An Eye on the Prize. Part Four.

Here is part four. If you've not read them might be best to go read Part the first, Part the second and Part the third.






Method: Six Weeks and Three Days Earlier. Beldin Autonomous Citadel.

Herion walked hurriedly through the cramped and dripping tunnels of Beldin Citadel Station. He had slipped out and ordered the Marines to carry on as if he remained in his quarters. Now, fretting all the while that someone would see the dynamo-pistol concealed under his salmon-pink quilt-jacket, he emerged from the stench of the market tunnels and made his way, furtively, to the high-rooms.

On arrival at the orbital citadel he had made mental note of any important personages and where they stayed so his bird-fast strides soon found him at the entrance tunnel to the Dal-Breea woman's lodgings.

He peeked around the corner of the matt white wall to see four guards. They wore slimarmour in deep mustard with a red slash across the chest and were fuzzed around their form by the telltale aura of impact shields.

'Devoled alien tech,' Herion cursed under his breath, though he owned an impacter shield of his own he had not brought it. Knowing it would have aroused too much suspicion as he made his way through the public areas.

The Augmenteer reached into the pocket of his salmon-pink quilt-jacket and switched on the nuller he had brought with him in for just such an occasion. Herion made a habitual prayer to a prophet he no longer believed in that the guards would not notice the whine of the Nuller's micro steam until it was far too late then fell into the entrance tunnel. Herion's black slimarmour clattering as he hit the floor. The guards drew their weapons as the Augmenteer staggered to his feet and commenced waving his beautiful, salmon-pink quilt jacket in the air in faux-drunken abandon. Then he began to sing, loudly and far off key, slurring his words around an attempt at a familiar tune.

'All the beautiful ladies. Them ladies of Hesper Driay. Don't wear a stitch of clothing...'

The guards, common mercenaries from the look of them, laughed and holstered their weapons. The biggest of the four gestured at Herion.

'Get yourself away, the lady don't want no Jacksters plying their charms tonight.'
Herion, swaying and wishing he had worn armour that was less well oiled and a trifle noisier, the better to hide the whining nuller, continued to sing.

'Oh to be a man on Hesper Driay.' He stumbled forwards, arms outstretched. 'What a fine life that would be!'

Fury blackened the first guards face as he recognised the high whine of a nuller's spinner. The guard's shields stepped out of existence with an audible 'pop' and the men went for their guns.

Too late.

The dandy augmenteer was already moving. His sword came out its sheath and swept across the foremost two guards at throat height, neatly cutting one throat and lodging in the neck of the second guard, almost severing his head. Herion let his weight fall forwards, tearing the blade free and thrusting it into the chest of the third guard whilst whipping around his gorgeous jacket to entangle the fourth.
Herion span to face the last guard and skewered the mercenary through the eye: Careful not to damage the beautiful jacket which had hampered the unfortunate man.

There was no blood to mark the violence. Herion's 'patented constant reaction blade' had neatly cauterised the wounds as quickly as he had cut them. It was an excellent weapon for quiet work such as this.

Alastar Herion allowed himself a small moment of pleasure in his own skill as he shrugged back into his jacket.

Then he straightened the lapels and opened the door to the Lady's room.