Nothing to Hide, Nothing to Fear

[Mr. Slate]

The only sound in the large office was the sound of a pen scribbling across parchment. There was no decoration in the room. Not a potted plant placed like so on the edge of a desk or atop a bookshelf and no framed art on the wall depicting ancient techniques of art that were ugly by modern standards. Nothing. The room was sterile, but not bare. There were filing cabinets, a pair of bookshelves filled with thick textbooks on law; several dictionaries of different origins, specialties, and languages; and the complete Encyclopedia Figaria. There was a desk, of course; a great oaken behemoth with it's many drawers. Each one was carefully labeled.

At the head of the table was a bone, suspended in the air by a thin pole at either side attached to a wooden base. It was not technically a decoration, but rather a declaration of achievement. It's owner would never go so far as it call it a trophy. Such a thing would be barbaric. The bone was carefully scrimshawed across it's entire surface with the law. It required a bone of incredible size to fit, so naturally it was torn from the body of a Loveloxx beast. The biggest, deadliest one in recorded history. The Hellmutt of Hellesmutt, to be precise. It was sufficient proof of the mettle of the man who brought it back. None would question his abilities with that bone sitting atop his desktop.

The man sitting behind the desk was dressed in a navy suit. It was not a tight, sharp ordeal like the younger generations were so fond of. It was relaxed, with room to move. Comfortable. His shoes were worn but well taken care of. He wore no tie, and there was no adornment beyond a badge pinned to his chest. The badge, like the man, was simple. A shield, cast in silver, with no words. The edges were worn, it's sharp points rounded and dulled. It marked him as an Arbiter of the Law, of course. It would be hard to find someone who did not recognize the badge. His skin was loose with wrinkles and decorated with spots, but there was a firmness in the set of his jaw and the focus in his hazel eye.

His hand moved and with it drew the pen once more across the surface of the parchment. Such writing utensils were old. Ancient, really. They were symbols from a bygone era. Everything was electronic these days. Push a few buttons here and send information screaming into space at ludicrous speed to be received on the other side of the planet in an instant. Modern datapads had a stylus for freehand writing, and yet it was not the same. There was no resistance, no scritch-scratch of the ball point dragging across the faintest texture of the paper. Just effortless gliding of a blunt pen over smooth cast-plast. Paperwork was much more enjoyable when you could feel the effort.

And there was ever so much paperwork to do. In fact, it was almost all he ever did.

On the opposite side of the room the only door opened. A head was hesitantly stuck around the frame, almost as if they make sure there were no threats in the room before entering. "Mister Ash, what is it?" There was an elegance to the way the man spoke. Every word was properly pronounced in steady cadence, with the slightest accent that suggested he originated in the city of Lourden. He did not look up from his paperwork, rather he continued on with an increased fury; as if the intruder would be discourage by his added focus. "More reports are in, sir."

Sighing, Mr. Slate leaned back in his chair, letting his pen fall to the desktop. "Very well." The snappily dressed Mr. Ash, with his tiny spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, came clomping into the room with a handful of folders. Printed on to paper just as he preferred. Slate noted the awkwardness in Ash's step and the fact that the regularly short man was quite a bit taller today. Three inches taller. Thicker soles or inserts in his shoes, he had no doubts. Taking the files from his hands Slate could only shake his head. Ash was lucky to live in a Figaro devoid of the Lupine Threat, otherwise he would never survive with those ridiculous inserts impeding his ability to run. The spoils of war were wasted on the misguided youth.

"Have there been any developments with Mr. White?" He asked as he flipped through the various reports. Most were standard reports from the other Arbiters and Law Enforcers. Laws upheld, any serious infractions levied against citizens, or requests to have cases reviewed for final judgement when local authorities were unwilling to make that call. Nestled with the trivial were reports from the Hunter teams. Technically it was not his duty to review them. The archaic office of the Master of the Hunt was responsible for all Hunting Parties that left Leh'ben. As a Judicator of Law, however, he wielded the absolute authority in all manners regardless of which particular box it fit into. His reach was far and his eyes constantly wandering.

"Nothing from Mr. White, sir. He is still maintaining that he is innocent and his imprisonment is, in his words, a farce."

"Precisely what a traitor would say." He replied. His single remaining good eye continued to scan, having spent several seconds on one particular page. A report from the Fatebinder Hunting Party that had recently returned from a raid on a lupine den. A word caught his eye. Sundergotte. Destroying the remnants of a one great house, one of their greatest enemies, was a triumph that should be heralded through the system, and yet he had heard nothing through his usual channels. Scanning lower he noticed an oddity. Two bodies burned, which was a shame in itself; those bodies should have been brought back to Leh'ben and strung up like a fallen Sundergotte deserves, but a third lupine was listed in the casualties. Digging deeper only revealed more oddities and irregularities in the report.

"Mister Ash." He spoke up, cutting off his assistant mid-sentence in a conversation he had not even been aware was transpiring without him. With his pen in hand he drew a circle around two words on the report; Mr. Smith. "Summon the Lawbringers. I want Ms. Non and Mr. Clay in my office immediately."

[Ms Non]

Ms Non got the summons and donned her best outfit. The smart skirt suit was merely for when called to meet with the boss. Her suit was a dark emerald green that set off her eyes. She skirt was short, to allow her to fight if the need arose. She saw no need to worry, not here, but if she ever wore it out... well, it was a multi purpose outfit. Her camisole under the jacket was a lighter green and tastefully enough done to make it appear all form fitted and placed just so on her body. Her badge was on her lapel, still a bit too shiny to be worn in, but not the bright blinding glow of just having been given to her. She had been a Guardian for a few years and was working her way up the ranks like everyone else. Her shoes, while dressy enough to give a nice line to her legs were also part of the uniform she took to. The heels were low enough she could run in them with no trouble.

She had no makeup on, never seeing a need for it unless going on a date, which she hadn't done since becoming a Lawbringer. And she wore no jewelry. It got in the way and could be lost or left behind. Such things were unacceptable to her, and therefore, not bothered with.

As she came to Mr. Slate's office, she took one more moment to tug her suit straight and knocked on the door. "Ms Non." She spoke simple and clear. Her deep green blue eyes eager to know what the next target was. She had long ago stopped thinking of them as 'who'. Thoughts like that were a trap. They were lupine, animals, abominations that should be eradicated... that was all.

[Mr. Slate]

The office building was a massive structure in the middle of the city. It almost looked as if the city itself has risen around the building, moving outward from the hub of the city in circular waves. It was not the case, but their society had chosen to place their most important structures at the center of the city. The Grand Archive was across the street, giving the Arbiters close reach to all the histories and information they could ever want. Such desire was beyond Mr. Clay. He had no use for history. It was only a painful reminder of the struggle of his people, and the mountains of men they sacrificed in order to wrest their freedom from the teeth of the wolves.

Clay was a practical man. He knew his place in the galaxy. A hunter of wolves. It was the only existence he had ever known. There was no desire in his heart for any other path than this one he had set himself on as a young age. His generation was the first to truly enjoy the full freedom that the last had fought hard to maintain, and the one before it had died to create. Many of his peers had devoted themselves to building a brighter tomorrow from the comfort of offices and factories. Not Clay. There was still a need to fight, to defend. The Guardians could not prosper as a species without continued sacrifice and bloodshed. It could not be only the burden of the older generation to maintain the peace.

The summon was sent, and he was ready for it. His light gray suit was simple and worn; the suit of a man who did not care about his appearance and did as little as possible to fit society's norm. In place of loafers he wore his boots, and on one arm a studded leather vambrace. He looked a man out of place. He knew it, and he did not care. He knew he belonged out beyond this planet, tracking the beasts with his pitchfork and torch. The comforts of home were wasted on him. Clay felt only restlessness.

The lobby of the law office was simple. A receptionist did not even pay him any mind. He knew his way, and she knew it. He stepped straight to the waiting turbolift and slipped inside. Fingering the door close bottom, the door began to shut but stopped when a hand stuck through and forced the door open. "Ms. Non." Clay said with a nod of his head as his fellow Lawbringer hunter made her way into the lift. They rode in silence. Clay had nothing to say. His mind was elsewhere, beyond the atmosphere of this world, wondering where Slate would send them next. It was not always to hunt a Lupine. Sometimes there were traitors to bring down, or heretics to console. The Arbiter had many purposes and the Lawbringers were his hands.

Several floors up they exited the lift. Non took the lead and headed straight to Slate's office. She ignored Mr. Ash who was rising from his desk and knocked on the door. Clay fell in behind her, his gray eyes settled on the same stain on the wall he had grown to look at when waiting outside the door.

Inside the room Slate looked up from the report. Several new sections had been circled or underlined. Once clues proven to be nothing were scratched out. "Enter." he commanded directly. The door swished open to reveal the faces of Ms. Non and Mr. Clay. Slate did not even wait for them to take either of the seats in front of his desk. Instead he launched directly to the point.

"I have uncovered a report with several discrepancies and procedural errors. Three beasts slain, only two bodies accounted for. Report is lacking details. Either the Fatebinders have become lax in the course of their duties or something more sinister is afoot. I want this Mr. Smith brought in for questioning. Be discrete. I do not want him to know we are coming. You have warrants for an arrest, seizure, and full investigation of his domicile if necessary." He tapped a finger on a small stack of folded papers at the edge of his desk which contained his hand written warrants.

"Do be quick about it. We may have to question the rest of the Fatebinders until we fix the discrepancies. Mr. Ash has Smith's address and information. Goodbye."

[Ms Non]

Ms Non listened to Mr. Slate and frowned. Discrepancies and errors were things she detested as well. She was proud to be a hunter and the idea of someone messing things up, making them look bad, and failing at their duties irritated her to no end. Without waiting for Mr. Clay, Non grabbed the stack of Wants and Warrants and stepped back. "We will nor fail, Sir." She glanced to Mr. Clay to see if he had anything pressing and then nodded to turn to go. Whether Clay went with her or not, she had to change and see to the execution of their duties.

Stepping back through to the hall, she paused in the hallway to flip through the papers. She had gotten used to the odd texture of the tactile pieces of arcane that the boss used. She was growing used to it and even considered asking him where he got his stock from. But right now wasn't the time nor place. Reading over them, she waited till Clay joined her before heading to the lift. "I should change. Coming in suits will tip him off, you know that. Without an assignment call, he will know something is up. So I see two choices... I lure him to the gym with a promise of the practice spar he and I spoke of last week, then you check his house and lemme know if I need to detain him longer, or merely bring him here. Once in the garage we can cloister him well enough if he balks." She stepped into the lift and smiled. "Or, you hide out of sight, I smile my way into his home and get him cornered and you and the others come in. Then they search and we bring him back here." She smiled and raised a curious eyebrow. "So... which do you prefer?"

She would rather just show up at his door, hold him at weapon's point and let the guards manacle him while she and Clay searched his place. But another part of her wanted to see about luring him away and bringing him here on her own. Granted, she was sure Clay would insist on trailing and tailing her. Perhaps he would also 'happen' to be at the gym when she and Smith got there. They had all been at the gym at the same time before, so it wouldn't seem like a set up. Either way, she knew Clay would have her back.

[Mr. Slate]

Clay joined his fellow Lawbringer without word and ran a finger down the list of buttons until he dipped below the first floor and hit the one marked "Garage." The lift began, dragging them downward.

"I think you misunderstand, Ms. Non. This is not a hunt, this is not a game. We will knock on his door and serve him his arrest. Standard procedure. Perhaps you have been spending too much time among the barbarians of the galaxy. I know we have been given mundane and boring assignments of late but that is no reason to spiral into absurdity for the sake of excitement. I would love nothing more than a real hunt." There was no malice in his tone. He spoke like most of their species, monotone and to the point. The sophistication and class they held themselves to is what set set them apart from the barbarians that populated the rest of the galaxy; which prompted his next comment.

"What else would we wear if not a suit?"

The lift dinged and the door opened to reveal the basement level. There was no natural light underneath the tower of durocrete above them, but it was nonetheless well lit. The space was filled with speeders of all sizes and capabilities. Most were standard models to be used by those working above, or personal craft driven to the office. Each one had a certain grace in it's simple design. Practical and to the point, just like the Guardian species. Clay stepped away from Non to address the attendant standing behind a window set in the wall. The exchange was brief and ended when the attendant selected a control stick from the many hanging from the walls on locked pegs and slipped it through the small hole at the bottom of the window. A moment later he passed two black cylinders.

Taking the items Clay walked back to Non and handed her one of the cylinders. It was a telescoping baton. Standard equipment for an assignment such as this. While Clay would prefer to have his personal weapons they were not be used for something as trivial as this. A real hunt allowed for full use of the armory. Tapping the button on the control stick, it flashed and one of the speeders beeped in response. Locating their means of travel, they headed for the speeder and slipped inside. Inserting the control stick into the activation port, he turned it and the speeder fired to life; it's engine purring and humming beautifully. Reversing out of the parking spot was a short affair before he shifted it into gear and sped off at a speed that was frowned upon past the rows of speeder and toward the ramp to the surface.

Only a checkpoint and a show of clearance was required to get out, and that was easily overcome. Hitting the street they merged into the rest of the traffic. Almost identical looking speeders on all sides.

"This should be fairly straight forward. Since you are familiar with Mr. Smith will you take the front door while I slip around to watch the back?"

[Ms Non]

Non felt a frown touch her mind but kept her face neutral as she was all but reprimanded by Clay in the lift. "I know it is no game. But I can assure you, if he chooses to run, you will have your hunt. He is no initiate, Clay. Remember that." She was giving him no more than the information she knew. She knew Smith well enough that if he even thought he had a chance to get away, he would.

As they arrived in the garage, she stood by while Clay acquired their gear and the speeder assigned to them. She tapped her wand out, then collapsed it once more as he had done. Since they never got the same one or got to keep their own personal one, she always tapped hers to see if it was going to be a smooth or jerky release. She was pleased it was a smooth release.

Sitting in the speeder as Clay took off, she nodded in agreement as he spoke of her taking the front. "I will serve the notice and secure him." She said no more as they sped towards the place Smith called home. It troubled her that one of their own was being brought in on such charges. She had worked with Smith. She had killed with him. And he had never been in such a position before. She couldn't wrap her mind around what would cause him to be in such a predicament. "Do you know why he is being brought in? I can't imagine him missing a mark or throwing a hunt." She wasn't really expecting Clay to know, but more or less was thinking out loud. She didn't like the idea of thinking that someone she trusted her life with was someone she shouldn't have trusted.

[Mr. Slate]

"It's not really our place to ask, is it Non?"

His answer was very expected. It was the by the book answer, especially for those under the employ of Mr. Slate; a man who did not enjoy his orders being questioned and was known for only telling you what he felt was necessary to know. That suited Clay just fine. He avoided a lot of politics that way and it was less pressure on him to remember things. He knew his place and he was okay with being Slate's attack dog. A pointed finger was all he needed, and this case was no different. Slate had pointed and they were off to bring in Mr. Smith.

In the grand scheme of things it did not even matter if Smith was guilty or innocent. An Arbiter like Slate could make you guilty. However, the look on Non's face, as subtle as it was, told him she would not be content with such an answer.

"If I had to fathom a guess, I would imagine something trivial. Slandered a superior or injured another hunter in the course of his duties. Lies, negligence, or some other nonsense. The real crime is that he did not come forward on his own volition. That makes him a coward, and there is no room for cowards in our society. No doubt he will come peacefully. What would be gain from running? Still, we cannot be lax. If he runs than his guilt is beyond deniable and we will take him down if he won't be subdued. Perhaps he is one of the heretics, like Mr. White. It would seem that more of them appear every single day. What strange times we live in, Ms. Non."

[Ms Non]

"Strange times, indeed, Mr. Clay," she said as he answered her question. She honestly hadn't expected one besides the usual. So when he did answer, it made her look at him a moment longer.

Non wasn't one to question orders. She had plenty of write ups to that accolade already in her file. But she also liked to know reasons, something else others had taken notice of. Mr. Slate occasionally indulged her, though not often. And he never did if others were around. That's why she hadn't asked when in his office this time. Clay had shown up before she could.

Sitting in the speeder as they moved to their target's residence, she remained silent. "I will take the front and serve the warrant. If he runs, we will take him as any other. I understand that." She knew her validation was voiced only to his Clay's mind. He tolerated her more than liked her, or at least that's what she believed.

[Mr. Slate]

The speeder was parked directly out in front of the domicile. They were not thieves that they would come sneaking in like one. As they got out Clay began circling around the peremeter. It was a fairly traditional Leh'beni home. Traditional with it's pristine exterior that was made to appear as it was cut from one piece save for the windows that interrupted the flow. The small yard was fenced in with a picket fence. It mirrored every single house that ran down the length of the street, around the block, and filled this entire housing quadrant. However, as Clay came around he could see that the lawn was above uniform height, and out back the flower beds were wilting in the sun.

By galactic standards it was hardly a mess, but by the standards of the Leh'beni, the home might as well be in shambles with doors falling off hinges and windows boarded up. This home had clearly been vacant for days at least. The sleeves of his jacket were tugged up gently as high as they could go; halfway up his forearm. The leather vambrace was adjusted for a more comfortable fit, and then from the garden he selected the biggest support rod, and with a few experimental swings concluded it's balance and efficiency as a weapon. Now he waited, the trap set.

Even from the other side of the small home he could hear Ms. Non rapping on the door. There was no answer, nor any sound from within. Sticking his head around the corner of the back he let out an "Oi, you see or hear anything?"

Unbeknownst to the pair, the home was indeed empty. Within it items were strewn about with every indication of a hasty packing. Unfortunately it was difficult to make out exactly the shapes inside were through the shaded windows designed to maintain one's privacy.

[Ms Non]

Non didn't like that one of their own was being hunted for questioning. After several minutes of knocking and listening, Non heard Clay call out. Shaking her head, she hollered back. "No one's answering." Covering her eyes from the glare, she peered into the house. "Looks abandoned," she murmured.

Slowly working her way to the back, she peered in each window. The results seemed the same. The house was in disarray, but with the privacy windows, it was hard to tell if it was simply tossed, or half gutted. Coming up on Clay, she shook her head. "No one is here. Seems they haven't been in a while. Do you want me to check out inside?" She hoped wherever their prey had gone to, there was a hint inside.

[Mr. Slate]

Clay strained his eyes against the back window, but all he could see was shapes. Turning to his companion he nodded his head toward the building. "Go in the front, I'll come in the back. Be ready. Could be a trap."

The back door was a simple metal thing, with faux wood inlays meant to class up the structure. Taking the rod in hand Clay wished he had brought his weapons with him. They would have made short order of this door. Channeling Solphar's light through is body, down his hand, and into the rod he charged it with what the barbarians in the core called "The Force", as if they could ever hope to quantify a gift from the God of Light. The rod became imbued with power, and with it he struck at the handle of the door with a strike more befitting a spear. The light was released, and an explosion of force blew the lock from the door with enough force that the door also swung open; revealing an empty kitchenette and a clear view into the open floorplan living room and front door, just as Non came in from the other side.

"What a despicable mess." Clay muttered as he stepped through the door, his paranoid requiring him to check for trip lines or trigger plates were there are none. The kitchen was a mess with every cabinet and drawer pulled open, and the contents shifted. The living room was in the same state. It almost looked like a robbery, but such petty crime was extremely rare on Leh'ben; especially here in the capital. That was something only one of the Lightless would stoop to.

"Check upstairs." He instructed his partner as he moved to check the rest of the ground floor, his rod held out in front like a sword.

Upstairs, tacked to the bedroom wall, was a note. Hastily written upon a flimsi with a shacking hand. It read "I will no longer fulfill an old man's dying dream. I will no longer kill with the sword. Oh god. What have we done? Look within yourselves brothers and sisters, this galaxy is worse for our stay. Feint was right. - Mr. Smith"

[Ms Non]

Non nodded obediently and went back to the front door. As soon as she heard the crack of Clay's entry, she smiled and flat foot kicked the front door in. Like him, her own movements were cautious as trip wires, cameras and such were searched for with each step. As they met in the main front room, she nodded in agreement. "A mess indeed. This strikes me as either a cover or someone searching for something after he left."

When she was directed upstairs, she nodded once more and moved with caution. This time her weapon was out. If they found someone in here, she highly doubted it would be their target. Clearing the spare bedroom and the bath, she moved into the master bedroom. She glanced around and saw the note on the wall. Making sure no one was hiding elsewhere and that the entire floor was clear, she called down from her place at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Clay, I believe you will want to see this." She sighed and shook her head and moved back towards the bedroom to see if there was anything else left behind.