the Admiral paused before continuing. "A matter has however come up that will...shall we say...be a bigger challenge for you. Consider this a level one matter...that is, if you were still one of us."
Sephiroth blinked...level one matters were of the highest priority and demanded immediate attention. A red planet, surrounded by an asteroid field similar to Saturn in Sol System replaced the Admirals stern visage. His voice continued.
"This is planet Dionysius, Caledonia sector. Settled by Greek separatists during the First Exodus. Primary industries include Levinson Hyperdrive manufacturing, Alderson Field Generators, and other sensitive military and commercial technologies. Loyal to the Republic even through the Secession Wars. "
A picture of a man with orange hair and freckles then superimposed itself over the image of Dionysius. Stout, with a face that perpetually carried a worried look, the man was dressed richly in the finest Republic silks: his simple trousers, jacket, and hat was a classic throughout the galaxy.
"Dimitri Stephanopoulous, native to Dionysius. Known as 'The Shark'. A trader in military technology coming from the planet. While the Republic armed forces receive priority in this technology as you know, recent laws in the Senate allow for the trading of non-secret military goods to allied empires."
"This man however, has been found trading to the Confederation and to the Alliance. He is careful in his movements, never leaving Dionysius, where he holds significant public support...so much so that efforts to put out a warrant for his arrest has been met with stiff opposition by local authorities. While the Emperor or Senate could over-rule any planetary government, to risk alienating Dionysius at this time where enemies of the Republic lurk everywhere would be....foolhardy. As such, we are offering a bounty of 100,000 Rep-Creds for his capture – under the table of course."
The Admiral appeared back on screen.
"Do not underestimate the importance we are giving to this contract Sephiroth. As an added incentive, reinstatement to the service could be possible...should you succeed. Other pertinent information has been transferred to your computer system. Good luck. "
The screen went blank.
Sephiroth was stunned. Thoughts whirled through his head...why had the Admiral bothered to send this message to him now and not later on? It was definitely not a level one matter. He had gone on such missions before as a member of the Guard...arms dealers were a dime a dozen. And 100,000 Rep-Creds? The highest bounty ever given to a criminal was 125,000...and that was for Frederick the Black, a man wanted for initiating genocide on Regulus 3, way back after the Second Secession War. For that matter, reinstatement to the service? To be a member of the Guard again? He had no doubt the Admiral could fulfill his promise...but...would his comrades and fellow Mantalians accept him back? After what he did? Previous to what he had said on Geneon, Sephiroth didn't voluntarily leave the service. He had committed a crime...punishable by death. He would in fact have preferred it to this life as bounty hunter. He had disobeyed a direct order. Such is the training, conditioning and breeding inherent in a Mantalian...life is to be given in service for the Republic. To disobey, even to question, is a great dishonor...Mantalians have been known to go berserk and take great risks in the battlefield in the hope of wiping away the stain – often leading to their deaths. Such was the only recourse to one of their mind. Unbidden, the events of his disgrace replayed themselves in his head...landing on the planet Haven...storming the rebel across the families of the traitors hidden in a backroom...their cries of terror upon seeing him...searching and securing the room.
One girl, no more than 5 Terran years had then approached him...her pitiful voice crying for her Papa. an officer entering the room...he had given one hard glance at the families and ordered Sephiroth to "sterilize" the room...he had almost automatically obeyed...until he looked into the eyes of the girl...full of innocence and life...
He hesitated...the officer turned to him, checking to see what was wrong...his mind eyes of the girl burned into his mind...turning towards his superior, he dropped his weapons and said "No"....the officer looked stunned...before he knew what was happening, Guard MP's, fellow Mantalians had arrested him and brought him back to the ship.
Sephiroth fully expected to be court-martialed and executed via beheading by squad mate, as such was the penalty for treason while under arms in the field. He remembered preparing himself for the ordeal, even relishing the idea of death for his crime. Why oh why, he thought, had he succumbed to his emotions? The thought, much less the act of treason was as alien to him as the old holos of 20th century America on Terra. But it was too late...he had disobeyed, and being a Mantalian, death was the only way to cleanse his honor.
My Honor is my Life.
It was then that the Admiral had visited him in his cell and ordered his release. He protested, saying he deserved his fate, but his pleas were ignored. Given the Wolf's Trainer, and told that his life now belonged to the Admiral, he was given his freedom...to be called on at times to fulfill certain "obligations" he had to his benefactor.
Why he had not committed suicide then and there, he did not know...perhaps it was because bounty hunting served to cleanse his spirits and make him feel like he was doing the Republic a service, no matter how beneath it was for a Mantalian to engage in such a profession. Perhaps it was to satisfy the urge for violence he felt twinge at his soul every now and then.
Perhaps he was hoping to one day find eternal rest...while not disobeying yet again.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Sephiroth focused. There was a mission given, and he would fulfill it. Or die trying.
His voice as cold as steel, he spoke to the computer:
"Set course for Dionysus, Caledonia sector. Engage Levinson drive."
----- 000 -----
A dark shadow crept upon the mansion located just outside the capital city of Pan in Dionysus. Sneaking past lightly armed guards while disabling sensors, the shadow moved cautiously but quickly, moving across a garden filled with strange, red plants towards a window.
If anyone had been looking, they would have seen a figure dressed all in blood red, capes flowing around him. The red moon of Dionysus gave his face a slightly devilish look that was even eerier for its calm. Tall and lean, with cropped black hair and black eyes, he would have broken hearts across a dozen worlds had he indulged in the social circuit of the rich and famous of the Republic. But Artemis was not interested in such trivial matters. Clipped to his belt were two needle-guns that signaled him as a Mantalian, this being their preferred weapon, mainly due to the deadly accuracy needed to wield it effectively. His features were not pure though, indicating normal blood flowing through his veins. The ease by which he wore his battle armor signified he was trained, most likely in the Republic Guard. The sigils etched on it however, as well a certain devices implanted in it, were clearly not Republic issued though. Pressing himself up against the window, Artemis looked around calmly before disabling the alarm sensor and pulling it open. Slipping inside a richly furnished room worth a fortune, he regarded a sleeping figure and compared it against a picture from his datapad. Nodding and apparently satisfied, he took a position fronting the room's door...the window silhouetted behind him. With an almost casual motion, he pressed a button imbedded in his armor. With a shimmer and a low hum, Artemis vanished. He would have to remain awfully still so as not to ruin the cloaking device's effect, but Artemis was used to waiting. He apparently would not have to wait long. Footsteps, too soft and light for a normal humans hearing to catch were approaching the doorway.
----- 000 ----- Sephiroth pushed open the door and looked at the sleeping figure in front of him. Drawing a stun baton from his cloak, he set it to the lowest power setting. With a short jab, the bounty hunter prodded it against the body in front of him. The figure awoke with a scream and tumbled out of the bed as the current from the baton surged into his body. Not enough to render a human unconscious, the lowest setting on the baton merely activated a person's neural passages, similar to the feeling of hundreds of Terran fire ants biting simultaneously all over a persons body. Needless to say, this left the unfortunate victim immobilized for a couple of minutes, yet fully conscious and aware. Moving over the trembling man who was now staring at Sephiroth with wide open eyes, the bounty hunter spoke softly: "Dimitri Stephanopoulous, you are wanted for crimes violating Republic statutes 198765-321 and 76129-333, or illegal arms dealing and treason, with a bounty of 100,000 Rep-Creds on your head. It is for this that I have come." Unable to reply, the mans hands inched towards a remote device. Sephiroth continued. "Unfortunately, your device will simply put out an alert to an empty guard room. I took the liberty of neutralizing your guard force before coming here. I also jammed the automatic response signal to the local authorities." Moving towards Dimitri, he pulled an energy-immobilizer from his pocket. Fitting it unto the man's head, the bounty hunter started to lift the man for the journey back to his waiting shuttle when he glanced at the window. Dropping the arms dealer to the floor, he drew his needlers and dove to the side. Flechette needles thudded into the space he had just been occupying and thudded into Dimitri, tearing huge holes into his torso. A low chuckle filled the air as Sephiroth trained his guns on a rapidly materializing figure in red. Stepping forward, his needlers pointed to the floor, Artemis looked at the now dead Dimitri. Sighing, he turned to Sephiroth. "My, my, my...I must say, this is the first time in a long spell that I have been beaten to my target. In any case, I bow to you, fellow hunter...you have earned the bounty." Sephiroth looked at Artemis calmly...his guns still trained on him. In a calm voice, he replied: "I have a feeling our friend here was not your target. You were here obviously before I arrived...I would have noticed anyone entering the room after me, even if that person was cloaked." Looking over Artemis' armored figure, he continued. "Also, you do not strike me as a bounty hunter...Guard Force Recon perhaps? The 77th division? Or maybe a member of that new regiment...the 112th Assault Specialists? Forgive me, but I do not recognize your sigils. As a Guard however, you should know who I am, and that I have every right to be here... But if I am somehow mistaken and you are indeed telling the truth, I offer you the bounty as one former Guard to another, as honor dictates it does."
To his astonishment, genuine laughter greeted Sephiroths' words. Artemis was doubled over in mirth. Catching his breath and composing himself, the red clad figure spoke.
"You amuse me with your chivalrous attitude...and perceptive nature... it is indeed rare that I come across the likes of people like you! I will humor you though for now – Yes, I have heard of you Sephiroth, and since I have the better of you in this regard, let me introduce myself and correct several misconceptions you obviously have drawn about me.
I am called Artemis...and I actually AM a bounty hunter. As only my father was pure Mantalian, I could only attend the Guard Academy for five years before I was asked to leave. I could not compete with the likes of purebreds, as you are well aware.
Hence, I do not subscribe fully to what "honor" dictates, and as much as his bounty would fill my pockets, I quote that ancient Terran saying...how does it go? 'I have even bigger fish to fry'. You are correct. He was not my target. You deserve accolades and recognition.
I bow before your intellect and wisdom."
Bowing with a flourish of his cape, Artemis acted as if before royalty. As he straightened up however, he twisted to his right and dove behind the bed with the speed of a Mantalian as Sephiroth fired deadly needles at him. The needles thumped harmlessly where he had been standing.
Pulling himself up while still taking cover, Artemis blindly unleashed a torrent of fire towards Sephiroths part of the room. Feeling return shots thudding into the bed, he pressed another button on his armor.
A black plastic casing drew up from where his suit ended at his neck and totally enclosed his head. He thought grimly about what the technician on Sparta had told him about it.
"It encloses your head similar to the way ancient Terran knights used to wear armored helms over their faces. It will not stop any high energy rounds, nor any high impact projectile. It does however protect you from sudden environmental changes, or gas."
Raising his voice, Artemis called out.
"Now, now, no need to play rough. I promise that you will be treated correctly if you come with me...or at least until I turn you over to my employer. Why make this so hard on everyone involved?"
Receiving no reply except more thuds into the bed (which by now resembled a giant pincushion), he decided to end this quickly. It would never do to let a Mantalian enemy live too long. They were just too crafty.
Drawing a thermo-grenade from a pouch, Artemis entered the detonation code and threw it across the room while diving for the floor. A wave of heat surged through the room, igniting each and every piece of cloth and furniture...including unarmored bodies and flesh. From his vantage point on the floor, Artemis saw Dimitri's body burst into flames. He expected to see Sephiroth's body flop to the floor next to him...his head charred to a cinder since it was unarmored. He waited for the fires to die down as the chemically induced flames ran out of fuel.
Thuds however continued to pound into the now wrecked and burned bed. Puzzled, Artemis cautiously peeked around the side, his needlers up and at the ready.
The room was empty.
Crawling on the floor, Artemis went around a needler left to fire automatically at several second intervals in the general direction of where he had been taking cover. Picking it up and shutting it down, he moved towards the window.
Looking outside into the still night air, he could still hear someones hurried steps running into the woods next to the mansion, way too fast and far for his half-Mantalian legs to allow him to give chase.
A grin spread on his face.
"You can run friend...but the contract on your head has no expiry. Although for Saturns rings, I have no idea why HE would want you dead."
Leaping out the window, Artemis strode down the path...his armor dully absorbing the moons red rays.
The town of Tremaine was a busy one tonight.
Fires blazed into the dark blue evening sky as the moon Twinkle hung big on the horizon. Whiskey and ale poured freely in the plaza as the townspeople celebrated the 125th Terran-year independence of their planet Geneon from Republic rule. Men toasted and cheered about their latest exploits over the huge gravity free tables laden with roasted pig, sautéed gumweed, fragrant lister bread and other more exotic delicacies shipped in from off-planet; women took advantage of the number of traveling merchants who had come to this small town for the occasion and had set up booths selling everything from the finest Republic silk to the latest music datadiscs from fashion world Zentradi. Children, already tired from playing throughout the afternoon in the planet-wide holiday, tried raiding the dessert table, to the mock-outrage of the attendants.
A stranger took in this entire scene calmly. Standing off to one side of the main celebration area, he walked slowly through the raucous crowd, his long, black hooded cloak billowing in the gentle breeze – a sharp contrast to the standard Confederation light blue that townspeople and citizens favored in this part of the galaxy. The throngs instinctively gave way...all but one particularly drunk townsman who tried to force the stranger into sharing a drink with him. Standing right in his path, he shouted:
"Hey Citizen! You must drink with Jorg tonight! Everyone must be as drunk as..." A mere glance from this man's green eyes stopped the townsman in mid-spiel. Without a word, the stranger drew back his hood, revealing his long, silvery hair. His face showed striking aquiline features, common to the earliest space- settlers of the old Republic. A slight upward curve of his lips dared the townsman to say more. Apparently shaken, the drunk stepped to the side. Facing his companions, the townsman angrily pushed his way through them and disappeared in the crowd. His steps light and measured, the stranger continued on, unmindful of the hush he generated whenever he passed through a group of revelers. He stopped in front of a particularly loud table. The table was occupied by six off-worlders, as could be seen from their heavy beards and blond hair, common to the bazaar planet Novy Finlovia in the Confederation. Dressed in gaudy finery of yellow and blue, the men reeked of new found wealth. Boisterous and half drunk, they boasted to each other, laughing and occasionally petting the lady's clinging to their arms. Large, precious jewels adorned their bodies. Servants rushed to and fro from their table, replenishing whiskey and food. Several of them were obviously armed with energy pistols, indicating a hefty bribe to the constabulary for allowing weapons into the town. One in particular was dressed exceptionally well. Standing over six feet tall, he cut an imposing figure over his compatriots. Well muscled, he had the look of someone used to hard labor, and would give anyone second thoughts about messing with him. A long dagger hung from his belt; a repeating slug thrower on the other side. Heavy and studded boots adorned his feet. A large shimmerstone earring dangled off one lobe. He had two women with him; An oriental from Xanadu and a blonde: the pick of the lot an observer would say. He was the first to notice the stranger. "Hey! Republic boy! What are you looking at?!? Buzz your mother!!!" Receiving no reply, noise slowly died down as the others turned to look at who their leader was shouting at. Shoving his woman away, the closest one to the stranger stood, picking up his energy pistol in the process. Coming face to face with the one who had interrupted their festivities, he tapped the pistol against the still silent man's chest. "You deaf stupid? He told you to...AHHHKKK!!! Moving faster than humanly possible, the stranger grabbed the man's arm, twisting it until the pistol had dropped to the ground. Continuing his motion, he turned the man around. A loud snap was heard, as the man's arm broke from the pressure. Ignoring the pained screams, the stranger kicked the man behind the knees, dropping him to the ground. With a twist of the man's neck, he released the dead body to the ground as the others on the table looked on in shock at the man's speed. Blood flowed out of the corners of the man's lips. An ammonia stink filled the air as he voided. Throwing off his cloak, the stranger revealed the black-drab Republic nemourlon battle armor he wore underneath, common to members of the elite Republican Guard. His muscles were long and ripped, as opposed to the "bulk" most people associate with strength. A red-laser tattoo of a long- fanged felinoid could be seen peeking out at the edges of the black spacer gloves he wore. Drawing two flechette needle guns from his hips, the man pointed them at a couple of the Finlovians who only now were beginning to rise. Speaking softly, all the while staring at the stunned leader, he said: "Your lives are of no interest to me; it is for Kolumni that I have come." Kolumni had recovered; his eyes darting from side to side assessing the situation. His men were still shaking off the shock of watching their comrade die so quickly and violently; he had to give them time. Even now, he could hear townsmen shouting for the local constabulary; they had been well paid and would give him additional troops to deal with the problem. Maybe he could bluff his way out of the situation. Standing up warily, his palms raised to show he was not going for his weapons, he boomed out: "And why have you come for me, Republic dog? Geneon is part of the Confederation! You have no jurisdiction here! I am a member of the Novy Finlovian Trade Guild! Do you wish to start a war?!? What would your masters in the Guard say! Give me your name and Operation Code!" A hint of a smile crept into the strangers face. In a voice as cold as ice, he replied: "My name is unimportant, and I am not with the Guard. You, Nikolas Kolumni, are wanted for violating sections 23-872 and 47-591 of the Redfield treaty prohibiting slave-running and piracy resulting in the death of 4 Republic citizens. The treaty supersedes any political boundaries that may exist. You have a price of 20 thousand Rep-Credits on your head. It is for this I have come." A chill went down Kolumni's spine; He only recognized the bounty hunter's accent now. This silver haired stranger was a Mantalian! That explained his speed and strength! A formerly shunned planet for their experiments in genetic breeding, Mantalia was now where the Republic drew most of its army and security forces from. A militant society, The founding settlers of the planet Mantalia were military genetic engineers whose ultimate goal was to create a race of "supermen". Throughout the centuries, they had achieved a certain degree of success. Faster and stronger than human "norms", Mantalians reportedly have the stamina to run several miles without breaking a sweat; their eyes are supposedly manipulated to allow them to see several miles without any technological aid and are even rumored to see in the infrared spectrum; their hearing was so acute that they could hear a whispered conversation in the din of a Rollball game. It was also a rare and dishonored Mantalian that would leave the Republic service for bounty hunting, Kolumni thought. Maybe he could use that to his advantage...and one other genetic fault that the Mantalian engineers had produced in their experiments and couldn't solve. "Is money all you want? I can give you double the bounty right now! And what about my men? You can kill all of us, that I give you Mantalian; but should one of us wound you first and you do not kill all of us within five Galaxy-minutes, you will not have enough time to administer your precious Clot-9 agent before you bleed to death!" As a trade off for their super-human attributes, a Mantalians body produced blood that lacked the cells needed to clot. To remedy this, scientists and doctors manufactured the drug Clot-9 which had to be applied in five Galaxy- minutes (around 30 Terran seconds) before a Mantalian bled to death. As such, all Mantalians carried hypoderm sprays filled with the drug. The chemicals to produce Clot-9 could only be found and produced in the weather conditions on capital planet New Foundland, thus ensuring control of the Republic over their superman army. It had worked for several centuries, at least. Seeing his men slowly inching their hands towards their weapons, and spying the constabulary approaching, Kolumni added: "So what about it, bounty hunter? I could even use someone like you! We could be partners!" In the same soft voice, laced surprisingly with a hint of pain, the silver- haired one replied: "If you only knew how many times I've heard that, Kolumni. Unfortunately, I must decline your offer." With a shout, one of the Finlovians drew his slug thrower. Leaping to the side, he tracked on to where the hunter was standing and fired several rounds. The three other henchmen of Kolumni likewise grabbed their weapons and sent sizzling energy beams in the same direction. Kolumni himself drew his repeating pistol and expended the entire 75 round clip in less than two seconds, dangerously overheating the weapon. Their slugs and beams passed through where the bounty hunter was standing into the lightly-armored constabulary that was just now arriving. A split second before the criminals had pulled the triggers, the bounty hunter had darted to the left. Firing one shot from his needle guns, he unleashed from each weapon hundreds of sharp, plastic spikes that expanded in a similar fashion to a vintage Terran shotgun-shells blast. Traveling more than a hundred feet per second, these spikes literally tore off and disintegrated two of Kolumnis' mens heads. Moving in a blur, he changed aim and fired again, driving more needles into the unarmored torsos of the remaining henchmen. Before the dead bodies hit the ground, the hunter had both needlers up and pointed at Kolumni's head. Kolumni dropped his empty pistol. Dropping to his knees and lacing his fingers above his head in the classic position of surrender, he spoke in a voice loud enough for those in the crowd that had not run away to hear: "You have the advantage of me...by Republic law, I am entitled to a fair trial on capital planet New Foundland. You will treat me correctly, or you will never get your bounty." Leisurely stepping closer, one of his guns still trained on the kneeling criminal, the bounty hunter drew a communicator from his belt and spoke several words in Mantalian. Several seconds later, an atmospheric shuttle dropped down several hundred meters in a now-cleared area of the plaza, crushing empty booths and tables in the process. Putting away his other needler, the Mantalian pulled out an energy- immobilizer. Fitted on a person, this headband disrupted the normal nerve impulses that the brain uses to command muscles, leaving the subject person in a coma-like state: able to see, think, and hear, unable to move. As he moved to put the headband-like device on the captured criminal, Kolumni moved quickly. Ripping free his dagger, he slashed at the knee joint area of the bounty hunter – a vulnerable point in the Republic battle armor. Twisting to the side, the hunter managed to avoid the blade; as it was, he was too close for even his reflexes to prevent the dagger from tearing into his leggings. Had it been half an inch longer, it would have cut into him; unleashing a tide of his lifeblood. Leaping away, the hunter drew his needler. Kolumni climbed slowly to his feet. "You should have disarmed me totally first! No wonder the Republic saw fit to let you go!" Leveling his gun in line with Kolumni's heart, the bounty seeker looked hesitant for a split second; Kolumni's spirits rose and he thought of darting to the side...until he looked up into the Mantalians eyes and saw nothing but hard, uncaring resolve. Whatever flicker of indecision the slaver saw was gone. "First of all, I was not let go...I left. Second, by attacking a reward- seeker while under surrender terms, you have voided the contract of a surrendered suspect and the Republic, allowing the suspect a fair trial and non-summary action. The law is quite clear on the matter. The reward seeker thus has the option." "Dead or Alive". Walking towards the dead body of Kolumni, the Mantalian drew a datapad and positioned it over the body's face. Activating the pad, the device recorded the identity of the body and its current state of decomposition. Tucking the pad onto his belt, the hunter stood and retrieved his cloak. Fitting it around him, he strode towards the shuttle. A young boy lay quivering and crying in his path. He had hit the ground upon hearing the shots and was lucky not to be trampled by the mad-rush of hysterical townsfolk trying to get away from the confrontation. Digging into his cloak pocket, the hunter produced a Confed-gold piece. Hunching low, he helped the boy to his feet. After examining him for any injuries, the hunter said... "You should go home now. Take an air-cab." As the boy looked up into those green eyes, he hesitatingly accepted the gold piece. Summoning up his courage, he asked in a quavering voice...: "But mister, aren't you a Mantalian? Why are you helping me? I thought you had no feelings...my mommy always says that the only thing you people know is to kill..." Looking into the face of the hunter, the boy saw sadness cross those green eyes. Turning away from the boy, he continued down the path towards his ship. Feeling a little guilty (hadn't his mom and teacher always told him to apologize when hurting someone else's feelings?), the boy called after the stranger, "Hey! I'm sorry...uh...mister...uh..." The hunter moved on...but a voice so soft that the boy thought he was imagining it at first wafted through the night air. "I am called...Sephiroth." Sirens filled the air as heavily armored and Gauss rifle equipped constabulary converged on the scene. Rushing from their vehicles, they were met with a strange scene – a young boy staring at twin blue flames coming from the exhaust of a departing shuttle.
----- 000 ----- Sephiroth was alone. As the shuttle pulled away from Geneon, his mind replayed the words of the boy over and over... "...the only thing you people know is to kill..." Try as he might to suppress it, the creed taught to Sephiroth at the Terran age of 12 when he was sent to New Foundland to begin his training sprung from his mouth...It was a creed honored and cherished by all members of the Republican Guard. "I am a member of the Guard I have crushed the enemy on a dozen worlds...sowing terror and fear wherever opposition may lie... Where the Grand Admiral commands, I go to show our might... Where the Senate decrees, I go willingly to fight... Where the Emperor dictates, I go to give my life. My Honor...is my Life. I am a member of the Guard" The words were bitter on his lips. Turning his face towards the command console, Sephiroth ignored the hails from Geneon Planetary Defense ordering him to maintain orbit. While his shuttle was only a Star-runner class landing boat, he knew that it could outrun the outdated ships of the Confederate fleet stationed to protect this small, unimportant planet. His fingers dancing over the controls, He set a course for where his ship, the Wolf's Trainer, lay on the far side of Geneons' second moon. Moving at eight Gees, he thought, would get him to his ship in just over 15 Terran minutes. Strapping himself down to the seat, he felt the pressure mount as the shuttle accelerated quickly. The pressure generated on normal humans traveling at a speed fast enough for eight Gees of pressure would render them unconscious in less than a minute. A Mantalian however, is able to control the blood rushing to his head, allowing him to maintain consciousness even at high G-Pressure. This was yet another reason for their inclusion in the elite Republican Army – able to travel in space faster than normal human beings gave them an edge in running past blockades or assaulting a planet with heavy defenses. The trip back to the Wolf's Trainer passed quickly and uneventfully. Docking the shuttle, Sephiroth quickly shut the hanger doors and cycled the atmosphere back. His steps measured and sure, he made for his ships bridge. An old Republic starship, the Wolf's Trainer was a Raptor class assault boat that had seen service during the Second Secession War, and had been decommissioned from service upon the introduction of the new Talon class ships. While it would have normally been reduced and gutted, Sephiroth's benefactor had enough pull to save it from becoming a target ship and leaving it virtually intact, weaponry and all. The bounty hunter had modified it further to suit his needs: Normally designed to be flown with a crew of 5 and room for 2 assault platoons of Republican Guards as well as two landing shuttles, the ship could now be crewed by one, aided heavily by the fastest computers developed by man. Upon reaching the ships' bridge, Sephiroth settled into the command chair. Linking his datapad to the computer, he uploaded the results of his recent bounty hunt into the Republic database. The screen flashed as 20 thousand Rep-Credits were transferred into his account in DeutscheLand. His green eyes narrowing, the Mantalian noticed a hyper-transfer message waiting for him...his benefactor had deemed it important enough to try to contact him during a mission. With a sharp word of command, he ordered the computer to play back the message on the front view screen. A man with a shock of white hair and blue eyes slowly materialized on the panel. Dressed in the stark white uniform of an admiral in the Republic Navy, uniform was free of any medals or decorations of any kind – save for two gold lines embroidered horizontally on one sleeve, indicating his affiliation with Naval Intelligence. He stared impassively at Sephiroth while seated behind a wooden oak desk. A window behind him showed he was on a starship, orbiting an anonymous planet. Not much could make Sephiroth turn away from another man's gaze...part of his training in fact included non-verbal cues to intimidate potential opponents. But ever since he had met Admiral Tchakosky, he could never bear the look of those blue eyes boring into his soul as if able to read his darkest secrets. Tchakosky spoke in a thick Russian accent. "My apologies for disturbing the operation. I trust however that Kolumni will not test your abilities too sorely...he is after all just a simple nekulturny criminal." Glancing at a screen off camera, the Admiral paused before continuing. "A matter has however come up that will...shall we say...be a bigger challenge for you. Consider this a level one matter...that is, if you were still one of us."
Sephiroth blinked...level one matters were of the highest priority and demanded immediate attention. A red planet, surrounded by an asteroid field similar to Saturn in Sol System replaced the Admirals stern visage. His voice continued.
"This is planet Dionysius, Caledonia sector. Settled by Greek separatists during the First Exodus. Primary industries include Levinson Hyperdrive manufacturing, Alderson Field Generators, and other sensitive military and commercial technologies. Loyal to the Republic even through the Secession Wars. "
A picture of a man with orange hair and freckles then superimposed itself over the image of Dionysius. Stout, with a face that perpetually carried a worried look, the man was dressed richly in the finest Republic silks: his simple trousers, jacket, and hat was a classic throughout the galaxy.
"Dimitri Stephanopoulous, native to Dionysius. Known as 'The Shark'. A trader in military technology coming from the planet. While the Republic armed forces receive priority in this technology as you know, recent laws in the Senate allow for the trading of non-secret military goods to allied empires."
"This man however, has been found trading to the Confederation and to the Alliance. He is careful in his movements, never leaving Dionysius, where he holds significant public support...so much so that efforts to put out a warrant for his arrest has been met with stiff opposition by local authorities. While the Emperor or Senate could over-rule any planetary government, to risk alienating Dionysius at this time where enemies of the Republic lurk everywhere would be....foolhardy. As such, we are offering a bounty of 100,000 Rep-Creds for his capture – under the table of course."
The Admiral appeared back on screen.
"Do not underestimate the importance we are giving to this contract Sephiroth. As an added incentive, reinstatement to the service could be possible...should you succeed. Other pertinent information has been transferred to your computer system. Good luck. "
The screen went blank.
Sephiroth was stunned. Thoughts whirled through his head...why had the Admiral bothered to send this message to him now and not later on? It was definitely not a level one matter. He had gone on such missions before as a member of the Guard...arms dealers were a dime a dozen. And 100,000 Rep-Creds? The highest bounty ever given to a criminal was 125,000...and that was for Frederick the Black, a man wanted for initiating genocide on Regulus 3, way back after the Second Secession War. For that matter, reinstatement to the service? To be a member of the Guard again? He had no doubt the Admiral could fulfill his promise...but...would his comrades and fellow Mantalians accept him back? After what he did? Previous to what he had said on Geneon, Sephiroth didn't voluntarily leave the service. He had committed a crime...punishable by death. He would in fact have preferred it to this life as bounty hunter. He had disobeyed a direct order. Such is the training, conditioning and breeding inherent in a Mantalian...life is to be given in service for the Republic. To disobey, even to question, is a great dishonor...Mantalians have been known to go berserk and take great risks in the battlefield in the hope of wiping away the stain – often leading to their deaths. Such was the only recourse to one of their mind. Unbidden, the events of his disgrace replayed themselves in his head...landing on the planet Haven...storming the rebel across the families of the traitors hidden in a backroom...their cries of terror upon seeing him...searching and securing the room.
One girl, no more than 5 Terran years had then approached him...her pitiful voice crying for her Papa. an officer entering the room...he had given one hard glance at the families and ordered Sephiroth to "sterilize" the room...he had almost automatically obeyed...until he looked into the eyes of the girl...full of innocence and life...
He hesitated...the officer turned to him, checking to see what was wrong...his mind eyes of the girl burned into his mind...turning towards his superior, he dropped his weapons and said "No"....the officer looked stunned...before he knew what was happening, Guard MP's, fellow Mantalians had arrested him and brought him back to the ship.
Sephiroth fully expected to be court-martialed and executed via beheading by squad mate, as such was the penalty for treason while under arms in the field. He remembered preparing himself for the ordeal, even relishing the idea of death for his crime. Why oh why, he thought, had he succumbed to his emotions? The thought, much less the act of treason was as alien to him as the old holos of 20th century America on Terra. But it was too late...he had disobeyed, and being a Mantalian, death was the only way to cleanse his honor.
My Honor is my Life.
It was then that the Admiral had visited him in his cell and ordered his release. He protested, saying he deserved his fate, but his pleas were ignored. Given the Wolf's Trainer, and told that his life now belonged to the Admiral, he was given his freedom...to be called on at times to fulfill certain "obligations" he had to his benefactor.
Why he had not committed suicide then and there, he did not know...perhaps it was because bounty hunting served to cleanse his spirits and make him feel like he was doing the Republic a service, no matter how beneath it was for a Mantalian to engage in such a profession. Perhaps it was to satisfy the urge for violence he felt twinge at his soul every now and then.
Perhaps he was hoping to one day find eternal rest...while not disobeying yet again.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Sephiroth focused. There was a mission given, and he would fulfill it. Or die trying.
His voice as cold as steel, he spoke to the computer:
"Set course for Dionysus, Caledonia sector. Engage Levinson drive."
----- 000 -----
A dark shadow crept upon the mansion located just outside the capital city of Pan in Dionysus. Sneaking past lightly armed guards while disabling sensors, the shadow moved cautiously but quickly, moving across a garden filled with strange, red plants towards a window.
If anyone had been looking, they would have seen a figure dressed all in blood red, capes flowing around him. The red moon of Dionysus gave his face a slightly devilish look that was even eerier for its calm. Tall and lean, with cropped black hair and black eyes, he would have broken hearts across a dozen worlds had he indulged in the social circuit of the rich and famous of the Republic. But Artemis was not interested in such trivial matters. Clipped to his belt were two needle-guns that signaled him as a Mantalian, this being their preferred weapon, mainly due to the deadly accuracy needed to wield it effectively. His features were not pure though, indicating normal blood flowing through his veins. The ease by which he wore his battle armor signified he was trained, most likely in the Republic Guard. The sigils etched on it however, as well a certain devices implanted in it, were clearly not Republic issued though. Pressing himself up against the window, Artemis looked around calmly before disabling the alarm sensor and pulling it open. Slipping inside a richly furnished room worth a fortune, he regarded a sleeping figure and compared it against a picture from his datapad. Nodding and apparently satisfied, he took a position fronting the room's door...the window silhouetted behind him. With an almost casual motion, he pressed a button imbedded in his armor. With a shimmer and a low hum, Artemis vanished. He would have to remain awfully still so as not to ruin the cloaking device's effect, but Artemis was used to waiting. He apparently would not have to wait long. Footsteps, too soft and light for a normal humans hearing to catch were approaching the doorway.
----- 000 ----- Sephiroth pushed open the door and looked at the sleeping figure in front of him. Drawing a stun baton from his cloak, he set it to the lowest power setting. With a short jab, the bounty hunter prodded it against the body in front of him. The figure awoke with a scream and tumbled out of the bed as the current from the baton surged into his body. Not enough to render a human unconscious, the lowest setting on the baton merely activated a person's neural passages, similar to the feeling of hundreds of Terran fire ants biting simultaneously all over a persons body. Needless to say, this left the unfortunate victim immobilized for a couple of minutes, yet fully conscious and aware. Moving over the trembling man who was now staring at Sephiroth with wide open eyes, the bounty hunter spoke softly: "Dimitri Stephanopoulous, you are wanted for crimes violating Republic statutes 198765-321 and 76129-333, or illegal arms dealing and treason, with a bounty of 100,000 Rep-Creds on your head. It is for this that I have come." Unable to reply, the mans hands inched towards a remote device. Sephiroth continued. "Unfortunately, your device will simply put out an alert to an empty guard room. I took the liberty of neutralizing your guard force before coming here. I also jammed the automatic response signal to the local authorities." Moving towards Dimitri, he pulled an energy-immobilizer from his pocket. Fitting it unto the man's head, the bounty hunter started to lift the man for the journey back to his waiting shuttle when he glanced at the window. Dropping the arms dealer to the floor, he drew his needlers and dove to the side. Flechette needles thudded into the space he had just been occupying and thudded into Dimitri, tearing huge holes into his torso. A low chuckle filled the air as Sephiroth trained his guns on a rapidly materializing figure in red. Stepping forward, his needlers pointed to the floor, Artemis looked at the now dead Dimitri. Sighing, he turned to Sephiroth. "My, my, my...I must say, this is the first time in a long spell that I have been beaten to my target. In any case, I bow to you, fellow hunter...you have earned the bounty." Sephiroth looked at Artemis calmly...his guns still trained on him. In a calm voice, he replied: "I have a feeling our friend here was not your target. You were here obviously before I arrived...I would have noticed anyone entering the room after me, even if that person was cloaked." Looking over Artemis' armored figure, he continued. "Also, you do not strike me as a bounty hunter...Guard Force Recon perhaps? The 77th division? Or maybe a member of that new regiment...the 112th Assault Specialists? Forgive me, but I do not recognize your sigils. As a Guard however, you should know who I am, and that I have every right to be here... But if I am somehow mistaken and you are indeed telling the truth, I offer you the bounty as one former Guard to another, as honor dictates it does."
To his astonishment, genuine laughter greeted Sephiroths' words. Artemis was doubled over in mirth. Catching his breath and composing himself, the red clad figure spoke.
"You amuse me with your chivalrous attitude...and perceptive nature... it is indeed rare that I come across the likes of people like you! I will humor you though for now – Yes, I have heard of you Sephiroth, and since I have the better of you in this regard, let me introduce myself and correct several misconceptions you obviously have drawn about me.
I am called Artemis...and I actually AM a bounty hunter. As only my father was pure Mantalian, I could only attend the Guard Academy for five years before I was asked to leave. I could not compete with the likes of purebreds, as you are well aware.
Hence, I do not subscribe fully to what "honor" dictates, and as much as his bounty would fill my pockets, I quote that ancient Terran saying...how does it go? 'I have even bigger fish to fry'. You are correct. He was not my target. You deserve accolades and recognition.
I bow before your intellect and wisdom."
Bowing with a flourish of his cape, Artemis acted as if before royalty. As he straightened up however, he twisted to his right and dove behind the bed with the speed of a Mantalian as Sephiroth fired deadly needles at him. The needles thumped harmlessly where he had been standing.
Pulling himself up while still taking cover, Artemis blindly unleashed a torrent of fire towards Sephiroths part of the room. Feeling return shots thudding into the bed, he pressed another button on his armor.
A black plastic casing drew up from where his suit ended at his neck and totally enclosed his head. He thought grimly about what the technician on Sparta had told him about it.
"It encloses your head similar to the way ancient Terran knights used to wear armored helms over their faces. It will not stop any high energy rounds, nor any high impact projectile. It does however protect you from sudden environmental changes, or gas."
Raising his voice, Artemis called out.
"Now, now, no need to play rough. I promise that you will be treated correctly if you come with me...or at least until I turn you over to my employer. Why make this so hard on everyone involved?"
Receiving no reply except more thuds into the bed (which by now resembled a giant pincushion), he decided to end this quickly. It would never do to let a Mantalian enemy live too long. They were just too crafty.
Drawing a thermo-grenade from a pouch, Artemis entered the detonation code and threw it across the room while diving for the floor. A wave of heat surged through the room, igniting each and every piece of cloth and furniture...including unarmored bodies and flesh. From his vantage point on the floor, Artemis saw Dimitri's body burst into flames. He expected to see Sephiroth's body flop to the floor next to him...his head charred to a cinder since it was unarmored. He waited for the fires to die down as the chemically induced flames ran out of fuel.
Thuds however continued to pound into the now wrecked and burned bed. Puzzled, Artemis cautiously peeked around the side, his needlers up and at the ready.
The room was empty.
Crawling on the floor, Artemis went around a needler left to fire automatically at several second intervals in the general direction of where he had been taking cover. Picking it up and shutting it down, he moved towards the window.
Looking outside into the still night air, he could still hear someones hurried steps running into the woods next to the mansion, way too fast and far for his half-Mantalian legs to allow him to give chase.
A grin spread on his face.
"You can run friend...but the contract on your head has no expiry. Although for Saturns rings, I have no idea why HE would want you dead."
Leaping out the window, Artemis strode down the path...his armor dully absorbing the moons red rays.