Just Another Face in the Crowd2002 short story by Mark Newbold Seven years
before Episode IV – A New Hope The world of Actua Dua. Petrol Merritch had been before and had no desire to visit again. Eleven billion people crammed onto a world barely larger than a small moon with a rapidly rising population and no end in sight to the misery, Actua Dua was the smugglers true idea of hell. Merritch preferred the wide-open desert expanses of his home world Cawbate, and the calming seas of hyperspace. This swarming dirt ball of life was abhorrent to him. He docked his freighter the D’Dash Decider aboard one of the many docking barges that hovered high above the planets surface and walked through the portmasters office towards the ferries that would take him to the surface below. He squinted and drew a deep breath as he was pushed along with the crowds. Actua Dua was an unimpressive world located towards the Outer Rim and had many historical affiliations with the Setnin Sector, the core location of his work with the ganglord Dressel. Merritch regularly did jobs this far out, guarding Dressels interests away from Setnin and keeping a watchful eye on his operations towards the Outer Rim. For Dressel, there was as much money to be made away from Setnin as in it, and with his former partner and chief competitor Glann Cipple making such huge profits back home, he’d decided to concentrate on his non-Setnin concerns. Which was fine by Petrol Merritch. He enjoyed long jaunts away from the sector; they only helped to enhance his already fearsome reputation. But he never enjoyed Actua Dua. Merritch minded the gap as he stepped aboard the ferry and began the long journey down to the dirt-encrusted world. Actua Dua was largely mud, with a spattering of lakes and rivers, but no real oceans of note. Much of the planets moisture collected in the clouds that drifted above, and spat their load down onto the surface at regular intervals, only to be absorbed back into the skies. If grime and silt could be exported, Actua Dua would indeed be a rich world. But as it was, it was a pitiable planet, where the populace lived a hand-to-mouth existence. Bright sunlight filled the windows of the ferry as he watched impassively, the short journey taking them past other docking barges and ferries, speeders and swoops. Enormous skyscrapers filled the horizon of the cityscape, looking strangely out of place on the low technology world, and Merritch winced inwardly as he thought of the tens of thousands of families that lived within each of their steel grey confines. He wiped his ebony brow as the heat began to rise, trip concluded, and following the mass of bodies he exited the ferry and made a mental note of the vehicle number. As ever he was unhappy that he couldn’t land his freighter on the surface, but he understood the requirement to leave his ship on a docking barge a few kilometres above the ground. On Actua Dua, every square centimetre of ground was precious. Petrol Merritch focused his
mind on the task at hand, and the reason he was here. Business. Dressel had many concerns out here on the edge of the Outer Rim
Territories, some that were stable and solid, some not so. The criminal operations of the gangster
Jabba the Hutt were always of concern to Dressel, and while he was wise
enough to not consider messing with the larger and more established operator,
he wasn’t averse to dancing along the edges of the Hutts empire. After all, it’s a big galaxy,
argued Dressel. There’s room for everybody. Petrol’s travels took him through the swarming market square towards the teeming warehouse district, where every available piece of ground was inhabited by a beggar, salesperson or performer. Street people of every kind worked their turf, trying to eke out a living where there wasn’t one. Luckily for Merritch, he was a large and imposing soul, and few had the nerve to approach him. Those that did were met with an icy glare or a brusque comment. While his sympathies may have lay with the people of Actua Dua, that sympathy didn’t extend to hand outs. Like every other citizen of the galaxy, they would have to make their own fortune, and their own luck. He’d done the same, and from even more humble beginnings. The throng thinned out as he reached the container hub, an enormous building reaching ten stories into the skies. A broad landing pad sat atop the hub, and perched on it sat a huge stock heavy freighter. Merritch narrowed his eyes, noting the configuration of the vessel and moved towards the entrance. He knew that from now on he was unwelcome, and whoever he met would likely be a hostile. But Merritch was prepared for that. He wasn’t known for being the jovial type, and a visit from Petrol Merritch was often a precursor to trouble. Dressels enemies and opponents knew that only too well. Petrol checked left and right, above and around before pushing the large door open. It was cool and shady inside, the hissing of air conditioning laying a backdrop to his thoughts. He lowered his hand to his hip and the blaster that lay there, easing it out of its holster and holding it by his side. Another huge door lay just ahead, one that led into the main area of the container hubs first and main floor. He checked the layout of the room as best he could, took a shallow breath and entered. He moved in unnoticed. Worker droids scurried about, oblivious to the large mans movements. Merritch stuck to the walls, the shadows, where he operated best, and edged towards the stairs that led upwards to the office, where he planned to begin his surveillance of the container hub and hack in to their computer, pillaging any information he could about their activities. Treading with caution, he tackled the metal steps, moving in silence, and reached the top. With an inward smile of satisfaction he opened the door, And the next thing he knew the tiles on the floor were racing towards him like a tide and his eyelids rushed down to greet them. “He’s coming around.” The lead man pulled his compatriot back from Merritch’s chair and frowned. “Watch him. I know about this son-of-a-krayt. They say he’s a danger even when he’s asleep.” “Better believe it.” growled Merritch as he shook his head to consciousness and fixed the man with a cold glare. “I could dream you dead.” The man leaned in towards the smuggler and grinned. “Enjoy it smuggler scum. It’s the only chance you’ll get.” Petrol narrowed his eyes and tested the bonds that held
his wrists in place. They were
secure, probably bound by crate packaging or plate stripping. Nothing he could conceivably prise his way
out of. Lucky for them they know
how to secure their cargo, he thought to himself. I’m not in the mood for this. The man walked around Petrol, pausing only to glance through the wide window down onto the container bay below. It was a flurry of activity, people and droids massing everywhere, whizzing around carrying out tasks and duties like drones. He turned back to Merritch and seated himself opposite. Petrol cocked his head slightly, waiting for some pithy comment or cheap jibe. He wasn’t disappointed. “So, you’re the legendary Petrol Merritch?” He snorted. “I don’t think much to Dressels staff these days. You were easier to catch than a granite slug on tranquillisers.” Petrol didn’t blink, didn’t visibly move, he just retuned the stare with intensity. The man split a broad grin across his face. “Ooohh, attitude. I like attitude. Makes breaking you even more fun.” “Breaking me for what?” The man stood and continued his walk. “Dressel must’ve sent you here for a reason.” He paused and fixed Petrol with a stare. “You’re a top dog in his organisation, which makes me wonder why he sent you all the way to a hole like this. After all,” he motioned outside. “Actua Dua ain’t exactly known as a tourist haven.” He stopped his mosey and paused in thought. “And you and this place have a history. Ain’t that so?” Petrol straightened his head and narrowed his eyes. “True. I’ve been here before.” He turned to glare at the other nine in the room. “It’s a hole.” “A hole important enough to have Dressel send you here.” He smiled. “I have my suspicions why he’s made you come. But believe me,” he paused again and leaned in towards Merritch. “By the time I’m through he won’t dare send a ship this far towards the Rim ever again.” “Is that so?” replied Merritch, a slight smile curving the edge of his lips. “Why’s that?” The man made as if to answer, but grinned and wagged a finger at Petrol, who followed him with his eyes as he began to back away. “That’s for me to know and…” He never finished his sentence as Petrol exploded forwards, his seat pulling behind him. He head butted the man full force under the chin, dropping him to the floor in an unconscious heap, ducked down and spun in a three-hundred and sixty degree arc, taking down another four shocked goons. The remaining four quickly reached for their weapons, but Merritch was far too swift and smashed into them with the chair, the legs battering them and knocking them off balance. Two stumbled backwards into the window, breaking the smudged plasti-glass and dropping three metres down to the hard concrete below. The other two paused; their blasters not quite out of their holsters, waiting to see what Petrol would do next. He butted one, a burly Rodian, in the stomach and then stretched as hard as he could, pushing the bindings down his legs and standing upright. He leaned in to the last man, pressing him against the wall. Glancing down at the other eight bodies, the man stammered as Merritch glowered at him. “Release me, now. Unless you’re friends with pain.” The man didn’t hesitate to free Petrol of the crate binding, the steely synthetic wrapping dropping to the floor. Merritch rubbed his wrists slowly as the man stayed pressed against the wall, hardly daring to breath. He’d certainly heard of Petrol’s reputation, the smuggler could see the fear stained all across his face, so he played on that fear as he had done so many times before, his large frame and ruby-rich voice only helping to enhance that perception. “You were waiting for me. How did you know I was here?” The nervous man paused, a sheen of sweat lacing his forehead. He rubbed his palms together, desperate for someone, anyone, to enter the room and drag him away from the situation. Merritch slapped him round the face with the back of his hand, a contemptuous gesture that widened the mans already dinner-plate wide eyes. “Tell me.” Merritch leaned in, his eyes narrow white slits embedded in his mahogany face. “Now.” It was a simple request, but so ingrained with dark intent it could have been a death threat, which it as good as was. The man swallowed hard. “Ensonn received a coded message this afternoon. Told us one of Dressels men was on his way. Just one, alone, no back up. Ensonn guessed it was you. Said no one else would be dumb enough,” He flinched as Merritch growled at the comment. “Or brave enough to come here without backup.” Merritch twitched an eye and glanced at the floor, where the main man lay. “Ensonn?” The nervous man nodded quickly. Merritch was aware of Ensonn but had never met or seen
his visage before. A former employee
of Dressels, he had been caught skimming profits and was sent to the Outer
Rim as punishment. But he’d held a
grudge, and occasionally caused problems for Dressels men. So, they had warning, thought
Merritch. Only a handful of people
even know I’m out of Setnin. But why
warn a scummer like Ensonn? He’s
strictly small fry, a man with no vision.
Who in Setnin would deal with him? Petrol turned his attention back to the nervous man and waited, quietly enjoying the discomfort he was dishing out. “I’m not sure what I should do with you.” Merritch began as he stepped back, checking through the broken window and down to the mess of glass and groggy bodies below. “If I leave you alive, fate tells me you’ll be the one to bring me down.” The mans face collapsed in a shiver of fear and he shook his head emphatically. “No way, not me. Don’t do things like that.” he answered with a nervous quiver in his reedy voice. Merritch eyed him closely and flicked out a hammer sized fist that connected with the mans temple and levelled him to the floor. “I do.” said Merritch impassively as he exited the room, leaving the container hub as silently as he had entered it. “And you say they knew you were coming?” “It was a classic welcoming party.” Petrol could sense Dressels annoyance from the other end of the line, his employers voice crackling down the line in the confines of the Deciders cockpit. Dressel was not the kind of man who liked to be second-guessed, under any circumstances. More importantly, he wasn’t the kind of gangster who enjoyed it, and learning that his prime smuggler had run into such trouble on a hole like Actua Dua didn’t fill him with glee. Far from it, he was seething with annoyance, because even before Petrol mentioned the name, he knew that it was Ensonn who had caused the problem. “You made the usual calls, the regular arrival?” asked Dressel, knowing that Merritch would have done just that. Petrol growled an affirmative, and Dressel let out a long breath. Ensonn had finally become more trouble than he was worth, but Dressel was loath to eliminate him, for a handful of reasons. Ensonn was a nuisance, but nothing more than that, and he had a genuine grudge against Dressel, which Dressel was well aware of. And monitoring Ensonns activities gave Dressel an insight into Actua Dua’s underworld intricacies, which was well worth knowing. But even this far away from the Setnin Sector and Dressels influence Ensonn could cause little damage to Dressels concerns on the Outer Rim. And besides, the Setnin ganglord had friends and allies even out here. They kept him well informed about Ensonns activities. Or at least, they usually did. This lapse in security bothered Dressel. In recent months, his former partner and now prime adversary Glann Cipple had vastly increased his sphere of influence in and around Setnin. While he concentrated on his home sector, making a fortress around himself, he also had runs towards the Core and out towards the Rim. Dressel had decided to ease back on direct confrontation for the time being, and was aiming squarely at building his business outside Setnin. It was a ploy that was working, and he knew that eventually he would be able to work harder within Setnins borders and level the playing field. Dressel was a patient man with an eye on the long-term game plan, and this kept him in the action. Meanwhile, Ensonn was allowed to make his petty plans and stabs at the larger beast that was Dressels empire, and Dressel would ignore it like a tick on the back of a Bantha. Until now. “I’m not best pleased about this Petrol.” Dressel said, his voice low and full of thoughts, unsaid words. Merritch knew his boss well; probably better than Dressel thought he did. He knew what was coming next, what request would be laid at his door, couched in pleasantries and promises of reward. Dressel knew Petrol would say yes, as did Merritch. It was just the simple the dance of routine that needed to be done. “I have a request to make of you Merritch,” began Dressel, and Petrol narrowed his eyes. “You’re position on Actua Dua has been compromised. You were to monitor the activities at the container hub but Ensonn and his men intercepted you.” “That is correct,” answered Merritch. “In future, I would prefer to be made aware of such threats. If I had known Ensonn would be a problem I would have come better prepared.” Dressel paused at the other end of the line. Petrol was right of course, but it still stung to be reprimanded, subtle as it may have been. He nodded to himself and cleared his throat. “Of course. Speaking of which, I shall require the removal of Ensonn.” “Permanently?” enquired Merritch, knowing full well that there was no other way. “Permanently.” affirmed Dressel, and he smiled to himself as Merritch closed the line, confident in the knowledge that as useful as Ensonn may have been in the past he would be no such thing in the future. Petrol Merritch pondered his game plan in the darkness
of his cockpit as below him, the teeming masses of Actua Dua made their way
to evening prayer. He steepled his
fingers in a lattice of thought and breathed deep through his flared nostrils. His original reason for being on Actua
Dua, watching the activity at the container hub and covertly keeping check on
certain characters, had now been abandoned.
Now his mission was both more straightforward and more
complicated. He was to eliminate
Ensonn and his cohorts, but where was Ensonn, and how many goons did he have
in his employ. Dressel had been more
than economical with detail, and Petrol felt like he was walking blindly into
another potentially lethal situation.
Ensonn, if he were as savvy as Petrol had been led to believe, would
know the way Dressel worked, and be prepared for retribution. With eleven billion people to choose from
he’d soon find people to protect him.
He could probably find people desperate enough to die for him, thought
Merritch. So I’ll have to think
outside of the box. Come up with an
alternate plan of attack. He smiled to himself as an idea began to formulate in his mind. A possible answer to his problem. He stood, turned and left the cockpit that led directly to the ramp. He exited, closed his vessel and made his way back to the ferry that would return him to the surface, the short trip consumed with thoughts and plans. For thirty minutes every evening the streets of Actua Dua emptied as her citizens gave prayer and thanks to the world’s gods. Thanks for what Merritch didn’t know, but he was thankful, and the only other faces he saw were other offworlders like himself who made the most of the relatively empty streets and rushed their way through the city to whatever destination or business they had. Merritch knew precisely where he was headed, and knowing that that it would be largely empty he entered the container hub, made his way up the short flight of metal steps and waited in the office. Ensonn was no Actua Duan, and as such didn’t associate himself with their customs. Merritch knew that a former Setnin operator like him would make the most of the available free time and get some work done. Check the books, or in Ensonns case cook them. He would be exactly where he knew he would be, and Petrol would be waiting for him. Merritch heard footsteps on the stairs and prepared himself as the door opened. “Ensonn, it’s about time. Have a seat.” Merritch kicked out a chair and Ensonn considered bolting for the door before he spotted the concealed bulge of a blaster in Petrol’s pocket. He seated himself and frowned. “So, is this where you warn me not to get above my station? Tell me that Dressel is annoyed and ready to have me taken out of the picture?” He said it with an edge of bitterness in his voice, and no small degree of uncertainly. Surely Merritch would have turned him to cinder by now if that was his intent. He wasn’t known for his conversation. But Merritch shook his head and stood, closing the door shut and leaning against it. “Why would Dressel want that? You’ve become quite a player out here, and he wants in on that. Dressel wants to arrange a meeting, discuss closer ties between your operation and ours.” Ensonn couldn’t hide the eye bulging look of surprise, but it was swiftly replaced by the gleam of avarice. “So, Dressels finally seen sense. Realised that I’m a player. Maybe he should be the one travelling out here to meet up with me.” Ensonn grinned widely and eased back into his seat. “After all, he’s the one doing the chasing.” Merritch nodded slowly in agreement. “He never said that he wouldn’t come out here. Maybe he will, I don’t know.” He leaned forward. “So, are you in?” Petrol had seen that face a thousand times. A small-timer, puffing up his chest and punching far above his weight. Ensonn paused, pulled a non-committal face and nodded. “I guess I can find the time. But no promises. If what Dressels offering isn’t worth my time I’ll be back here quicker than you can say hydrospanner.” Petrol eased away from the door and reached down to open it. “I’ll contact him on Cawbate. Expect to hear from me soon.” Ensonn waved him away as he closed the door behind him, and Merritch could still hear the laughter of surprise as he walked away from the building. “You did what?” Dressel yelled as Merritch raised his eyebrows in the darkness of the Deciders cockpit. “Since when did the word `permanently’ and all the implied meaning therein suddenly become `let’s arrange a meeting sometime?’” Petrol blew out a long breath, just loud enough so that he made sure his employer heard it. He paused before answering. “Actua Dua is an important world. Eleven billion people live here. As efficient as it might be to eliminate Ensonn quietly, a strong message would be given out if he were to be humiliated.” “A strong message would be given out to who, exactly?” “His men. Other fools on the Outer Rim who wish to interfere with your operations. You said it yourself, there’s room for everybody out here, even with the Hutts claiming so much for themselves. But an example like this will keep other operators away from your piece of the pie.” He paused as much for effect as for collecting his thoughts. “And it might also bring some agents over to your side. It never hurts to have eyes out here on the Rim.” Dressels silence spoke a thousand words, and Merritch wondered for a second if even he had overstepped the mark. As bold and accomplished as he was, Dressel wasn’t a man to have as an enemy. Mass graves could testify to that. “I don’t appreciate my orders being ignored. But I can see the wisdom of your words.” Merritch could hear the rustle of flims as Dressel shuffled through them. “Very well, do what you must. Contact Ensonn in the morning and tell him I’m en route and that I’ll meet him noon tomorrow at the town meeting hall. Tell him to come alone, and ask him to wear the blue flower. Don’t worry, he’ll know precisely what that means.” Merritch knew that every agent had a personal code, something relevant to them and only them. He had his own, but what it meant even he didn’t know. But he knew that the day it was uttered to him he would answer it. And the same stood for Ensonn. “Consider it done.” “Yes Petrol, and this time make certain it is.” “The blue flower?” “That’s what he said.” Petrol cocked his head to one side. “What exactly does that mean?” Ensonn grinned widely and opened his arms wide. “It means that pretty soon you’ll be calling me `sir’.” Merritch had to force himself to smile at that comment as he followed Ensonn out of the office and towards the nearest bar. Ensonn insisted on a drink before meeting with Dressel, and despite the fact that Merritch knew his employer would still be many light years away in the Setnin Sector attending to matters infinitely more important than a small-time crook like Ensonn, he decided to go along with the pretence and indulge the man. Besides, he probably only had a few hours left to live, and what harm would a drink do anyway? They entered the bar, a non-descript taverna with an indecipherable name etched into the stonework above the door, and made their way through the crowd to the bar. Merritch ordered water while Ensonn ordered a round of drinks for everyone in the taverna. Merritch was quietly impressed. A bar on Actua Dua regularly held anything up to six or seven hundred people, even a small one like this. Clearly they don’t have a problem with fire regulations, he thought to himself as his drink arrived with surprising speed and he sipped at the beverage as Ensonn downed a tankard of spice wine in a flash. Noon approached and he nodded to Ensonn, the spice wine weakening the mans knees and loosening his tongue. Somehow he’d managed to tell everyone in the bar of his impending partnership with the noted ganglord Dressel, and knowing that news spread quickly around Actua Dua, in retrospect Merritch was relieved that they had made a stop at the taverna. Inadvertently, Ensonn had achieved what Petrol wasn’t sure he could – make the public humiliation of Ensonn a certainty, and at the same time send out a message to all those who would dare mess with Dressel. And with Merritch. Ensonn came along noisily, dragging his feet behind Merritch and bemoaning the fact that he had left behind a particularly attractive Twi’lek dancer who’s name he couldn’t quite remember. If Dressel were really arriving on planet, Petrol would have sobered the fool up and made his demise a meaningful one, but since he was only taking him to the town meeting hall to play out Dressels orders it made little difference. To Petrol’s shock the hall was completely empty. Outside was a throbbing mass of bodies and droids, but here the air was cool and the large, oval room was deserted. I assume the people don’t have much to talk about he mused to himself. Ensonn followed him, slamming the door shut and stumbling into the centre of the floor. “Okay Dressel, it’s past noon. Where are you? I’m a busy man, I have Twi’leks to attend to.” He laughed raucously at his own weak humour as Merritch walked down a few steps into the debating pen, turning in a circle and pausing, his senses alerted to danger. He lowered his hand to his blaster, feeling uncertainty and doubt as he wondered if Ensonn had somehow managed to trick him into a trap. They were being watched from behind the swathes of curtains that were draped around the circular room, he knew it. He could feel the prickly motion of unseen eyes follow him as he paced across the floor, and the shallow breathing of the hidden. “Ensonn, so good to see you.” Merritch and Ensonn spun around at the same time, but it was Merritch’s face that held the look of surprise. You’re not supposed to be here. It was a lie to lure Ensonn away from his allies. He felt a deep sting of disappointment as a realisation came to him. You don’t trust me to get the job done. Meanwhile, Ensonn grinned widely, swinging his arms by his side as he swaggered forward. “Dressel, glad you could make it,” he slurred as he raised his arm to point at the white suited Setnin gangster. “You’re about to strike the best deal of your life.” “I don’t doubt it.” Dressel replied as he began walking down the steps to join the two men. Dressel glanced at Merritch, his initial surprise melted down into the emotionless mask that usually rested there. Dressel looked back at Ensonn and smiled. “How long has it been Ensonn? Five years, six?” “Try ten. Ten long years of scratching a living out of a dump like this.” Ensonn frowned. “But I’ve managed to do it. No thanks to you.” Dressel raised an eyebrow, and from the shadows Ensonn
and Merritch could see faces and figures step forward from the darkness. Petrol recognised a handful of the
faces. Dressels brought back
up. He completed his sweep and
spotted some familiar, albeit rather bruised faces from the container hub the
day before. And Ensonns men too. I apologise Ensonn. I would have thought you’d prefer banishment to death. Really Ensonn, your death was the only other alternative.” Dressel began to pace around the circle, his eyes never leaving Merritch or Ensonn. “You were one of the very first men I hired after my previous partnership had dissolved, and so naturally I felt a certain…loyalty towards you.” Dressel was referring to his teaming with Glann Cipple, Dessio D’Staan and Riger, a deal that had ended a decade before. “But you decided to defy me. Make a nuisance of yourself. Even way out here, far away from Setnin, you knew that your actions could wound me. And you did wound me, I’ll give you that.” Ensonn gave Dressel an uneven, cocky grin and raised his eyebrows in a gloating gesture. The ganglord continued. “But ultimately you were an inconvenience.” He furrowed his brow. “One I could remove at any time.” Ensonn faltered, his swagger stumbling like the shaky legs that began to betray him. Merritch was all too aware that while Dressel was directly addressing Ensonn he was also delivering his warning to him. More faces emerged from the shadows, of both affiliations, side-by-side, mixing together. But only one faction held blasters, those of Dressel. “Now come on Dressel. You didn’t come all the way out here to have me whacked when Merritch could have done it for you.” Ensonn tried to grin but his face failed him. Dressel folded his arms, holding his hand under his face and tapping his chin in thought. “You said it yourself Ensonn. You’re a player now, and as such I would be remiss if I ignored that threat. After all, I wouldn’t be much of a ganglord if I underestimated my enemies, would I?” Ensonn cleared his throat as he too noticed all the weapons pointing towards himself and his men. “Enemies? I’m not your enemy. We’re here to make a deal!” Dressel gave Ensonn a warm, almost fatherly look as he
reached into his pocket and withdrew a palm pistol, which he raised and aimed
directly at Ensonns heart. “You’re a fool Ensonn. You’ve been writing cheques you can’t cash, and now it’s time to collect.” He depressed the trigger but looked at Merritch as the flash of energy bore its way through Ensonns heart, killing him stone cold before he hit the floor. His Actua Duan men all froze, a sharp collective intake of breath as they expected the same to happen to them, but instead Dressels men lowered their weapons and turned to face the Setnin ganglord who calmly placed the ornate pistol back into his pocket. “Never send a boy to do a mans job.” He muttered almost inaudibly to himself as he addressed those present. “I have a proposition for you all that I insist you accept. My interests out here in the Outer Rim grow by the minute, and Actua Dua is a key location in that expansion. Therefore, I’m offering you employment. Work for me, be my eyes and ears in this sector and I shall make certain you are well compensated.” He lowered his voice a notch, making the men lean forward to hear his words. “I’m an ambitious man. The Mid-Rim and her petty concerns aren’t enough for me. I intend to expand and grow, unlike some of my competitors. This opportunity will be good for all concerned. And so I ask, will you join me? Those who wish to accept my offer, remain seated” He paused. “Those who wish to decline, you may leave at your convenience.” Of the forty or so men present, three stood to leave, but barely made more than three paces before being struck down by blaster fire. The remaining men hardly skipped a beat before pledging their allegiance to Dressel and his operation. It was a wise but risky move. While they kept their lives and gained the possibility of leaving Actua Dua, an opportunity afforded to precious few of the population, they also stood a greater chance of dying in the employ of Dressel. Dressel liked his gang wars, and always made certain he had enough cannon fodder to impress the opposition. And a world of eleven billion would make excellent cannon fodder. The room cleared of agents and bodies, leaving only Merritch and his employer. Dressel dusted off a step and sat, motioning for Petrol to do the same. Dressel eyed the spot where Ensonn had finally fallen and then turned to Merritch. “You didn’t expect me to come to Actua Dua, did you?” Merritch shook his head in agreement. “No. I believed it was a ruse for Ensonn, so I could eliminate him. After his outspoken performance in the taverna, most of the city knows of his dealings with you.” “And I like that just fine.” smiled Dressel. “The more my name is whispered in these parts, the more I can press my advantage. Cipple may own Setnin, but I intend to own the front and back doors in. Don’t get me wrong, I want the Setnin Sector for myself, and one day I will have it. But for now, I’m content making hay while the sun shines here on the Outer Rim.” Dressel looked forward in thought, back to the circular floor of the meeting hall, and the pale puddle of blood that dried where Ensonn and his men had died. “You disobeyed my orders.” Merritch nodded. “Yes I did.” “I understand the reasoning behind your judgement call, but I didn’t send you all the way out here to be a loose cannon. You can play that game in Setnin, where I can keep a close eye on you.” Merritch almost involuntarily straightened his back at the comment, but remembered his own brusqueness with Dressel only a day before. Petrol may have been brief and to the point when it came to speaking, but even he had to bow down to Dressels seniority. The man had carved out for himself a slice of Setnin history, and was one of the all-time pre-eminent ganglords. And that was a lineage that held considerable weight in Setnin. “You sent me out here to be your representative. In doing that, you placed your trust in me.” Merritch looked at his employer. “I can’t call Cawbate every time I have a decision to make.” “And I don’t expect you to.” Agreed Dressel. “But these orders were quite explicit, and for good reason.” “What reason?” asked Petrol, but Dressel gave him a stern glance. “If you have to ask, that means you don’t need to know.” Dressel stared forward. “I need to know I can trust you to follow orders. You’re one of my very best men, but you must learn not to second-guess me. Unlike other Setnin gangsters, I do leave my headquarters. I prefer seeing my operations at close hand, not through reports and flims. Your reaction at seeing me earlier,” he smiled. “I liked that. It told me that I haven’t lost the element of surprise. I’m going to need that in the years ahead. And I know I’m going to need you.” Dressel stood to his feet and dusted himself free of dust. Merritch remained seated, eyeing his employer as he wiped his hands together. “I must return to Cawbate. There are certain dealings with the Quarshannel Sector that require my immediate attention. But for the time being, think about what I have said. You have a bright future Merritch. You are one of my best assets. Don’t spoil that.” Dressel walked briskly out of the meeting hall, leaving Merritch to his thoughts. Petrol didn’t ruminate on those thoughts for long, and after only a brief time he left the hall to hit the packed streets that led back to his ship. The D’Dash Decider was as dark as ever; just how Merritch liked it, and the blackness of his vessel matched the colour of his mind. He knew Dressel was right. That he could indeed have a promising career in his chosen profession, if he stuck to the script. But Petrol wasn’t a man for following orders like a tram on rails. He had a manner, a style, and he had every intention of living his life and career accordingly. Dressel would learn that soon enough, and the days of correction would be a distant memory. Petrol Merritch gunned his engines and left Actua Dua, watching it until it was a grain of dirt in his wake, and then hit hyperspace. Just Another Face in the Crowd2002 short story by Mark Newbold Seven years
before Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – Another story in the life of
smuggler and hit man Petrol Merritch as he carries out his duties for Dressel. Already an agent of Dressels for five
years, here we learn that Ensonn, Dressels troublesome former employee had been
with Dressel for a decade, and had caused many problems for him.
Cast of Characters Petrol
Merritch Ensonn Dressel |