Cygi blinked into holographic existence beside Jocasta. The AI was standing in an old fashioned bath tub scrubbing herself with a wooden handled brush that artfuly avoided dislodging the strategically placed bubbles. Jocasta glanced at the main terminal read out to observe that Cygi was in the process of a system defrag.

“Oh look at that Shark Gunboat, isn’t it handsome?! I bet he has a huge di…”

“Cygi,” Jocasta chastened, following the AI’s outstretched arm to a squat powerful ship that rested on one of the cracked concrete pads. It looked weathered and was best by the trade mark rocket magazines which extended above a long ventral fin like giant eyes.

“A huge director control computer,” Cygi finished before flickering into the uniform a Union admiral complete with swagger stick. Apparently this was for the purpose of performing an inspection of the other ship because data began to flow into Jocasta’s implants, as a courtesy she projected it holographically on one of the screens. Records logged it as the X-21, owner unknown, home port unknown, which was far from helpful. Jocasta mentally shrugged whoever the ship belonged to was welcome to their business as far as she was concerned.

“The port authority is attempting to enter my systems!” Cygi gasped, suddenly wearing the overly innocent garb of a pin up girl, complete with rogued cheeks which she was fanning furiously.

“Let them into one of the fakes, just to make them feel superior,” Jocasta directed. Cygi snapped a salute, now wearing a leather flying cap dating to the time before space flight.

“Yes Ma’am!” she barked and then vanished to her own amusements. Dirk made an articulate grunt. The Dragonfly had been designed for a crew of a dozen and was far too much for Jocasta to handle alone. The solution had been to turn the signals intelligence AI loose. Partially because a decryption module was not supposed to run a ship, and partially because the only model it had was Jocasta, Cygi was a little erratic.

“Anything to worry about?” Dirk asked without much interest.

“All good in the fume hood,” Jocasta replied. She picked up her jacket, a white synthetic leather piece with cheerful green and gold checkered panels and pulled it on. Now that she was reasonably certain Dirk wasn’t going to try to kill her, she left her capacitor pistol behind, tucking an elegant little beamer into a holster sewn into the inside. Several little dragonfly drones zipped from various perches around the bridge, disappearing up sleeves, into pockets and in one case, settling into her hair to pretend to be jewelry.

“Shall we take a walk?” she asked sweetly.

The dragonfly's rear opened up, its sleek design belying the roomy cargo hold Dirk and Jocasta stepped out of. His laminated power armor coupled with Jocasta's stylish but utilitarian garb gave the pair an odd look, but they were also seemed have every resource or capability one might need from any five man team in their repertoire, and they were nothing less than mercenaries and hunters of men. The dockmaster caught the cue well enough himself, approaching them more cautiously now that he had a good look at the passengers he would be finagling.

"Welcome friends! Welcome to Tarsus!" He said, his spectacles laden with moisture that obscured his vision. He wore a practical jacket for the low temperatures at such an altitude and was following by a utility android on four wheels, a unit that looked much like a cogitator's tower, able to squeeze into small spaces but robust enough to weather any bumps it might get from its predicted years of service. A small bit of glass ran along the length of it around three quarters of the way up, an optic red light gliding back and forth. The dockmaster kicked it lightly so it reversed direction, backing up a few feet to grant him room to speak. "I was not aware we were receiving such well-armed guests. May I ask what the manner of your visit is?"

Dirk's head slowly swiveled to regard him, and he placed his hand on the heavy blaster directly in eyeshot to the dockmaster. He swallowed. "I'm afraid crime has been quite rampant here the last few years. New protocals are enacted. The Hoamarks' orders, you understand."

"We are here on a business transaction. If we were here to conduct illegal acts, we would not have our ship logged into the registry." Dirk said evenly.

"'Our' ship?" Jocasta asked with a raised eyebrow and folded arms, though Dirk doubted she was truly offended.

"Very good, yes. Erm, well if your business is not with any of the businesses in Echilon 3.64, I am afraid that will cost you extra..." He said, and Dirk casually unholstered his pistol.

"Really? How much would that be?"

The man pursed his lips as he thought of what a reasonable price would be. He took out an electronic pad where he no doubt kept the registry and thumbed through it. "TTTThhhree hundred credits? Two fifty I mean! Apologies, this stupid droid ahaha-" He slid through the screen rapidly. "-behind me has messed up my dock log again..."

"You mentioned crime right? Where is the most crime at? You know, so we can avoid it," Jocasta asked, blinking rapidly with a large smile on her face. Dirk had placed the gun back in its holster, content to pay what would normally be a third of the usual going rate for a civilian in such a place. He unlatched a small token and handed it to the dockmaster, who took it and let it scan on his pad before handing it back to Dirk.

"Erm, the Fallorn Sector, five flights below us. You won't have much to worry about. Luckily we keep the majority of it contained to there." He said, likely lying through his teeth. It fit with the diagonistics gathered by Cygi, however, so it was where to start.

"I wonder if it is a coincidence that all this crime is happening right where our guy is supposed to be?" Jocasta pondered as they made their way through the usual assortment of dockside dives, ship chandleries, strip clubs, and brothels towards the central lifts. Each lift was a massive tube that ran the length of the spire. Most of the lengths anyway, the very top and very bottom levels were not so easily accessed, requiring passage to private lifts and passing the local security, be it up spire guards in gleaming battledress or battle hardened street thugs who made their living taxing passage through stinking access shafts.

"Unlikely," Dirk grunted as the stepped past the spaceport security and into the large lift car. It rumbled down, stopping several times to take on and offload supplies and people. For the most part it seemed to be food going down from the dock levels above, or perhaps hydroponic farms and manufacturing plants above.

"Now reaching Fallorn Sector," a crackly voice announced as the lift stopped and the doors opened. The blast of noise was immediate and intense. Cheering voices and blaring music crashed in so hard that the dragonfly drones who had been peeking from Jocasta's jacket ducked back in momentary auditory shock. The wide boulevard before them was thronged with people in bright garments, singing and dancing. Street vendors were crammed against the boulevard walls hawking food and drink of all kinds. Performers danced and capered for the crowds, in some cases with accompanying pickpockets working their marks, though whether this was a plan or just a happy side effect Jocasta couldn't tell. Fireworks crashed off the walls and ricocheted off the high ceilings bursting close enough above the crowd to singe people.

"Some party," Jocasta remarked as her drones once again stuck their sensor encrusted heads from concealment. Dozens of carrots lit up marking weapons in various stages of concealment.

"I wonder what is going on..."

Dirk pressed two buttons on his wrist multi-tool and brought up the holo-image of their quarry. The blue light coalesced into a dark haired, scraggly man in his mid thirties with two nasty scars of his chin and a bionic implant in his left temple. Dirk transferred the likeness to Jocasta's data pad and removed the holo-projection. From all the commotion surrounding them, being conspicuous would be fairly easy until they were right on top of their prey, more than likely.

"You head down the central drag. Keep your eyes peeled and don't stop for sweets. I'll go up top and search from above the hab. If you see him, contact me before you engage unless you have a guaranteed shot. Remember, we want his body cold." The armored hunter said, and stepped to the left, marching past a crowd of young parents who went from giggling over their children to stumbling out of Dirk's way. The bounty hunter stepped into the sidestreet between the main roads that hosted this strange festival, and found a pulley-ladder positioned at the wall of an apartment building.

He grabbed the ladder and unholstered one of his pistols, pointing up at the carbon fibre strings that gripped the ladder and could release it from the ground at a moment's notice with a counter weight. With a quick second to aim, he fired, the bolt shattering the mechanism that kept the counterweight in place, sending it hurtling down as the ladder was yanked up, Dirk in tow. He kicked up the engines of his jump pack just enough to let him continue his ascent even after the ladder had jolted short, and he easily landed atop the apartment, now able to witness a line of buildings segmented across the fifth level of the spire.

He knelt down to a knee and reached into his belt, producing a secondary barrel he kept sequestered on his person, in case of bounties in need of a more precise touch. He screwed it onto his heavy blaster's barrel, spinning it before it clicked into place. The suppressor reduced the injection of gas and modified the actuating module, but unlike most suppressors it added range rather than reduced it. However, the bolt would pack less of a punch, and should not be utilized when firing on someone with armor. A long ganger on the other hand would be just the prey he wanted. He then placed an opto-electric collimator atop the blaster to help with aiming, and then he began to move, running from building to building like a ghost.

Jocasta had acquired several strings of beads by the time she reached the end of the first street, the glass ornaments clicking against each other atop her unbuttoned jacket. The mood of the crowd was festive though there were signs, a few overturned patrol cars and smashed store fronts, that suggested that high spirits took several forms. Makeshift bars had been set up, usually by piling liquor bottles atop ground cars or simply rolling barrels of ale out onto the street where one could simply scoop a cup of booze as one passed. Enough people were openly carrying guns to make Jocasta think that after a few more hours of drinking this place was going to be considerably more lively.

The place had the garish magnificence of an explosion in a bordello. The habs and shop fronts were colorcrete in attractive soft pastel shades, though poverty and lack of maintenance meant not two colors matched exactly. Some of them had awnings of pressed thermoplastic which were printed with patterns ranging from the simple geometrics to advertisements for beers and canned soups. Beyond that, ever structure was draped with whatever colorful articles the residents could find, dresses, bed sheets, rugs, clothing, even a flag though Jocasta couldn’t identify the world or organisation it might represent.

“Hey girlie have a drink with me,” a drunken man called to Jocasta, thrusting a bottle into her hand. She smiled and slid past his attempt to grope her, taking a polite pull from the neck of the fluted liquor bottle. It tasted strongly of passionfruit but must have been well north of fifty percent alcohol. She rounded a corner into a small square where the crowd was particularly energized.

“Vol! Vol! Vol! Vol!” they were chanting in a variety of tempos that blended together to uncomfortably remind Jocasta of an unstable warp field. She felt her heart sink as she heard the chant.

“Who is this Vol?” she asked a woman who had taken her top off completely, her impressive chest mostly obscured by strings of beads. The woman blinked in confusion and then brightened.

“He is a hero!” she burbled drunkenly before throwing her arms around Jocasta.

“He stole millions from some crimelord and just gave it away,” she snickered.

“Everyone on the level got like ten thousand credits,” she said in a tone of stunned wonder.

“They cops came to try and take it back but…” she made a gesture towards one of the smashed patrol cars with a champagne bottle.

“Where is this hero now?” Jocasta asked.

“D’know,” the woman chirruped, “Staying out of sight I guess.” The woman frowned at Jocasta, apparently having caught a glimpse of one of the little drones concealed beneath her jacket, but too drunk to be sure.

“Rumor is that assassins will be coming to kill him… we arent… going to let that happen,” she hiccuped drunkenly.

Dirk smiled grimly beneath his helm. He knew the celebrations weren't entirely to his or Jocasta's benefit, but it was a pretty loud indication the bastard was here. He set his visor on multi-search, the digital screen relaying back eighteen different appearances of the target's visage, all from signs or paintings made in thanks. He turned his head to the 'north' as the spire saw fit, gazing down the thoroughfare as the crowd began to part, an undulating wave of civilians and hawkers, raising their arms to keep their food or goods from bumping into the chest of other festival goers.

Dirk saw him before his reticle even honed in and identified the target.

He was a slight man with sharp features, a small scar on his nose and deep, sunken eyes. Just as the hologram had shown that past week. He seemed nervous, but optimistically happy. Dirk watched his procession grow, as more men and women waved to him or wanted to follow in his wake. Dirk checked his path but could find no reason for his movements. There was no great prize waiting for him down the street or someone important waiting to greet him.

Dirk lifted his modified DMX blaster and aimed down the sight, placing the butt of the blaster on the small rampart of the office building. As the face enlarged in his vision, he could see every crease on the man's lined face. He saw the light in his eyes and the happiness of the others around him. Dirk knew this man had stolen from the most dangerous criminal in the system, had given his wealth to the poor, and had like as not been encouraged to show himself by popular demand. Dirk was almost certain Voldargu could be described as a good person, or at the least, a bad person trying to do right. Word had it he used to belong to the gangs of the lower levels before he had escaped and joined some spacers in a job, the details of which were not known. All of the info from his dataslate ran through his mind, and had he been a more gullible man, he might have had second thoughts.

But this was not Dirk's first kill. If Dirk did not kill him, someone else would, and if they did not, Phyraelon Deadstar would invade this hab and kill everyone who had touched his money. There was no winning here. So Dirk did the merciful thing.

He began recording the view on his visor, readjusted his DMX blaster, and pulled the trigger.

The high powered bolt made to penetrate laminate merc armor scorched through Vol's neck, cauterizing the wound even as it blew a hole straight through his flesh. He died with an uneasy smile on his lips and a hand shaking his. Dirk rolled away from the edge of the building, putting Jocasta on the comm.

"Target is down. Make yourself scarce." His voice rang over the comm, and he gave her the coordinates to the body. If they could find the corpse in a relatively unguarded position, they would take the head. If they couldn't, the recording should be sufficient. Dirk vaulted over the building and free fell into the alley, activating his jump back a dozen feet from the ground to cushion his fall.