Chapter Fifteen  

With an elegant curve, belying the size of the ship the star cruiser swung high over Soluman.  Sunlight caught the edges of her elegant superstructure, her underbelly glowing in the reflection from the vast oceans below.  She seemingly hung there for an eternity as if deciding what to do, skimming the upper edges of the atmosphere and making her re-entry tiles glow furnace red.  The serenity of space seemed alien to what was happening below, so many kilometres away on the ground.  Silently and almost with regret the star cruiser began her descent….

   “Watch your back!”  Yelled Ryath Centaur as he rolled over another spray of Blaster fire and took cover behind an outcrop.  Heavy rounds pummelled the rock - he knew he couldn’t stay there for long. 

   “Topal!”  Ryath tucked his legs in behind the rock and motioned for the Rodian gunman for assistance.  “Lay down some suppressing fire while I make a run for it.”  Topal nodded and turned from his group, spraying fire at Ryaths attackers and giving the mercenary time to gain better cover.  With a thumbs up of thanks Centaur was gone.

Galletti was faring no better.  Along with Mactin he had been the first to visually identify the invading hordes advancing across the west plain towards them and had raced back to warn the others.  On the horizon they could make out the silhouettes of perhaps forty, forty-five ships of assorted class.  Glanns contingent had thirty-five, all parked in cover on the edge of the east plain.  Goah made a rough estimate - three hundred men, women, droids and aliens making their way from the landing site, marching as one towards their position.  They had perhaps two-hundred.  Niern was right.  This will be a bloodbath. 

Attacks had come in waves.  Blaster fire from close quarters, blades and pikes from those aliens and humans experienced in their use.  Snipers had taken up positions in rocky hiding places, picking off their enemies at will.  Goah was wedged into such a nook, eliminating attackers with lethal efficiency.  But the force of numbers had made them retreat back towards their encampment, making it more of a stand than a flat defence.  Their backs had, within the space of five minutes, been firmly pressed against the wall.

   “This is hopeless," Goah growled down the comm.  “we need some kind of plan or we’re done for.” 

At the other end of the line the Aqualish Filarf Toon grunted.

   “Hold your position.  Orders are on their way.” 

Goah gritted his teeth as he squeezed off another lethal shot, thumping a Bith to the ground in a mess of guts.  Great.  Orders are on their way.  Why wasn’t this organised before the fighting began?  More of the enemy pressed forward and Galletti soon realised there was no good advantage in remaining in the nook.  Pulling a thermal detonator from his belt he yanked the arming pin out with his teeth and thumbed the five-second timer, hurling it over his head into the thirty-strong throng.  In the miasma of confusion they didn’t see it coming.

   “See you in hell!”  Goah covered his ears and shrank back into the crack he was hiding in as the detonator exploded, throwing some men into the air, some onto the ground and the rest into pieces.  Galletti slid out of the crack, skimming the rocks down to flatter ground and ran towards the encampment.  Firefights raged on around him, thick acrid Blaster smoke obscured his vision.  It was a tough and dangerous run but he swiftly made his way back to the main tent.

Inside was humid and sweaty.  A war room atmosphere had descended, section leaders and members of Glanns tactical hierarchy huddled around screens and projectors.  Some were concentrating hard listening to comm traffic.  All looked worried.  Galletti saw he face he was looking for near the partition.

   “Niern,” He gasped, the smoke flaying at his throat.  Nemec Niern turned from the tactical display.

   “Galletti.  How’s the fight going?” 

Goah frowned.

   “It’s almost gone.  When the hell does Lomona arrive?” 

Niern looked to the floor, an almost embarrassed look on his face and took Goahs shoulder.  Galletti shrugged it off angrily. 

   “Just tell me, whatever it is.  I’ve handled bad news before.” 

Niern nodded.

   “Lomonas not coming.”

   “You what?”  Goahs face twisted into an angry grimace.  “What do you mean he’s not coming?  What’s all this for if he’s not going to be here?” 

Niern looked away again.

   “I’ve just been told myself.  There’s been a change of plan.”

   “Oh, so there was a plan.”

Nemec Niern shrugged his shoulders in an almost embarrassed motion.

   “Lomonas not coming.  But someone else is.” 

Goah scratched his ear and swept his long dark hair behind it.  What now?  The fifth coming?

   “Who?”

   “Send Bigg Arrams team across the strip to protect the snipers.  Then send Limmle in.  Tell him to find someone who knows the exact location of the Heed.”  Dressel leaned back in his seat, which he had pulled close to the observation window.  He was alone except for his Twi’lek girl Saarla who reclined on the sofa across the room, oblivious to the situation.  Her pupils were dilated from the Gista spice she had taken, her lithe body taut and sheened in sweat.  Dressels Holo-unit remained activated, in case there was need for a swift exchange of information between the other five men involved, but Dressel didn’t anticipate it.  The job had gone well so far and now all that remained was to learn the final resting-place of the Heed.  It was close, he knew it.  So close he could almost smell the musty history and untold treasures buried within her.  And she would be his and his alone.  The others, they had served their purpose well.  Without the cross-pollination of information he doubted whether he would have made it this far.  Cipple had led them all on a merry dance through and out of the Setnin Sector.  He admired his cleverness.  But now the time had come for Glann to leave the spotlight and Dressel to take it.  Alone.  Devil take Treece and his petty machinations.  If the Moffs ego couldn’t allow for Cipple and himself to share the same sector then so be it.  Once Cipple had been removed, and the Heed claimed, no one would stand in his way.  Not even Treece.  And it was so close.  Almost without thinking he thumbed his laptop.

   “R’Toll, contact Moff Treece through a secure conventional channel.”

   “Yes sir.” 

Dressel waited a second as the message was relayed through.

   “Dressel.  It goes well, does it not.”  Treeces smug tones could be heard clearly through the ether.

   “Gods, he’s talking to Treece!”  Gasped Nemec Niern.  Everyone in the room paused, breathed shallow.  If only they could turn the volume down on the riot outside.

   “Extremely well Your Excellency.  All that remains is to discover the exact location of the Heed.”  A pause.  “Unless you have found it since our last discussion?”

   “Dressel, such a faithless thought.  I would have shared that information with you.  Never forget, I’m here for Cipple and Cipple alone.  Ships do not concern me.”  Dressel grinned openly, a luxury afforded to him by communicating through a comm unit. Of course ships don’t concern you.

   “My apologies Your Excellency.  Please, forgive my tactlessness.  We’re so close to completion, I would hate for anything to go awry.”

   “As would I.  All that remains is for Cipple to arrive and gloat over his victory.  Once he is in my brig, the spoils are yours.” 

Dressel motioned for his Twi’lek companion to come to him and smiled again.  A sly, duplicitous smile.

   “Most generous.”

Another second and the ground where he stood would not have supported his weight anyway.  His rocket pack blasted with a howl as Tarr Ranth leapt and swooped away from the top of the ridge, spreading oily fire onto the heads of his attackers below with his flame-thrower. In-helmet tactical displays informed him of his altitude and therefore which weapons would be most effective.  He wished to remain at a reasonable distance, giving him vital split seconds to adjust himself and avoid taking hits.  Like a massive armoured bat he swept past the enemy and onto the wall of the nearest ridge.  Moments later he was splatting shots into his foes with precise accuracy.  His armour deflected the few good shots coming his way, and again he began his move, sprinting behind a ton-heavy rock and taking cover.  Ranth smiled behind his mask.  Already he had dispatched twenty or so men, sent them kicking and screaming to hell.  Their encampment was gradually gaining a strong defence, the enemy not managing to penetrate their defences.  Both sides had sustained horrific losses during the conflict and would suffer many more.  Ranth was determined that his side would take the least.

   “….anth?  Tar……can you hea…e?” 

Ranth twisted a dial on the rim of his helmet, fine-tuning the bandwidth and focusing in on the transmission. 

   “..py, Rant…an you hear me?”  He checked his internal screen.  It was a safe transmission, coming from one of his own people.

   “I hear you.  Who is this?”

   “This is Galletti.”  Goah gripped the mike and glanced at Niern.  “There’s been a change in our attack plan.  I need you to gather a group of agents and lead the enemy towards the main open plain east of the ridge.  I can’t say any more, just that it’ll be worth the effort.” 

Ranth nodded and checked his rifle.  Fully loaded.

   “Copy.  Consider it done.”  He sprung out from his covered position, striking and then kicking an attacker down off the high ridge.  Without the aid of a jet-pack the Barada made a nasty stain at the foot of the ridge.  Ranth ran, leapt out into nothingness and activated his pack.  He free-fell fifty metres, blasted hard and sprayed more fire over the enemy.  Who would be the best man to help me build a team to draw the enemy, he thought. As the thought coalesced another huge plume of smoke rose from the rocks and ten men ran out, screaming and yelling, their clothes on fire.  Ryath Centaur followed, gunning them down and pinning them back into defensive positions. 

Ranth smiled.

Bingo.

Fiery swathes of super-heated atmosphere engulfed the star cruiser as she plummeted down, nearer and nearer to her landing position.  Her pilot knew exactly where to take her, what her location was, everything.  Like a falling angel she continued to fall.

   “I’m going back out there.”  Goah snatched at his rifle and moved away from the table.  “I’ve wasted enough time here.  I should be out there with the others.” 

Niern nodded and returned his attention to the screens.  Mactin held the apron back, allowing Goah to exit the tent.

   “Ranth and Centaur are making some headway.”  Mactin said.  “According to Grin they’ve almost led them to the ridge by the East plain.” 

Goah grunted.

   “It’ll all be for nothing if the ship don’t come.” 

Mactin laughed.

   “Oh, come on Goah.  When have you ever known Jan come on time?” 

Goah had to smile.

   “There’s no answer to that.”

They ran as fast as they could, rounding the edge of the encampment and into the fray.  It was chaos.  Packs and groups of fighters were milling around, laying into each other like a battlefield of old.  No one was organising them, no one shouting out orders.  But slowly, gradually, they were making their way towards the east plain.

   “Why lead them towards our ships?”  Asked Mactin between Blaster rounds.  “What’s this new plan?” 

Goah managed to let out a smile while sending five men back to their respective makers.

   “Watch the skies.” 

Mactin shrugged at the mystic comment and threw himself at another attacker.

   “Come on! Come and get some!!”  Centaur was doing his level best to antagonise his enemies, but to no avail.  The volume of the battle was too high, the sounds of screaming and death too deafening.  He needed a different approach.  Above him, Ranth was still laying down fire.  However, his attacks had been angled into different areas.  Using his flame-thrower to great effect he had managed to herd them, in small pockets, around the ridge and onto the plain.  It gave everyone a level playing field and equal opportunities for slaughter.  Little did they know they were being herded like Banthas.  Ranth flew over again.

And then Ryath had it.

He knew they were on a tight clock. Seconds counted, now more than ever.  His instructions were precise - get the enemy into the east plain by 17.20 hours.  It was 17.06 already and time was filtering away.  He needed Tarr Ranth on the ground, if only for a second.  Spraying shots with one hand he activated his comm with the other.

   “Ranth, are you there?”

   “Yes.”  Came the curt reply. 

Ryath breathed out.

   “We’ve got fourteen minutes to get them into the plain.  I’ve got an idea, but I need your help.”

   “One moment….got him!…what do you need?” 

Apart from a miracle? thought Ryath.  Not much.

   “Did you notice those megaphones in the command tent?”

Quenda Suncharr ducked under the flack being thrown from his left and rolled into a better firing position.  Satisfied that he’d improved his angle of attack he let loose with a steady barrage of fire.  Five of his enemies fell under the withering attack, crumpling to the dusty floor in heaps.  With a sly smile he checked his pistol and began to turn….

And came face to face with Goah Galletti.

Well, almost.   Galletti stood twelve metres away, rifle in hand, despatching laser bolts and opposition to hell.  Mactin stood back-to-back, spraying heavy fire and clearing a path for them.  Suncharr frowned.  He’d hated Galletti for a long while now and this was the closest he’d come to the assassin in ages.  Surely a stray shot, friendly fire, wouldn’t be totally unexpected.  Not in these circumstances.  He checked around himself.  He was almost totally alone.  He’d found such a secure position he doubted very much whether anyone could see him.  Perhaps this was his chance.  He paused.  Ahh, to hell with it.  Squinting, he crossed Goah in his sights.

   “No you don’t Suncharr.” 

Quenda cursed beneath his breath as Grin seemingly evaporated out of the ground, Blaster trained on his face.  Quenda grinned.

   “What’s the big deal?  I was covering him.” 

Grin raised a scaly eyebrow.

   “Covering yourself is more like it.”  He nodded at the battle.  “This isn’t the time.  Have your feud, I really don’t care.  But Glann is paying us a lot of money to get this done.  He’s put a lot of faith in me, and I won’t let you screw it up because of some old vendetta.  Got it?” 

Suncharr nodded.  He’d got it alright.  Grin was right, and as the scruffy ramp-hopper slipped away back into the fray he cursed again.  He got to his knees to begin edging back into the battle and noticed three snipers, sneaking their way to the ridges lip and training their weapons on Goah and Mactin.  Oblivious to the sneak attack the two continued pumping shots into attackers in front of them. 

Dammit!!

   “Galletti!!”  Suncharr yelled as he squeezed off three deadly accurate shots into the two Rodians and the Weequay, thumping them noisily off the ridge and onto the hard rocks below.  With a grateful nod Galletti thanked Suncharr.  Quenda returned the acknowledgement before sliding back into battle.  

Oh well. He thought.  Scratch another vendetta.

There! 

Again it showed up on his scanners.  A brief blip, a flash of a power signature.  A broken swirl of transponder numbers.  It had to be him, who else could it be?  Spyte angrily thumped his back into his chair and smacked his fist into the palm of his hand.  Damn it!  It was a trap, he knew it.  He wouldn’t be all the way out here for nothing, so there had to be more to it than simple deception.  His thoughts fell back to his conversation with Treece.  I’m never wrong, but sometimes my information is.  How true.  Now was the time for a decision.  To tell Treece and the others, or figure out some personal gain? The men on the ground had so far done well.  Of the three hundred and thirty assorted agents who had touched down on Soluman soil two hundred and five remained.  Massive losses, but only to be expected.  His own compliment of men had fared well. Only twelve agents lost.  But the Heed remained buried, its location still a mystery.  Spyte stood and moved away from the window of the Iron Fist.  Contact Treece or sit on it? 

Stang.

Centaur cursed as another gaggle of Glanns men fell under enemy fire.  Where the hell are you Ranth, he agonised silently.  This wasn’t going to work, there simply wasn’t the time.  Even if Ranth returned with the megaphone he doubted whether he could coral them into the plain.  No, there had to be another way.  Something simpler.  Almost in answer to his thoughts his comm crackled and he snatched at it.

   “Centaur, this is Galletti.”

   “Go ahead.”

   “Niern just had an idea.  Tune your comm to an open channel.” 

Ryath frowned.  Open channel?  Was he mad?  He thought about that for a moment.  Is Goah Galletti mad?  Next question.

   “And do what?”

   “Talk about the Heed being buried in the East Plain.” 

Ryath raised his eyebrows in surprise.

   “It is?” 

At the other end of the line Goah ducked back to avoid a phalanx of laser fire and smiled a weary smile. 

   “It is now.  Start talking.”

The man in the frayed leather jacket, with Feeses calling card and Treeces Imperial funds stashed in his pocket, listened intently to the message being relayed through his comm.  Madness! Had Centaur lost his mind? This was being broadcast on an open channel.  Anyone and everyone fighting on the plain, on both sides, could hear what was being said.

   “….that’s what I said Ranth. We’re pulling out of the encampment.  We’ve been totally over-run here, there’s nothing more we can do.  Get the men to the ships and prepare to dust off.”

   “I understand. But the Heed - ”

   “We’ll have to come back for it later.  They don’t know it’s buried in the East plain. It’s safe for now.” 

The man in the frayed leather coat laughed.  Safe in the East plain?!  Spyte would love this.  As would Treece.

It was a small island, placed almost gently in a swirl of crazy blue ocean.  Its pinkish soils could be made out, its mountains, canyons and plains.  One plain grew larger and larger, and the star cruiser continued her descent….

   “The East plain?”  Spyte chewed on his bottom lip.  He knew it was a trap, the feeling in his gut couldn’t be wrong.  But what a prize to risk your intuition on.  “Push the men forward.  Make sure we get to the plain first, and stake your claim.” 

The man in the frayed leather jacket grunted his acknowledgement, killed the connection and swiftly made another.

Lans paused a second, checking his instrumentation to verify the messages authenticity, and once satisfied moved to Treeces side.

   “Your Excellency, we have the exact location of the Heed.” 

Treece slowly turned to face his Commander.

   “And it is…?” 

Lans smiled.

   “The East plain, sir.”

He checked left, right and over head for signs of attack.  When none was immediately forthcoming he threw the frayed leather onto the ground, picked up a dusty, discarded hat and pulled it on.  There.  He looked different enough to switch sides – no one gets one over on Nester Torr.  With a cocky grin he ran towards the massed ranks of Treeces army battling on the East plain, thinking of his grandmother, Gundarks and top hats….

What else could they do?  There was no way they could defend the encampment from the constant attack.  Nor could they hope to claim or protect the Heed under such an onslaught.  Retreat was the only option left open to them.  Centaur and Ranth had led the defence of the encampment fiercely for a long while now.  Galletti and others had been busy sniping and picking off the opposition from higher, more protected ground.  But it ultimately proved to be useless.  Despite the fact that they wished to lure the enemy into the open ground of the East plain, the operation had moved quicker than anticipated.  Nemec Niern had no doubt that even if they’d wished to defend the base, they would have fallen in the face of superior numbers.

Galletti checked over his shoulder, being the last of Cipples men to leave their temporary base of operations.  Treeces mixed army were massing along the far side of the encampment, secure in the knowledge that they had finally run Cipples men off.  Ranth blasted low overhead as Goah jumped off the raised area and hit the plain, running to catch up with his fellow fighters.

A few minutes later, near to the relative safety of the thirty-five vessels grouped on the edge of the plain, Goah relaxed and slowed down.  He turned to view the massed army behind him. 

And wondered what the hell was really going on.

   “What the hells going on?”  Asked Centaur, slowing to a trot as the assassin rejoined the group. Ryath wiped his brow as Galletti shrugged.

   “Ask someone else.  As far as I’m concerned we’re leaving.”

   “Leaving?”  Ryath wiped his brow again.  “What about Lomona?” 

Goah pointed up ahead, to the edge of the plain and the distant horizon looming above it.

   “Just keep watching.  It’s not over yet.” 

Centaur smiled.

   “I don’t doubt it.”

   “A full retreat.  Sensible, under the circumstances.”  Treece began to laugh as he raised his glass to the Holo-image of the five ganglords before him.  Dressel looked almost childishly happy. Formoon radiated stunned disbelief, Predd Jason gave a cocky I-never-doubted-it smirk, and only Tasar and Spyte seemed subdued.  Subdued and sullen. 

Treece cared little.  This was it, the moment of glory.  For weeks they had tracked, harassed and chased the Sunrise team. And now they had even managed to beat the famously swift Berone Sunrise to its final location.  And Treece had no doubt that Cipple would soon arrive to gloat over his expected victory.  He had to.  It was almost poetically inevitable.  He continued.

   “What do you suggest we do now Gentles?  Now that victory is so close?”

   “Close?”  Queried Formoon.  “Victory is complete!” 

Treece straightened his face.

   “For you perhaps.  But not for me.  I want Cipple.” 

   “You may soon have what you desire Your Excellency.” 

Treece spun his seat around at the interruption. Commander Lans stood next to his desk.

   “Commander?” 

Lans smiled.

   “We’ve tracked a star cruiser making a descent over Devlin Island.” 

Treece smiled.  So close.

   “Identification, Commander?”

   “Heart of Amagad.  Glann Cipples starship.”

Two hundred men, women, droids and aliens filled the centre of the East plain.  Their victory had been hard won.  Cipples men had fought well, hard and courageously but to no avail.  Cipple was finished.  Somewhere buried beneath their feet lay the Heed.  Theirs for the taking. 

On the far edge of the plain they could make out the dejected shapes of Cipples men making their way back to starships and freighters.  There would be no celebrations for them tonight.  Knowing Glann Cipple, a swift death would probably be all that awaited them for their failure.  Tough.  They should have sensed which way the wind was blowing and joined the winning team. 

To the victor the spoils.

Twenty kilometres to go.  Soon, the star cruiser would be revealed from behind the thick, white clouds for the people below to see. 

Nineteen, eighteen. 

Surely they had been picked up on sensors by now.

Sixteen, fifteen. 

The pilot was surprised that there hadn’t been more resistance. 

Thirteen, twelve.

After all, this was a highly dangerous mission.

Ten, nine. 

No matter.  Soon the Heart of Amagad would be on solid ground and Glann Cipples message delivered.

Seven, six….

   “Get off Soluman as quickly as possible and hit hyperspace.  You know the rendezvous point.” 

A flurry of winking comm lights blinked confirmation, and Nemec Niern switched off the console.  From the cockpit window of the Phoenix he could make out the two hundred agents, the few remaining starships lifting off from the edge of the plain, the skies clouding over threatening rainfall.  From the midst of the clouds a white sliver of star cruiser descending rapidly from the sky above, aiming for the centre of the East plain. 

He smiled.  It had gone almost exactly to plan.  Except for the casualties.  As ever, what had seemed like the most important mission in the galaxy had to be paid off in blood. Someone’s dearest blood.  Shaking his head in a resigned, tired fashion he turned to Goah beside him in the pilots seat.  Gallettis face was a study in solemnity.

   “What’s troubling you?”  

Goah grimaced.

   “The Heed. Once it’s dug up everything will change.” 

Niern nodded.

   “True.  In a few minutes, things will never be the same.  But it’ll have very little to do with the Heed.” 

Galletti frowned.

   “What do you mean?”  He paused.  Something in the way Niern had phrased that last sentence.  What did he mean? A smile was ready to crack his features.  “The Heed is there, isn’t it…?” 

Niern shrugged and gazed out of the window at the descending star cruiser.

   “Who knows.”

Retro-thrusters activated, sending a sonic blast rolling through the canyons and across the East plain as the star cruiser hovered over-head.  The two hundred had parted for its touchdown, clearing the way towards the centre of the plain.  Gracefully, the massive star cruiser extended her landing claws and softly came to a halt on the pinkish sands of Soluman.  All was silent except for the hissing of the coolant being released from the engine jets. Seconds later the ramp began to extend….

   “I shall take Cipple into custody myself, of course.”  Said Treece, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders as he made his way up the ramp and into his shuttle, the Captive.  Commander Lans waited patiently at the foot of the ramp, arms crossed behind his back.  “You have the Repressor now, Commander.”

   “My thanks, Your Excellency.”  He paused.  “Any further instructions?” 

Treece waited at the top of the ramp as it began to close.  Mmmm.  What could possibly make today even better?  Ahh, yes…

   “Only one.  Have all starboard turbo lasers trained on our underworld guests.  In case they decide to do anything rash.  Or indeed anything at all.” 

Lans smiled and inclined his head.  A wise decision.

   “With pleasure.”

….a soft spray of sand billowed away from the edge of the ramp as it hit the ground.  None of the two hundred moved.  None did anything.  It wasn’t their place, they’d been told that.  Cipple was for Treece, and he was expected to arrive any minute.  All they would have to do was stop Cipple from leaving.  Once he realised he had foolishly landed in the midst of the enemy.  A flicker of shadows appeared at the top of the ramp.  A glisten of silver and gold.  Who is it? asked the gunman Bohe R’Toll.  What is it? queried fellow shooter Upya Oors. An excited murmur began to emanate throughout the crowd, a low groan that built in intensity until it rapidly became a cacophony of sounds.  Yells, cheers, screams and shouts echoed around the plain.  If Glann Cipple was idiot enough to enter the rancors nest, then he should expect everything he gets. 

And more.  Silver and gold continued to glisten.

   “A toast Kailo.”

   “To what?”

   “To life being full of surprises.” 

The female Duros smiled openly as the comm unit crackled on the table.

   “To surprises.”

   “Entering Solumans atmosphere now Your Excellency.  We will land in three minutes.” One of the two pilots turned around from his cockpit view to check on his passenger.  But the Grand Moff was busying himself with his buttons and his hair, oblivious to the information.  The pilot turned back.  What’s he up to this time?  He rarely left the confines of his safe-hold on Zelon, but when he did it was never without incident. The previous pilot once told him of a trip he’d made to the Leogard System…

   “I’m coming Cipple,” Murmured the Moff under his breath, just loud enough that the two pilots could hear him.  “I’m coming to take you away.”

Someone should take you away, thought the pilot and continued steering the Lambda class shuttle towards Devlin Island.

Smoothly oiled and perfectly balanced, the female-designed silver and gold droid walked down the ramp of the Heart of Amagad and came to a stop at the bottom.  Eyeing the crowd with a coolly detached gaze it lifted the flim it held in its right hand and began to read.

   “I have been instructed to read a prepared statement on behalf of Glann Cipple.”  There was a brief pause as the clouds gathered.  “`Gentles.  As you are no doubt now aware you have beaten me to the location of the legendary Starship Heed.  Congratulations.  Your cunning and deception has bagged you a prize undreamed of by most mortal beings.  I, for my sins, bow to your superior power and humbly offer my surrender in the hope that you allow me to live and serve in your employ.’” 

There was an astonished cheer from the two hundred on the plain….

   “I don’t like it.”  Growled Spyte, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  “Since when has Cipple ever talked like that?” 

The five holograms flickered.

   “True,” Concurred Tasar.  “something’s wrong.  But what?”

   “Apart from it being a trap?” Mocked Dressel.   “Come now Geon.  Cipple cowers within his ship, too ashamed to face his victors.  A droid reads a prepared statement.  How much more perfect could it possibly be?”

   “You’ve been hanging out with Twi’leks too much.”  Cut in Jason.  “Spyte’s right.  Cipple ain’t stupid.  He wouldn’t just drop into the middle of a crowd and surrender.”  He squinted suspiciously.  “Besides, Lomona hasn’t arrived yet.”

   “Forget Lomona.  What are you saying Jason?”  Snapped Dressel angrily.  “What’s the matter with you?  We’ve won!  How could you possibly think otherwise?”

   “Shhh!”  Admonished Formoon.  “Listen.”

   “`As terms of surrender, I offer to you this star cruiser, and the droids within.  I, however, shall never surrender.’” 

Somewhere within the star cruiser a timer activated. 

T-minus ten, nine…. 

   “`You shall not take me.  You shall not have the Heed ….’”

Treece closed his eyes as the Island gained sharper edges.

   “So close….”

   “`….you shall have nothing but the cold embrace of death.  Remember these words - I know who you are.’” 

Six, five. 

   “`Good day Treece. I’ll see you in hell.’”

Three, two.... 

The droid dropped the flim onto the silent sands. 

   “That concludes Glann Cipples message.” 

Smoothly, the droid de-activated for the final time. 

One, zero…

Everything turned white.  Devlin Island turned to ash.  The ocean began to boil.

   “Sir, incoming blast wave!  Hang onto something!!” 

Treece stood slowly from his seat as the universe around him started to rumble.  

It couldn’t be.

   “No!!  So close!” 

He saw the mushroom cloud blister its way toward the Captive, felt its hot breath rip around the hull, its force shudder the shuttle.  But all he felt inside was the emptiness of defeat.  The hollow feeling of loss.  And the thumping realisation that Cipple had probably known all along that it was Treece who’d hounded him to hells gate.  Treece sank to his knees, head in hands.  He knew he would not survive the next few moments, but at least he had the small satisfaction of knowing Cipple would never possess the Heed.

   “My god….”  Tasars voice trailed off in amazement as the small island below him disintegrated into dust and mud, a tidal wave lashing back and away from the hole where Devlin Island had stood moments before.  He knew it was a trap, it had to be.  Cipple was far too clever to do anything less.  But he had believed superior numbers and a wider spread of field intelligence would win out.  How wrong he was.  The Heed was lost now, to everyone.  Two hundred thousand credits gone, and for what?   The loss of his best men. Weeks spent tailing the Berone Sunrise.  Weeks of intelligence work, wasted.  And because of whom?  Tasar rolled his sleeves up and gritted his teeth.  Someone had to pay. 

Someone always did.

Treece….

Breemarr Trading Station. Along the maze of corridors within the station lay an outlet of Zythlies Dropout Parlour.  Not an unusual finding in these regions but unusual to find one so empty.  Save for two figures nestled at the rear of the establishment, huddled over a lonely candle, two drinks and a crackling communicator unit.  Kailo the Duros smiled at her white-haired companion and sipped from her glass.  The Geenau Whiskey went down smoothly and she nodded in satisfaction. Liquor didn’t come much better than this.  Opposite, her companion finished his water and leaned back in his seat, the trace of a satisfied smile teasing the edges of his mouth.  Kailo blinked.

   “So.  It is done.  Your mission is complete.” 

Melm shook his head.

   “It remains incomplete until I am at Glann Cipples side. But yes, this part of the mission is ended.” 

Kailo frowned.  An un-answered question.

   “Somehow, you knew I would not attempt to stop you.”  She smiled.  “A risky gamble.  After all, I am Dressels bodyguard.  I had more than a degree of personal interest” 

Melm looked out of Zythlies doorway.  No one about, snooping or eves-dropping.

   “By the time I arrived on the station I’d already set the star cruisers co-ordinates for Devlin’s Island and programmed the droid with the message from Glann.  How could you stop me?” 

Kailo nodded in appreciation.

   “You did the message?”

   “I did.  I have an element of latitude in these matters.”  He leaned forward.  “Although I believe Glann will rue the loss of his star cruiser.” 

Kailo smiled.

   “Not as much as Soluman will rue the loss of its island.”  She finished her Whiskey and stood.  “I must leave.  Dressel is expecting me, and no doubt you are expecting Lomona.” 

She knows, thought Melm.  She’s already figured out that he’s not coming. He nodded anyway.

   “No doubt.”

   “Shall we agree that this exchange never happened?”

   “A wise precaution.”

   “We will meet again Melm.” 

Melm stood to escort her from the bar.

   “We always do.” 

The female Duros shook Melms hand and left him, alone in the half-lit entrance of an empty bar on a deserted space station.