CHAPTER TWO:
‘The General’
Fenir and Mazer stood in watchtower four, side by side. Mazer gazed at the border, watching the various cargo freighters and personal vehicles traverse slowly across the rocky landscape, while Fenir twitched impatiently by his side, waiting for the answer to his question.
Mazer tore his gaze away from the landscape outside and turned to face Fenir.
‘The transmission was identified last night by the Engineers, it was definitely of Sytharium…’ He paused, looking slightly fearful.
‘I am forced to conclude that your Hand was none other than Sytharium General Proteus Hand.’
Fenir tried to ask another question but Mazer shushed him.
‘The worse news is that one of our agents within the Sytharium has been found resembling a slab of Zwiss cheese on the East Border. His codename… was the Red Dragon.’
Fenir nodded, remembering the strange activity he had seen on his way to the watchtower.
‘Who is this General Hand then?’
‘Proteus began his career as a Sytharium Recruit, along with his brother Romulus. He worked his way up to General, where he took control of Infantry, his brother took control of their Special Operations team. Romulus chose a different path from his brother, defecting to us and giving us information, Proteus found out, and Romulus vanished without a trace. Hand is a clever man, he has an intelligence network of his own within the various militaries, he has many contacts, and he can be very unexpected.’
‘You think he would kill his own Brother?’
Mazer paused thoughtfully.
‘Truthfully, no, but I have only met the man once. By what you told Admiral Mahfouz, he was involved in Red’s death, so I would not be entirely surprised.’
‘Thanks for your help, Mazer.’
‘Any time my young friend, but I have some advice for you; do not go poking into this Red Dragon matter; I would wager it might get rather nasty.’
Fenir nodded.
‘I won’t.’
Fenir left the watchtower shortly afterwards, realising he had a whole day ahead of him and deciding to look Proteus up in the Alliance Records office.
AR JAG Building: The Woofer:
1:05PM
The Alliance Records Office had began as a storage room in the JAG building to the North of the complex; over the years, various members of the court system had put books and files into it, before Admiral Mahfouz had decided that enough was enough, and made it an official records office by putting several isles of cabinets into the room and replaced the label on the door so it read ‘Alliance Records Office’. To the members of the JAG, it was more of a dump for excess paperwork, and unlooked at Alliance Applications that sat in heaps in the corner gathering dust.
As Fenir entered the room, several moths flew away from the door, surprised that someone had dared to disturb their realm. Dust bellowed up in clouds from the dirt ridden floor, causing Fenir to cough harshly.
The isles had once been in alphabetical order, though no-one had ever bothered to put anything back in the right place; at the head of each cabinet sat a letter, and Fenir slowly navigated his way over piles of paper and old looking folders towards the letter ‘S'. On reaching his destination, he rifled through the cabinet until he found the Sytharium file; an old worn thing that had several holes in. Near the top of the first page was a picture of a black haired pale man in his thirties, someone had scribbled horns and a moustache in dark red marker onto the image. The capitation to the side read ‘Lurdan Huszar, current Sytharium Marshal’. Fenir ignored the rest of the text and flicked through the pages until he reached the personnel file. He scanned down the list until he reached Hand, or where it should have been. Dark Black ink had seared over the text and the image, with awfully convenient precision.
Fenir swore angrily. Someone was covering their tracks well.
Alliance Marine Quarters:
2:30 PM:
Fenir sat in a faded green armchair near the centre of the room, springs digging into his back. He was perfectly alone, and could have sat in the comfortable sofa that was usually occupied by the Marine deputy commanders, but he sat in the armchair out of habit, staring into the electric fireplace and wondering who had beaten him to the Records Office. Of course, he reasoned, it could have been an accident, but if so why had it not spread across the page to the other generals? And why had they had ink over the page in the first place? After all, there was nothing there that could be written in, the records were updated by JAG clerks, and the chances of them leaving a stain such as that on their work was very unlikely. The door swung open, dragging Fenir out of his thoughts. Realising that by rights no-one should be entering the room for at least another hour, he ducked into the corner of the room, sliding behind the Marine bar and praying that whoever had just entered would not try to get themselves a drink.
Crouched down and pressed against the hard wood of the bar, he heard an awfully familiar voice; Jalon Raxman.
‘Proteus, it’s good to see you again.’
Alarm Bells sounded in Fenir’s head at the impossibility of this; Surely Raxman was still training the Marine Cadets? How could Proteus Hand be in The Woofer?
‘Likewise’
Replied a gravely voice from the other side of the counter.
‘You said you would help dispose of Herbst, surely you cannot have changed your mind?’
For a minute Fenir thought the two men were talking about him, but then he realised; they were talking about his grandfather.
‘No, I have not.’
‘Over the radio you seemed to dislike the plan’
‘I do, you will either do this with my help, my way, or without my help, your way. I know out of the two which is most likely to succeed too.’
Raxman sighed angrily.
'Alright, we will do this your way'
Fenir heard the brushing of fabric as Hand nodded approvingly.
‘Of course.’
‘And now, Proteus, with your permission, I must take my leave. I have to get back to Hall Two before Mazer begins to wonder where I’ve gone.’
‘Indeed, and I must return to the Ximanite, Madrick is waiting.’
The two men shook hands, and there was a clunk as the door slammed shut behind them. Still crouched behind the counter, sweating like a pig, Fenir had heard every word of their conversation. He needed to warn his Grandfather. Fast.