The whisper of a cold night breeze spread over the landscape before them. The rise behind them contained their ship, cloaked and settled into the nestle of a small valley crevice.

“…and it’ll take weeks to grind out those scratches,” grumbled a crewman. Sétanta’s father, Manek, turned and shot them a look, and instantly the barely boiling anger around them over the state of one of the wings, when it had scraped into the crater, was gone, and each of them fell silent. To his left, Sétanta hadn’t quite caught the gaze, but knew what came after and instantly fell into perfect lockstep. To do anything else would see him beaten…badly. In front of those he was raised with and by or not. Or worse. Once his father had left him on a planet with no food, no water for three weeks. Delirious and exhausted, he’d been rescued at what he believed to be the point of death and had never disobeyed an order, ever again. He’d been seven. He’d fought off horrors and monsters that haunted his dreams even now, eight years on.

His father whipped a had around his head, and everyone passed quietly around them, taking their places in a quick, mostly silent trail. It hadn’t snowed yet, but the soft, crisp rattle of sound of their movement didn’t travel far. They’d set up far enough from the main settlement that they didn’t need to worry about casual observation, or being overheard, but closer to the settlement, there was a stealth team – a group of cloaked, stealthed drones, that circled between them and the building they were targeting and one that watched the opposite side. They’d been deployed from orbit, fifteen hours previously.

“I’m not going to remind you of our mission, but I know a few of you don’t take briefings until they are on the ground, so for you numbskulls, I’ll repeat the basics. We are the Jirral party – visiting from a settlement, on another plant with the same level of technology, abandoned by Father Terra. We are not militaristic, and for your hide’s sake, if I catch one of you talking about anything other than farming, animal husbandry, or the creation or relic-patterned tools, remember that we are not, and have never encountered, beyond a few heady visits from the Jirikals, anything alien tech, and when they visited, although we could have used, say, their medichines, we couldn’t afford one of them. Not. One. Teka is a visitor on loan to us to help us set up a better settlement sentry system, which is why we’re visiting. We are peaceful, and if demanded, even the guards,” he paused and looked at four of the meaner men, “are to put up your weapons without objection. We’re smuggling more in anyway, so if you’re attached to one, leave it with the cache.” He paused, looking around the fire at each of the 14 of them, though didn’t look for now at either Set, or his second in command, Airita. Airita was not his blood relation, but was treated better than any son of any house he’d ever encountered, and Marek lavished more on Airita than he’d offered to Set, ever. Airita though, had been bested twice in the last year by Set. Both fights won easily, the fires of battle racing through him, the burn after singing a battle-hymn older than time. A lullaby.

Set looked around the fire, realizing all of them were male, all of them looked scrawny bar the guards, and that if the story was pried into too closely, there would be questions. But his father had been laying the groundwork for this for years, as had he. The forgetful boy, who was easily bested by the boys who grew up here. The old man, growing older, as his grandson, adopted to son since his parents had died in a raid, was trained to take up his mantle. The sudden slip in his health, the even rapider slide into needing to change things as a rabid horde of animals rampaged through the lower villages of their settlement, cutting off food. The magnanimous gesture of offering them (stolen) crops when the planet they were visiting, Chulainn, had a crop failure, despite it leaving their own lean and without food. At the time, they’d told them ‘anything to help our neighbors’, but Set knew that his father had resented and applauded that gesture all at once. The barren moon world they’d scaped nearby to ensure they had a planet, if they wanted to visit. Slaves, and machines and droids made to look human, grubbing out an existence.

All of it, to steal a piece of tech – a Cerberus field called Cetine – and make the heist that could leave them rich beyond measure. It didn’t sit well with Set, but Marek had frequently told him of how poorly the settlement here treated others – outsiders were beaten. The nobles acted as if they were scions of the greatest houses, and of course, no one was welcome to their Iridinite, of which, once the Cetine field was down, the secondary raid could pick off. Not them of course – until the field was sold, they would maintain the pretense. Then, he guessed, ghost away into the night.

This settlement was on the other side of the galaxy from their ‘normal’ operational area, but things had gotten too hot over there when Set had been just a babe in arms, so his father and the 50 or so men had moved on, and settled here. There was only so much they could do with what they could steal, so his father had commissioned half his crew to continue pirating, and then, he’d spotted the Cerberus field, and wanted it for his own.

Cerberus fields were basically designed to protect an area with a completely impenetrable field. If you’ve forgotten your ACTUAL part in this, please stay where you are, and let them catch you. I don’t want you back.” He paused, on grizzled eye passing over them. It was clear that the ghost of the other was also on them at all times, though the puckered scar-tissue around that eye covered the ruin of even the ocular implant that had once held its place, and had also been shot out. Sétanta hadn’t been there for ether incident, and it wasn’t a tale he’d been told. The ragtag mod that he’d been raised by as a child feared the incidents, more than they feared anything else, and Sétanta’s mother was long gone by then. That, his father hand explained frequently, and often in alcoholic rages – that she’d been a scummy prostitute, and that she’d left him three days after she’d delivered him a mewling pew, that he raised as his own, even though that was questionable. Timings, looks…you name it. In anger he’d punished him frequently, in less angry times, he’d still punish, but there would be a maudlin to it. Always however, with a lack of details – about how he’d fallen for his mother, about where they’d met (probably on a scruffy casino station, circling one of the non-aligned, and therefore neutral, and without extradition, nor the interest to impose lockdowns) …nothing.

“So…once again,” he said, and looked to his son. “Set…is there something missing in front of us?” Set looked up, then fumbled out the holo-map, and popped it on the floor. A fire sprung into life, the low crackle and heat pushing out from the unit, and above it, a map. Without a pause, Marek stuck his hand over the area of the map that was pulsing above a tower on the map, near one edge of the settlement. He shot his son a dirty glare that basically looked like he was squinting at the side of his nose and Set tried hard not to smirk. It didn’t work.

In an instant, his father reached across the fire and cuffed him, then turned to the map in front of him. “This is where we need to get, and be inside the walls before sundown. At that point the field comes up, and Teha,” he paused and nodded at the half-mechanical man directly across the fire from him, “can analyze it and start working out how to remove it without damage. As you know, we’re only removing and delivering, it’s not our problem to install at the new settlement. We do need to bring it without damage however.”

Set phased out for a little while – his job was, by and large, to scout the settlement and work out whether there was anything else worth stealing. Too young to be specialist at anything, he’d gotten into a few fights during missions, but had never been relied on. He was their mewling pup, even now. He barely earned enough in missions to justify his pay, and for the most part, he lived on discarded rations and castoffs. Finally, his father said ‘…and while we’re there, Set can look at where there could be other things that could be had. We are going in under the cover of a minor noble from the Central belt, and Set is going to ‘accidentally’ get stuck outside so that we can see if they know how the unit works. Teha is my chief of security, after all, so will need to observe looking for my son in the ‘dangerous wilderness’.”

Sétanta nodded. “I’ll scout the outer rim night one, and the inner night two, plus lay down distraction to cover your escape.”

“It’s not dangerous here is it?” one of the others said.

“Low level Bowhawks, Riahwolves…nothing we can’t deal with, but the settlement doesn’t have munitions to deal with them. So, they can’t deal with them. And though we’ve travelled from another world, we’re simple folk, and can’t get the munitions down fast enough, so we’re distraught over the loss of our prince out in the wilderness.”

“The cover story for why?” a timid voice quavered.

“Why Set is out in the wilderness? The Blacksmith wanted to show him some examples of the best of their world, on my behalf. He is a 17 year old settlement Precept, the right hand of,” his voice dropped to a shaky quaver and he slumped forward, the side with his damaged eye on it sagged, as if in stroke or weakness, “a weak and dying head of state.” He straightened, laughed, and continued, “and we’re hoping to model our settlement…”

“Oh yes,” the voice said. Set couldn’t place if it was Jindah or Peta, but both were new to this, and both were new to his father, so hadn’t been subjected to any beatings. He knew that after this quest, there would be some punishments meted out, already, and he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of any of them. His father ran a hand over the salt-and-pepper beard at his chin, then met the gaze of each around the fire. “A few – including the Blacksmith – are suspicious of us. Do what you can to allay this. This is a big score, a huge payout for all of you.” Everyone nodded obediently, but a small crescent of fear settled in Set’s stomach. “They’re backwater at best, you can all outthink them, but don’t do anything to raise curiosity about us.” Again, obedient nods, as he finished, “Set will be keeping him distracted. The boy knows so much about technology now, he can probably bamboozle the man. Books,” he spat, “nothing much of worth in there, bar these few events.” He looked around the fire, and moved to stand, and three of the men opposite sprang to their feet and ran for large footlockers just out of sight.

“Now, everyone get into their outfits, leave their weapons behind, and ensure that you’re appropriately dressed and ready to be received by the settlement elders. We have four hours.” He snapped his fingers, and the hologram died, leaving only the fire. Soundlessly this time, three of the team pulled packs out from behind a bluff and started passing them around and everyone got dressed. The Jessel party heist was a go.

* * *

Set fidgeted and moved his jacket out of the way, pulling the stiff collar. The first day had gone exactly as planned. His father, looking terrifyingly frail, had been received at the settlement, and everyone had settled in for formal receiving events for the whole of that first day. Now, it was dark again, and right as planned, he called back.

“This is Seten, of the Jessel party. I…I got separated from the blacksmith’s party, and I’m outside the walls. I think there’s something in the way. My skin tingles if I approach…” He said. He was trying to sound scared, and a bit unsure and wasn’t sure if he was managing it. Riahwolves didn’t bother him. He had a pet one that he’d tamed – the big doglike creatures that could grow to the size of small horses rarely grew passed the size of Terran-sized wolves – not enough food and in natural habitats, the competition for resources, including the mana springs that caused them to grow bigger was infinitely harder to beat. He waited a second, over the crackle and whine from the radio. They’d deliberately band limited it, hobbling the tech, and ensuring that nothing could piggy-back accidentally to his father.

A shocked silence filled the radio – the static dying back, the clearing of throats.

“The Cetine is up, sire,” he said, the crackle of the static over the radio. His voice faded in and out. “Sire, we thought you’d already joined your father. And no one knows how to disable the system. It’s an old one - ancient technology. No one knows how to change the settings.” The next crackle echoed around the canyon. It sparked like lightning, and a low, menacing growl sounded behind him.

He whirled, and without missing a beat, hurled a force-shot at the wolf slinking up behind him. It’s golden-grey eyes watched him warily as the bold impacted the dirt in front of it, and held its ground. He raised the gun, and sent another shot whistling over its head, changing the setting to make it sing as it passed with the flick of his thumb. The wolf yelped and turned tail, and as it did, he saw it was a small one and a mutant at that, with a double tail.

“I…I’m sorry?” he asked.

“We can take it down, but we’d be unprotected for the night,” the voice stammered. In the background, he heard his father asking querulously of Riael, the part played by Teha, if there was anything to be done, and Teha’s slightly metallic voice replying “no.”.

“Is there a place of safety instead?” he asked.

There was a silence, profound and as long as the wheel of stars.

“There is an old bunker not far from the front gate. When we are trapped outside due to mistiming or malfunction of field, that’s where we go,” a voice said. It was a different one from the stammering, simpering one of the guard commander. It was the Blacksmith.

The Blacksmith was an armorer based at the settlement, and much like Set, carried a genetic makeup of dark hair, dark skin, and honey-gold eyes. He’d looked at the young nobleman with startled surprise when introduced to him. Blacksmith had been both an honorific and a version of his name (Backmith), so he’d adopted it. As they’d travelled around the settlement, he could sense that the man was asking questions and offering information in the hope that he was a foundling, one of their own, to be claimed back. One raised with another house…. that was valuable, and forged blood ties stronger than marriage. But Set was sure his mother couldn’t have come from here, and had stayed silent. As time had passed however, he grew less and less sure. After that first day on the settlement, the deed he was involved with weighed heavy, but a swift cuff from his father in the solitude of their suite had strengthened his resolve.

“Thank you, Blacksmith. A thousand lunar blessings on your household,” he said, and scrambled in the direction of the bunker he already knew existed.

“You’ll need the code, Setan of Jessel,” he said, but there was a wariness in his tone now. “I shall transmit it to the gifted bracelet beacon,” he added, and sounded surer of himself.

“I will await its receipt,” he said, and sent a silent prayer that his father wouldn’t lose patience and slaughter the settlement. There was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a knowing that things had gone wrong. But that he could atone, if that was the case.

* * *

At the bunker, he touched the beacon to the power source – it was a contrivance of the Blacksmith – secure communications based on location, genetic print, and code clearance. The message shocked him.

“We know your father is a pirate. We know he intends to steal the Cetine. We also know he stole you, from a noble’s ship, many cycles ago. We can give you a way out of this, but only if you agree to work with us. Become our Hound, as you were meant to be. ## Msg Ends.”

Set paused. The door to the bunker opened.

Inside the door, stood the Blacksmith. At least, it was his shape, though he was covered, head to foot, in a robe. A deep cowl fell over his face, though, from the shadows, the flare of two bright blue stars seemed to appear. He was blocking the main entrance, but as soon as Set stepped into the airlock – a room, about four feet square – sealed itself, and there was a hiss and the pump and whirl of an old, squeaking fan. Air, stale and slightly odd, began to freshen a bit.

“How…?”

“Your father doesn’t even know you’ve been taken somewhere safe. He thinks that the courtiers are still looking for me. You are Sétanta, correct? Your father no doubt told you that he is your blood, but refuses to tell you much of your mother. I’d guess prostitute?”

Set nodded dumbly. The Blacksmith’s face hardened.

“Your mother was not a prostitute. Desia was one of the purest of… She was a good woman, and would have loved you. She is gone now though,” he said, tightly.

“How?” he finally managed, licking his lips.

“Because I knew her,” he said simply.

Set shook his head, “I mean how do you know about my father’s…the main claiming to be my father’s plan?” he asked.

“Long story,” he said softly. “All you need to know for now is that I’m your father, and you were stolen from us, many years ago, and ransomed. But the group we sent to ransom you back…they never returned,” he added.

“But if you’re a…if you knew, why did you let him?”

“Because Backmith isn’t my real form. I needed to be summoned, and I needed to be here when you visited. The Blacksmith is a good man, but Backmith isn’t revered.” He paused and smiled, “I on the other hand, am. You have a destiny my boy. And you are my boy, so I know of what I speak. You are mortal, but you’re one of the best of them. If you agree to help us stop your father, we’ll train you. You can become the man you’re meant to be. Control your temper,” he added.

Set was flabbergasted, but nodded slowly.

“I understand you’ve taken part in events that you were forced into. So, I have one question, before we deal with this.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, without being asked. “I’ve always been sorry. Been beaten for dropping or leaving things that we should take. I never stole. I always left my ‘portion’. That’s why they made me scout. And often…I…. I didn’t tell my father where the things were that he wanted. I claimed I hadn’t seen them.

“Which is all I need to know. Got anything on that ship that’s important?”

“My Riahwolf…”

“Go get him, pretend you couldn’t get anywhere to get any protection to any guards,”

“My father expects me to be forced to fall back,” he muttered through numb, tingling lips.

“Do that. I’ll go deal with the problem at the settlement,”

“I’m sorry…” Set’s eyes filled with tears and the Blacksmith, a tall shape in the dark with little more than incandescent blue eyes nodded.

“Amends can be made. But only when sincere. I think you’re sincere, boy. And we can undo your conditioning. But we need to prevent this raid…”

As he spoke, there was a loud alarm, and shocked, he turned to the wall behind him, and punched in a rapid set of commands on the keypad.

“Your father seems not to have wanted to wait, and has worked out how to remove the Cetine field, without disabling it, and without damaging it. Had he damaged it, it would have flattened the city. Hence this bunker, and the 20 or so others around us.” Set collapsed back against the wall, his legs suddenly weak. The Blacksmith’s hands moved and a door opened to the inner room.

“Come on, I don’t think we can ignore this. Dammed Tirel. I told him not to invite your crew back. Just you and your father. But no, he didn’t want an old defenseless…” he flapped his hands once. “I can try and disable the interface from here, but…” he stopped and looked worryingly at the stats showing on the screen. “The town Hall hasn’t cleared. The removal caused some structural damage, there are people trapped, and if that explodes…well, I can’t get to them. Or your pet,” he added. His voice dropped to a whisper, “Belief, being what it is, I have no power. Your mother…she offered me much, but even she couldn’t give enough to fix this.” He looked sad, and old. The light in his eyes dimmed, and he turned back to the screen. Set paused, then took a deep breath.

“I…I can stop him.” He finally said.

The Blacksmith turned, and as the lights came up in the bunker, he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“How? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ve got the main interface chip for the power system,” he said bashfully. “He always gives us a piece each. Me, Aitar, and Teha. Normally, I get the secondary lock, but he was in such a rush, he handed me a vital component. He can’t leave, can’t shoot. Can’t anything.” The Blacksmith cocked his head.

“Why would he remove pieces of his ship?”

“Because they’re all pirates. No one trusts anyone else. He begrudgingly trusts me, Atair and Teha,”

“Which are they, in your party?” he said, eyes vague.

“Teha is the augmented man, the part droid. Riael, I think. Aitar is Hamara, his manservant.” With a brief nod, the Blacksmith sent a series of brief commands to the people on the other end of the panel. It was a basic interface.

“We could improve…” he said, and the Blacksmith raised his hand.

“If the ship can’t take off and has no power, why would he steal it?”

“Because he expects me to be there,” he said simply. “And doesn’t realize he’s given me the wrong chip, so if I am not, would leave me behind,”

The Blacksmith’s smile grew wolfish.

“No. I don’t think he will. I think you’ll be leaving him behind.”

“But you are defenseless until you can repair the Cetine field,” Set said, and looked over, horrified. The Blacksmith nodded slowly. Set gazed into the star-field eyes, “I’ll guard your city, until it’s repaired.”

“I’m sure you will.”