The Investigation: part 1, First Witness
This story start the day before the official handoff of security duties to Sargent Major Sterrint and Sargent Lilly Bauer. This will explain the urgency of that meeting.
Agent Crisper had already interviewed all of the witnesses surrounding the day Rachel discovered the treachery in her house. It was time to talk to the source, Arthur Thatcher. His Principality file suggested that he was a simple shipboard mechanic specializing in air and water recycling on large vessels. He was also presumed dead as death benefits had been dispersed to his sister, his only living commoner relative. Crisper had no intention of correcting that error. It also noted in his file that no criminal charges were brought up against Thatcher as Haego Security determined that no crime was committed. Arthur, feeling guilty that he did not do more to thwart the pirates, was in “self imposed” detention. As soon as Arthur felt himself redeemed, he would be released without supervision. Crisper stepped out of his electric cart at the railroad construction site and, looking at the man's picture on his data pad, found him and walked him to the other side of the construction train to have a private chat.
Arthur, his eyes and head searching in every direction, said, “I don’t know if Blind Broker even knows if I am still alive but I have not been able to sleep since I came forward. If they do know, they will stop at nothing to kill me, if just for the limited information I have.”
The shadow beneath the rusted undercarriage of the secondary mag-rail car didn't shift, even as the harsh glare of Haego’s sun angled lower. To the passing construction crews, the space was nothing but grease and discarded industrial plating. To the man waiting inside it, it was a perfect vantage point.
He didn't know what Arthur Thatcher looked like. The Blind Broker’s data streams were meticulous about accounts, routing codes, and political liabilities, but frustratingly sparse on the physical geometry of a low-level shipboard mechanic. A "simple commoner," the file had said. Dead on paper. A ghost in practice. The Blind Broker’s assassin adjusted his weight slightly, his focus unwavering. He was a patient man, but the target file had been infuriatingly sparse. The Broker’s data streams could intercept millions of credits across a dozen sectors, yet they had failed to produce a single image of Arthur Thatcher. But the Broker’s assassin didn't need a face. He just needed patience. He knew how the galaxy worked: guilt always draws a crowd, and a loose thread always attracts a pair of shears.
A commoner doesn't survive a purge by the Vespera syndicates, the assassin thought, his eyes tracking a solitary maintenance droid clacking down a nearby line. A commoner doesn't vanish off the imperial grid and end up hiding in a frontier rail yard. The Broker's notes had hinted at a rumor—that Thatcher possessed something recognizable, a token or a weapon stamped with a specific House symbol that would point an investigation directly toward Vespera. But looking for a symbol in a yard spanning three square kilometers was a fool's errand.
The assassin didn't like fool's errands. He preferred leverage. And his leverage had just arrived.
Through the heat distortion at the edge of the site, a sleek, military-grade electric cart hummed to a halt. Agent Crisper stepped out. Even from two hundred yards away, the assassin could recognize the rigid, hyper-alert posture of law enforcement. Crisper didn't move like the local authority; his gait was too precise, his gaze sweeping the high beams and low ditches with predatory efficiency.
He watched the investigator step, his posture rigid with the unmistakable focus of a man on a scent. Crisper checked his data pad, adjusted his coat, and began weaving through the chaotic maze of girders and heavy machinery. The assassin's hand rested lightly on the grip of his suppressed Vespera-pattern kinetic pistol. He didn't move, he didn't dare draw attention to himself. Let the investigator do the digging, he thought, his breathing slow and rhythmic. Find him for me, Agent. Show me which rat is yours, and I’ll ensure neither of you leave this yard. A few hundred yards away, Crisper rounded the side of a massive construction train, stepping directly toward a hollowed-out section of the old chassis. The assassin squeezed through the gap in the undercarriage, slipping into the open air like oil over steel, closing the distance just enough to keep Crisper's broad shoulders in his sights. The trap was set. All he needed now was for Crisper to speak a name.
Agent Crisper let Arthur catch his breath, allowing him to settle down and relax. “Arthur Thatcher, correct?” asked agent Crisper even though he was very sure of who stood in front of him.
“Yes,” said Arthur, “ I am the…”
A silent, high-velocity plasma bolt ripped from between the train cars, vaporizing a pile of stacked ties right behind them. Pure instinct took over. Crisper lunged, shoving Arthur violently behind a barrier of scrap steel just as a second bolt scorched the air. Before the dust could settle, a mercenary clad in active-camouflage dropped from the railcar roof directly onto their position. The shimmer of the camo field dissolved to reveal a vibro-blade humming toward Crisper’s throat . The attacker moved fast, but he didn't realize he was dealing with a Royal Marine, albeit, a failed one. . To Crisper, the blade moved in slow motion. He caught the mercenary’s wrist mid-air with an iron grip, twisted until the bone snapped, and finished the fight with two quick, muffled shots from his sidearm.
Crisper disarms the attacker and has eliminated the threat, but the chaos is costly, Arthur is clipped by the plasma bolt during the initial assault.
As Crisper kneels over the dying railway prisoner, Arthur looks at the weapon Crisper just stripped from the dead mercenary. Arthur’s eyes widen in recognition. With his final breaths, he gasps that the men who originally hired his pirate crew carried that exact same gear.
Investigation found that it is an Aegis-Pattern Vanguard Sidearm—a hyper-expensive, precision-crafted military pistol. It isn't something a street thug or a common pirate can buy on the black market. It features a distinct, integrated biometric grip forged from Vesperan chromium, a signature styling exclusive to the personal security forces of House Palmatti.
It wasn't exactly the clean lead Crisper had hoped for, but it was a start—a clear trail pointing straight toward the wealth and influence of House Palmatti. And nothing motivated a Royal Marine quite like an attempt on his life. Leaving the rail yard to the local cleanup crews, Crisper headed straight for the his temporary office. Lord Jhinaq would need to be informed of what had transpired that late afternoon. Crisper felt that the death of the pirate assassin would be noticed, even if it was just a missed check in. There was no time left to waste.
Aino’s Office, Town Hall 05:30 AM
The air in the office was crisp, smelling of strong coffee and the faint, earthy scent of the Screaming Forests waking up outside. For Crisper, the scents were sharper, parsed instantly by senses that had been modified to hunt. He was ready to move. His shuttle was already fueled, its engines humming a low, distant vibration that only a Royal Marine’s tailored nervous system could feel through the floorboards.
He didn't want to waste another second. The leads on the planet Haego were cooling by the hour, and the traitorous plot against Lady Rachel required an aggressive, immediate hand.
"Time is of the essence," Crisper began, laying a data pad onto the polished wood of the table. "The leads in Balakura are cooling by the hour. I need to be in the air by 06:00."
Across the desk, Lord Aino nodded, sliding a physical piece of parchment toward him—the formal decree signed by Lord Jhinaq just an hour prior.
"We understand, Agent," Aino said. "Sergeant Major Sterrint and Sergeant Bauer have been briefed. They are prepared to take full responsibility for the safety of the First Family."
Crisper shifted his gaze to Sterrint, evaluating the man's posture, his micro-expressions, and the way his hands rested near his kit. He had spent a week assessing these Auxilia soldiers. They were good men, but they weren't genetically modified human weapons. They didn't see the world the way he did. They would need to be flawless.
"I've worked alongside your people for a week now," Crisper said, locking eyes with the Sergeant Major to ensure the weight of his words landed. "You know the nuances. You know that security here isn't just about shields and rifles—it’s about the 'invisible' protection this family has come to appreciate. Lord Jhinaq expects the vacation to continue without a ripple of concern reaching the ladies or the children."
"Understood, Agent," Sterrint replied, his voice steady, devoid of the defensive spikes a lesser soldier might show when being lectured. "Lilly will handle the direct noble liaisons and the swimming detail, while I coordinate the broader perimeter and intelligence monitoring. Your family is our family now."
Crisper glanced at Sergeant Lilly Bauer. She gave a short, professional nod, her expression tight and focused.
"We’ll keep the 'invisible' touch, Agent," Bauer added, a faint trace of local humor breaking through her military bearing. "They won't even notice you're gone until they realize the coffee tastes slightly more like the Forests and less like the capital."
Crisper didn't smile, but he felt a grim satisfaction. They understood the stakes.
With a final, sharp nod, he reached down and keyed a brief exchange of encrypted security codes into the data pad, transferring the local defensive grid to Sterrint's authorization. The handover was complete. The burden of the First Family's lives was officially off his shoulders, freeing him to do what he was engineered to do: hunt.
Posted May 25, 2026, 8:23 PM UTC