Samul took Dorm through the dusty streets of the town, leaving the increasingly inebriated Nate in the bar. The bandit drew considering glances from the women while the men crossed the street to avoid him. These people knew what the man was, who he worked for and it both made them afraid and allured according to gender. Dorm didn’t know where he was going but it was not the where that was important but the who. He was going to see Blake Taylor, the leader of Blake’s Blades and if all went well within a few days he should be part of the Blades. It was Blake Taylor who would led him to Saffron, Nerieth or whatever name she was using this time around. And Dorm Harkaway would see that justice was done as he always did, for Marietta Tuck the widow, for the families of the trial of dead that Saffron had left behind, but most of all because the Alliance had ordered it. And Dorm Harkaway always followed orders.

But right now he was only Dorm Harkaway on the inside. Outside he was playing the part of Dorm Rendell, a petty tough and gang enforcer from New Peking. It was cover that had served him well before and he was sure it would this time; Blake was from New Peking.

The two men came to another tavern, this one bigger and wealthier looking than the one Dorm had met Samul and Nate in. Inside it was well lit but smoky enough to not be able to see the occupants of the corner booths. Samul nodded at the barman who motioned him towards a staircase next to the bar. They ascended the staircase, Samul letting Dorm go ahead. The bandit was being careful, not taking any chances. Dorm would have to watch himself and not make any sudden moves. If he did anything stupid Samul would shoot first and ask questions later. Dorm doubted that anybody would protest or call out the bandits if some stranger was killed and his body left in a ditch. He had to be smart here.

There was a big man outside the door where they stopped. Samul had a few quick words to him and the man nodded and came over to pat Dorm down. Dorm stopped him and drew his six-shooter from its holster, handing it over. The man patted him down anyway, checking every inch of him for suspicious lumps. Dorm didn’t have any other weapons, nothing hidden away. He was too smart to commit suicide like that.

The big man nodded and opened the door for Dorm, Samul entering close behind him. The room was large and elegantly furnished, plush couches and well plumped silk pillows. A four-poster bed, arrayed with sheets of silk and sheer hangings sat towards the back. The room had five other people in it, besides himself and Samul, two women and three men. One of the men stood at the door, a big shaven headed clone of the man outside the door. The other four sat in a circular set of couches, talking, laughing, drinking and smoking. Blake Taylor sat in the middle, an imposing sitgh. Dorm had seen enough pictures and holo-vids of the bandit leader to notbe shocked by his appearance but seeing him the flesh was still something else. The man was huge, well over six-foot and heavily muscled. His skin was the darkest ebony, his shaved head shining in the light of the room.

All four of the couch’s occupants looked up as Dorm and Samul entered the room.

“Who are you?” Asked Blake his voice deep and filled with the same power as his frame. “Samul, have you started bringing home strays? If he followed you here I’m afraid you can’t keep him. He goes back to the doghouse with the rest. Or the restaurant if you’re looking for a little side cash.”

The people on the couch laughed. Samul grinned and pushed Dorm forward. Dorm snarled and brushed him off. He wasn’t going to do anything to antagonistic, but he needed to show that he at least had some backbone.

“This is Dorm Rendell, from New Peking. He’s here looking for work. Our kind of work.”

Blake arched an eyebrow, “Rendell? I’ve heard a few things about you. Been in town long?”

Dorm straightened, “Only a few days. Seemed like a nice enough place to rest awhile.”

Blake stood and walked forward. The man was even more frightening close up. Dorm decided not to get on his bad side. At least that was the plan for now. When he arrested Saffron, he would have to be on Blake’s bad side

“What are you running from, Rendell? Get into some trouble back In New Peking? Anything that we should be worrying about here?”

This was where Dorms carefully constructed story came into play. “Nothing all to bad. I came out looking bad after one of Adler’s heists went wrong. Ended up on Alder’s black books. Decided to skip town before it got any worse. Ain’t anyone c’mon after me.”

Blake nodded, his glistening black skin catching the light and making him look like some sort of carved idol.

“Makes sense. I remember Adler. He was a big black market player a few years back. Never had much of a sense of humour. I seem to remember his favourite form of punishment was dropping a man into a pit with a pack of fighting dogs and letting them tear a man to pieces.”

Dorm smiled darkly. “Yes, sir. That’s Adler all right. Didn’t fancy being dogmeat. So I came out here. Weren’t followed so no-one goin’ to come after me this far away.”

Blake took a watch out the pocket of his jacket, checking the time. “I might have some work for you Rendell. Let me introduce you to the some of the crew here.” He pointed to the other man on the couch, a young man with Asiastic features, dark skin and long, messy black hair. “This here is Kosuke. Don’t speak much English so have to use Chinese most of the time. Good lad.”

The second two were women, one small and dark haired, with fine features and a small smile, the other tall and well-muscled, in her mid-thirties, her hair blonde and drawn up into a tight bun.

“This is Persephone, we call her Siph. She’s my girl so don’t fill your eyes to often.” The dark-haired woman giggled and threw a cushion at Blake. He caught it with a smile and pointed it at the older woman. “And this is Ceran. If I’m not around you, and everyone else, answers to her. She’ll handle your first job, see if you’re suitable for The Blades.” Ceran raised a glass in Dorm’s direction, her eyes sweeping over him, already appraising him. A dangerous woman.

“And what if I’m not. Suitable for the Blades I mean.” Dorm let a hint of apprehension slip into his voice, just like Rendell would have sounded.

Blake grinned, his white teeth gleaming menacingly out of his dark face. “Then we run you out of town and we don’t ever see or here of you again.” Then the joviality was back in his voice. “Right now, however I’ve got business to attend to back at the hideout so we’d best be leavin’. Ceran here will sort you out on the ‘Freshie’.” The bandit leader turned to Samul, still waiting patiently by the door. “Samul, I want you to gather up the soldiers. We need to back at the hideout by sunrise tomorrow. Siph, Kusoke you two will ride with me. I want to back home before most.” He turned back to Dorm. “I hope to see you around Rendell. From what I’ve heard you know your business, just do what feels right and I’ll probably see you tomorrow. If not then goodbye and get the hell away from here.” And with a grin and a nod to Ceran the big man was gone, Kusoke and Siph trailing in his wake.

Samul turned too and left out the door they had come in. The two bodyguards still hung around. Dorm wasn’t sure if they were guarding Ceran or simply keeping an eye on him. Probably a bit of both.

Ceran approached him, her muscled frame shifting with the easy and deadly grace of a true fighter. It wasn’t just Blake that needed watching out for. This one was just as if not more dangerous.

“So Rendell, can you ride a horse?” Her voice was rough and uncultured but still the tone was there, as considering as her gaze.

“That I can Mistress Ceran. They taught us in the army.” There it was, he had played another card.

“No need for the Mistress. Makes me sound like a god-cursed whore. Ceran will do just fine. You say you were in the army? Which army?”

“Alliance, M- Ceran. Got press ganged off the docks when I was twenty.”

“And you fought for them through the whole war? Where?” She didn’t sound shocked or annoyed, just curios perhaps even genuinely interested. Even so, Dorm knew she was using his answers to get a decent measure of the kind of person that he was.

He shrugged, “Had to fight. It was that or spend the rest of my life diggin’ ditches on some backwater moon. It wasn’t much of choice. Anyway, the war made me into a man who knew the ‘verse weren’t such a friendly place. I took advantage of that, fell in with Adler and his boys. War still keeps me awake at night-Du-Khang was the worst. Brutal place.” Again he’d sprinkled his story with seeds of truth. He had fought at the battle of Du-Khang but he hadn’t been some press-ganged docks rat, but a captain leader the charge in the name of the Alliance.

Ceran nodded, “I’ve heard the stories. I’m not surprised.” She motioned the other bodyguard inside the room. “This is Philip” the big man nodded and the bodyguard already in the room stepped forward. “And this is Jon. They’ll be riding with us on the Freshie job. I want you back outside this tavern within the hour. Go and get your gear. We ride out soon.”

Two hours later Dorm was atop a bay gelding, his satchel hanging from his saddle, riding through dense jungle. Ceran was on the horse in front of him, sawn off shotgun clutched in one hand. The two fistmen Jon and Philip both rode behind him , side by side, conversing on low tones. Dorm was in now. There was no going back now, he had no links to the world outside The Blades now. He had sent a short Wave to Dattre from his room, telling him that the contact had been made, but then he had destroyed his com device. He brought no equipment into the job with him. An accident at the wrong moment could ruin all your hard work and get you killed. A branch rips open your shirt and uncovers a wire your new friends tear a new hole in you. You drop your bag and a com device falls out and they put a bullet in your brainpan. It wasn’t worth the risk. All Dorm had now was his wits and his knowledge. That would have to be enough. It had always served him well before this.

Dorm was impressed with what he had seen of The Blades so far. Blake Taylor had forged them into disciplined unit. Ceran was professional and the two fistmen followed orders to the letter. Dorm had seen city gangs that were terribly organised, backstabbing and betrayal a common norm. For provincials Blake’s Blades were a hard outfit.

This Freshie mission wasn’t an uncommon practice, gave the senior members of a gang the chance to see new recruits in action. Throwing them in the deep end was a good way to sort the wheat from the chaff, the men from the boys. Dorm wasn’t unduly worried about succeeding or impressing in the mission. It only caught only the truly unready and they were just testing to see if Dorm hadn’t indulged in over enthusiastic self-promotion. Anyway the job was only collecting protection money. There should be no trouble.

The four riders emerged into a clearing, a paddock cut in the jungle. There was a herd of cattle on the other side of the fence, their big eyes staring at the newcomers. At the far end of the paddock was a large farmhouse, a ranch. Dorm rode up beside Ceran, unholstering his pistol.

“We shouldn’t need that,” she said glancing at him

Dorm shrugged, “Better safe than sorry.” Ceran nodded and motioned for Philip and Jon to ride up behind them.

The reached the ranch, a low-roofed wooden building. It looked deserted. Ceran lifted her shotgun and fired a blast into the air.

“Grey! Get the hell out here right now.”

The door banged open and a white haired farmer emerged from the house, hands in the air. Dorm saw movement in the windows and realised that the man’s family was sheltering inside the house. Ceran leaned back on her saddle. “You’re late with your payment Grey. Whole month late as a matter of fact.”

“Aw come on Ceran, you know I ain’t got the cash! Don’t do this to me.” Sweat was running down the farmer’s face, and he was eyeing the door behind him. Dorm had worked enough protection cases and done enough training to see the lie in the man’s eyes.

“Now, now friend,” said Dorm lathering his voice in mock friendliness, “Why are you lying to these fine folks? They just want what’s theirs, and you ain’t got no reason to not give it to ‘em.”

Grey shifted, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I ain’t lying. I ain’t got the money.”

Dorm looked at Ceran and as she nodded he dismounted, approaching Grey with an arrogant saunter that he had perfected when intimidating new recruits back in the army. He put an arm around the shivering old farmer and walked him off the porch of the house. Ceran, Jon and Philip watched impassively as he led Grey towards the pigpen.

“You wouldn’t be greedy now would you? That doesn’t sit well with us you know that.” Dorm’s voice was still friendly but his heart was pounding. He was about to break the law. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last but he still didn’t like it. He did it because sometimes it was necessary to break some laws in order to prevent others from being broken, to prevent serious criminals from escaping justice. It was the all in the name of the greater good, but that only justified it, that didn’t make it right.

The farmer was dumb enough to continue with his charade of poverty. “I don’t have-”

That was enough for Dorm. His arm twisted from around the man’s shoulder to the man’s neck. The farmer screamed in fear but Dorm was already running towards the pigpen. The man kicked out but Dorm’s grip was tight and he thrust Grey’s head through a gap in the fence and pushed it down into the pig trough, shoving his head under the slop.

A woman came out of the house, screaming for him to stop. Dorm pulled the man’s head out of the slop and Grey gasped, sucking in air.

“Are you greedy, Grey!?! Do you need to be feed like a pig?”

The farmer shook his head vigorously, slop pouring out of his white hair. His wife on the balcony was still screaming and tried to rush forward but Ceran’s shotgun in her face stopped her.

“I don’t think you’ve quite learnt your lesson Grey!”

Dorm pushed the kicking man’s head under again, pressing his face right to the sludge in the bottom of the trough. He wrenched him back out again by the hair, the farmer crying out in pain.

“Now I think you’d better go inside and fetch that cash you’ve been saving for a rainy day. ‘Cos guess what? You’re in the middle of a storm.”

Grey pushed himself to his feet, sobbing, and scampered inside the house. His wife followed him, panting in fear.

Ceran holstered her shotgun and motioned for Jon and Philip to follow Grey. She turned to Dorm.

“That was some fine work, Rendell. Poor bastard didn’t now what hit him.”

Dorm shrugged and clambered back into the saddle. “He shouldn’t have been lying, then I wouldn’t have had to do it.”

“How’d you know he had the money?”

“I’ve worked enough protection in the past. When they don’t have the money, they come to you and ask for more time. When they have the money and don’t intend on paying, like our boy Grey did, then they try and hide it and pretend they is poor.” He grinned devilishly, “You get more than a little use to it after a while.”

Jon and Philip emerged from the house. Jon threw a coin-filled bag at Ceran who caught it in one hand and proceeded to count it. There was no sign of Grey from the house. Somehow Dorm was less than surprised.

When she had finished counting, Ceran lifted her head and yelled at the house, “We’ll be back in a two-month, Grey and if you decide to plead poor again, your ranch will be nothin’ but a smoking pile of ash. And most likely you along with it.” She turned to Dorm, “Not that its likely that he’ll decide to skimp again. You scared him but good. I can see you’re going to be a very useful man Rendell.”

“You mean I’ve got the job?”

“If you keep this sort of business up, then I say you’re in.”

Dorm Harkaway smiled broadly. Saffron didn’t stand a chance.