Chapter 1

Civilizations means cities. The greater the civilization, the greater the city. The more powerful and successful the civilization, the more ostentatious the city. The more ostentatious the city, the darker and dirty the slums. Located across the river from Morel's Capital City was the suburb Malcenia. It had the distinction of being the worst place to ever be cobbled together out of the refuse of the best and brightest of the bottom of the barrel.

It's organized syndicates governed here. The Morel Government gave Malcenia little notice, as long as the violence stayed on that side of the river. Routinely, once yearly, Morel Security Forces would made a sweep through the suburb and gather up the most troublesome and those who had fallen short in their 'union dues'. When the governement needed someone for a deniable operation, it was here the sacrificial wolf would be recruited.

At night was when Malcenia came alive. The streets of Malcenia were a claustrophobic's worst nightmare. The thick humidity of this summer's night made the air sour and stale. It was a lively, if more dangerous place, at night. Bars and casinos littered the main drag. Their neo signs gave off ghostly glows in the permanent fog that seemed to hang over the area. There more disreputable business like the brothels, joyhouses, pit rings, and canneries catered their own illicit - yet highly profitable commodities to those who came calling.

JEB Stuart, independent trader with experience beyond the Gate, picked his was through the crowd of beings while making it a point to never meet any of their eyes. Malcenia was the home of crooks and sneaks and vagabonds. The wrong look might make them think he was after their latest profit or looking to put them into a penal colony. There was no such thing as honor amongst thieves in this place. The only honor would be a promise that none of your material possessions would go to waste after your death, including your corpse.

It was only when Stuart reached a block of the street he was familiar with that he lowered his guard. This area of town was known as the Rat's Hole. It was a little block. The buildings were stacked one on top of another along its narrow, winding street. Music, the smell of cooking meat, and half naked flesh were the stimulants of the hour. 'Doc' Holiday, a Human who freely admitted that he had been born several centuries too late, operated a medical clinic on the second level. He waved down as Stuart passed.

Hookers from the B & A cooed his name as he navigated around the front of their establishment. He wasn't here to be put be back together, or taken apart, at the Doc's. He wasn't here for pleasurable company that would pick his pockets when he was asleep either.

Truth be told he had seen much worse and much more dangerous places in his travels as a smuggler - pardon, Independent Trader.

He stopped outside the largest bar around. It's name was self explanatory.

'Beef, Beer & Billiards'. Even though Billiards had a different explanation here. Two thick bruisers stood outside the door. Amazing men that had no necks, yet could still turn their heads and manage speech even if it was within a limited range. Heavy automatic phase rifles graced their arms. Large power magazines clung to their belts. Their job consisted of turning away people who came to do the exception of people who knew what business the establishment behind them conducted.

JEB Stuart had no trouble getting in the front door. Over the past several months he had made his a familiar face here. The bruisers did not even ask for his weapon. He bathed in the scent of the pub.

The smell of cooking meat, the acrid stench of local tobacco and other less well known pharmaceuticals, the smell of sweat and body odor. The young and pretty things milled around the hard case business professionals. He pass two such professionals having a discussion between themselves with the use of blunt instruments.

The bar and the music, as bad as it was, held no interest for him. Stuart made his way to the back where a heavy steel door occupied an otherwise unremarkable wall. He knocked, rather heavily, twice.

A winding noise emanated from a small glass dome over his head. He could almost hear the device scanning him.

The door opened. A large man greeted him. The man's beard was long and full, coming down to near his rounded belly. Armed with a phase rifle like the bruisers at the front door, the man nodded, "Stuart. He is waiting for you."

Stuart did not respond. He walked by the bearded wonder and opened a flimsy looking door behind the guard. Beyond the door was a room carved out of solid rock. Clever use of curtains and drapes hid the ash gray rock walls. A large steel table with its collection of chairs dominated the cramped space of the chamber. A single light hung over the table. It gave off just illumination to light up the table and its occupants, but leave the recesses of the room in darkness. An interesting tactic. There was no way of knowing if anyone was hiding behind the curtains in the shadows.

There were five people seated around the table. Some of whom JEB Stuart knew.

Nagus was at the head of the table. Right where a man with all the power should be. Nagus was, without a doubt, the oldest Morlenian Stuart had ever seen. His ears had more hair than his head. His skin was sagging and wrinkled so much that it looked like it would slide off his bones any moment. His nose, broken many times in his youth, was bulbous and disfigured with nostrils bristling with hairs. Yet his eyes were still sharp and alert.

Nagus always spoke in a high pitched, squeaking voice, but woe to he who dared to laugh for he would find his gonads in a jar adorning Nagus' bedchamber.

Behind Nagus was Ottho. Ottho was personal servant to the old Morlenian. He never said a word, except to Nagus. Physically, he reminded Stuart of Frankenstein's monster from the Tri-D serial adventures.

Next to him was Eric. Eric wasn't all that tall, but he was a big man. Often call 'Eric the Read for his red hair. Though slow to anger, he had a mean temper. His arms were decorated with the tattoos of animals from a dozen star systems. He sat squeezed into a seat that seemed to cry under his bulk. The man ate sandnuts, the local equivalent of peanuts, by the handful. What make that amazing was that Eric had no teeth. One thing about Eric, he always spoke what was on his mind. A mechanical genius, he had also been poking around Nagus and his smuggling business for years doing petty thefts.