Nine Men Down 2000 short story by Paul Squire Six years after Episode IV – A New Hope The harsh winter wind howled
through the valley like some demented beast, its terrible sound as cruel to the ears as
its cold talons were to the flesh. Swirls of
white twisted and rolled through the sparse trees, like the spirits of the dead dancing in
the cold afternoon sunlight, and yet there was something inherently beautiful about the
scene. Still, in his experience, the most
attractive things in nature were usually the deadliest.
Not that he considered himself to be all that pretty, but hey, who was he to judge? Centaur smiled at the thought and
wondered at his good humour at the same time. Things
had taken a nosedive recently. By things
he meant Clara. And the Iron Claws. And, of course, that latest bright idea of his
– rejoining the Empire in its hour of need. That
particular gem had at least enabled him to restock his supplies and sift through the
expansive Imperial archives on Zelon. That
alone had made all the pain he’d suffered over the last year feel worthwhile. Maybe loosing his palace on
Hellion, his fortune, and command of the Iron Claws had been the right thing for him after
all. As much as it had almost destroyed him,
it’d made him stronger and reminded him of why he’d carved out a life as a
mercenary away from his beloved Empire in the first place. He still missed Clara – that
pain would be harder to overcome, but at least she was safe, and with a good man; someone
who wouldn’t get her killed. He’d heard someone say
something about revenge once. Something along
the lines of digging two graves - one for your enemy and the other for yourself. He didn’t plan on dying just
yet, but he’d been a close companion of Death these last few years, and the thought
of having to bury Clara was too painful to contemplate.
Better she was safe back in Chancai with her new rich businessman. It was a strange saying really when
he considered it. Why would he considered
burying any of his enemies – they hadn’t buried his brother. And that was what this was all
about. His brother. His brother and his revenge on the scum
who’d tortured and killed him. A shadow past over Centaur and for
a moment his eyes were colder than the most biting of the winds that howled through the
trees and churned up the snow, and he gazed again at the small settlement nestled in tight
at the heart of the valley. Nine of his prey sheltered there,
oblivious to the storm. Oblivious to him. The well-dressed man held his
handkerchief to his nose and watched with mild disdain as the others worked about him. They seemed oblivious to the stench of the dead,
and stepped over the still warm bodies as if they were mere obstacles. Not that he wasn’t used to such sights, but
the particular smell steaming off these bodies made him want to gag. Maybe it was their race’s natural smell, and
it reinforced his belief that all aliens were good for slavery and little else. In that at least, he agreed with the tenants of
the not-so-new New Order. Not that he let it get in his way
when it came to making money.
“Honest labour too good for you then, Alvarna?” He looked up to see the sneering
face of Wishet staring at him with that same sardonic look the Gotal seemed to reserve
only for him. He’d never liked the
alien, and being a Gotal, the wretched creature had picked up his moods the first time
he’d stepped into Demicido’s office. Plus
of course, there was their history.
“A crook like you talking about honest?” he sneered. “You’re so bent a week on the rack
wouldn’t straighten you out – though Demicido’s certainly going to try if
he gets word of this detour of yours.”
“Which he won’t. His
instructions were to get you from Tantum V to Jobol.
He didn’t say anything about not doing my own business along the way.”
“And you trust your men to keep their mouth’s shut?” Surely the Gotal wasn’t that
naïve? Men blabbed. He should know – he’d made a career
of it.
“They’ve been with me a long time – remember? Besides,” added Wishet with a shrug,
“they’re getting their cut, just like you’re getting yours. You got a problem with that, then…” he
let his gaze fall on the bodies littering the floor, and his threat was clear. Alvarna narrowed his eyes.
“No problem,” he said, but he knew the alien could read his mood. Their sensitivity to such things was what made
them such good hunters. Well, let him damn
well read what he wanted – he knew how to look after himself, and his fingers
brushed against the gun nestled snugly inside his heavy coat. “Just let me know when you’ve finished
– I’ll be outside.”
Despite the two-piece body glove
that he always wore beneath his armour, he could feel the numbing effect of the cold. The heavy trench coat helped a little, but not
enough to make him want to remain buried in the snow for too long. He’d never felt so exposed to
the elements when he’d served the Empire, and yet it was the very same body glove
that he wore now. Old habits died
hard…and one of his oldest was hidden in one of the shacks ahead of him. Colonel Pillot Alvarna – his
nemesis. The man ultimately responsible for
ruining his life, and cutting short his brother’s.
The man he’d tracked for the past seven years, always one step behind, always
a heartbeat too late – but not this time. This
time his information had been right on the money. There was an irony to it. The men that accompanied Pillot now had once been
members of the same rebel cell that he’d fought on Durathosin. At least the bastard would die in the right
company. He felt for the combat knife
hanging from his belt, and tugged the blade to make sure that it hadn’t iced up. It wouldn’t do to have it frozen in its
sheath, and he wanted this to start quietly. No
need to give Pillot advanced warning – so much nicer to surprise him face to face.
The first henchman didn’t even
hear his approach. The blade slipped easily
between his ribs to pierce his heart, and his red blood pumped out warm and steaming in
the cold evening air. Centaur didn’t
bother to hide the body – none of the others had come out this far and the snow would
hide the body soon enough. He paused before moving further in
amongst the shelters to look at what the man had been carrying. Small boxes had fallen amongst the snow and it
was easy enough to prise one open using the edge of his blade. Numb fingers worked the catch, and with a
sudden jolt the contents flew out, tumbling over the body and the pool of sticky red snow
around him. A frown creased Centaur’s
brow, and he knelt down to examine the contents further.
The crunching of snow made him forget about the small packages and the heel of his
hand smashed into the throat of the second henchman as he rounded the corner of the
shelter, crushing the alien’s windpipe. Rough hands pulled the alien around
the corner, and over the first corpse, muffling the gurgling sounds as the creature
struggled for breath. Another flash of the
knife settled the matter, and Centaur was up and moving around the far side of the
shelter. Ahead of him was parked the stock
light freighter that had brought his prey here, and beyond, the other shelters that were
supposed to protect travellers from the elements in this harsh wilderness. They hadn’t protected them
from Pillot Alvarna or his cronies, and Centaur’s eyes were narrowed to slits as he
thought of how much blood was on the hands of that man.
Alvarna didn’t like this
place. There was something about it that
unnerved him, and it wasn’t the weather. He’d
known places like this; used them when he’d worked for Imperial Intelligence. It was the kind of place that made people disappear. It was nothing supernatural –
but as a killer he recognised the killing ground. It
was easy enough to dump a body in space. No
one would ever find it, but there was a certainty to death in space. Not so in a place like this. If he wanted to lull his prisoners,
get them to talk, this was the kind of place he’d take them to. Escape and survival were an illusion – no
man could survive outside of these shelters for long, but desperate men clung to
impossible hopes, and that was what he used against them. Did Wishet know this? Did he hold some vendetta for what had happened
on Durathosin? Maybe – maybe not, but
Alvarna’s paranoia had kept him alive this far, and he could hear its voice
whispering quietly in his ear. Maybe the Gotal wouldn’t cross
his boss, but Demicido was a long way from here… He hadn’t been allowed to
bring a blaster along, but the gun hidden in the folds of his coat would do, especially
against a Gotal.
He was a blur of white, his long
coat merging with the snow, and his footfalls soft and quiet. Silently he’d moved sideways away from the
freighter and towards the next shelter. He’d
seen another of the henchmen enter this building, moving to help one already inside. Taking out two of them
shouldn’t be a problem – doing it quietly might be. The rear door rattled in the wind,
but only sporadically, as this area was better sheltered from the storm. Centaur smiled a cold smile – the erratic
knocking of the door would mask his entrance, making his work easier. Slowly, he stepped through the
doorway and saw one of the henchmen kneeling down, his arms hidden in a hole in the floor,
grasping for something – probably another of those boxes. Barely had he taken a step forward
when a shadow flitted across his vision. There
was the sucking of air and suddenly the second henchman appeared, flung bodily into the
first and before either could recover a bounty hunter’s net had shot out, binding
them firmly to the wall. Two darts followed,
and both men fell unconscious.
“Centaur,” said the black armoured figure as he stalked across the room
to check on his quarry. He didn’t bother
to face the mercenary, but made sure that the henchmen were out cold and firmly secured.
“Tarr Ranth,” growled Ryath Centaur, his hard eyes staring incredulously
at the Bounty Hunter. “What the hell are
you doing here?”
The Gotal’s eyes snapped wide
open.
“We’ve got company.” His three compatriots looked across
at him and immediately unslung their rifles. They
didn’t question their boss – they didn’t need to. Hard won experience had taught them to trust his
instincts, and the Gotal was seldom wrong. It
was one of the advantages of his race that allowed him to see in the
electromagnetic. It was a useful trait that
listed Gotals as being some of the best hunters in the galaxy. Sensitive to the energies around them, they
could read people’s moods or pinpoint the location of their quarry.
“Don’t know why I didn’t pick him up before – his lit up
brighter than a nova,” murmured Wishet, and then nodded with his head. “Hut Three, where Valdon and Pronour are
supposed to be. Take care of it.”
“Boss”
“And then find me Alvarna.” The Gotal’s voice had turned
sinister. It was too much of a coincidence
that someone had found them here, and his list of suspects numbered just one. Pillot Alvarna sank back into the
shadows on the far side of the main shelter and watched as the three men exited the
building. The fingers of his right hand
curled around the grip of his pistol and he smiled to himself. His instincts had been right all along, and maybe
now was the time to discuss them with his escort. He waited a couple of seconds longer, and then slipped through the doorway and back into the shelter.
“I said, what the hell are you doing here, Ranth?” growled Centaur
through clenched teeth. If it was possible to give someone
a condescending look from behind the faceplate of a helmet, Tarr Ranth had it down to a
fine art.
“Collecting a bounty. Just like
you.” His eyes flashed down to the
combat knife held in the mercenary’s steely grip, then turned back to gaze at the two
men caught in his net. “Though some of us prefer to keep our captives alive.”
“Bounty?” Centaur practically spat the word. “Alive?”
“You have trouble with words of more than one syllable? Bown-tee…?
Pay-ment…?” The armoured
figure shrugged to himself and refilled the clip on his wrist dart launcher. “You know the rules Centaur. First one bags ‘em gets the reward.”
“This isn’t a sanction, Ranth.” For the first time the Bounty
Hunter seemed to notice the mercenary standing before him.
“No? I’m afraid my warrant
says something different.” His eyes
looked Centaur over anew; saw the blood on his white coat and knew it to be somebody
else’s. His eyes travelled down to the
two comatose bodies at his side and back up to where Centaur stood, and his voice was
colder when he spoke again. “These men
are in my custody now – don’t make this business personal, Centaur. You wouldn’t like the consequences.”
“It’s already personal, you arrogant sonovabitch. You don’t want consequences; keep the hell
out of my business.” Ranth stepped forward, standing
between the men he’d captured and the seething mercenary, and he imperceptibly
tightened his grip on his gun.
“I thought you had more honour that that, Centaur; more professionalism. Vendetta is it?” He continued forward till he
was barely an arm’s width away. “If
you haven’t got a permit, you’ve got no business here.”
“You want to see my permit!” Centaur’s voice was colder than frozen
helium and his eyes burned into the smooth polished black visor of the man facing him. Without breaking eye contact,
Centaur sheathed his dagger and reached into his pouch.
“Here.” Keeping his blaster level, Ranth
slowly reached out his left hand, but as he did so Centaur flicked the small object passed
the Bounty Hunter, who turned to track it. There
was a single metallic twang as it bounced off the far wall, and a soft thud as the grenade
landed between the two bound henchmen.
“Discussion’s over,” said Centaur, and dived for the door.
The rocket pack shot Ranth through
the shelter’s front entrance, and he hit the floor rolling as the building blossomed
outwards. Most of the explosion washed over
him, but the two gunmen before him weren’t so lucky.
The shockwave lifted them off their feet and hurled them back into the snow. Half dazed, they still grappled for
their blasters, but two quick shots spat from the muzzle of Ranth’s blaster, and two
unconscious forms hit the snow, whilst the Bounty Hunter scanned the area. Centaur was out there somewhere, but the raging
fire from the shelter masked his heat signature. He’d
worry about him later, for now he had more pressing matters. The biggest bounty was for the
Gotal, Wishet, and he aimed to collect.
The Gotal smiled to himself. His eyesight was pretty poor, but he didn’t
need to see to know where that traitorous piece of filth, Pillot Alvarna, was hiding. His ability to see in the electromagnetic
was all he needed, and he slowly raised his pistol towards the darkest of the shadows.
“Enjoy your breath of fresh air?”
“Very invigorating,” replied Alvarna slowly, and there was no hint of
surprise to his voice. Not that it apparently
made any difference – the Gotal had detected his presence, even though he was almost
next to the electro heater that barely managed to keep the room above freezing. “But it’s far cosier in here.”
“Well, if you like it so much,” began Wishet, and this time there was no
mistaking the menace in his voice. “I’m
sure Demicido would understand why we had to terminate your contract earlier than
expected.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” replied Alvarna, refusing to step into the
light. “You see, there’s a couple
of clauses to that contract you’re not aware of.”
“If you mean your friends then you can think again, Imp,” spat the
Gotal, all pretence at niceties vanishing. “If
you think you could get your hands on my merchandise…” He waved with the
business end of his blaster. “Why
don’t you make this easier on yourself, and step away from the heater. I’ll make this a clean shot.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.” A single shot echoed around the
room, and the Gotal crumpled to the floor, clutching his head and rolling in agony. At that same moment, Tarr Ranth
exploded through the window, the heat signature of the Gotal clearly displayed on his
visor by his armour’s sensors, and his gun aimed directly at the reeling alien.
Centaur was up and running before
his target hit the floor, almost blown apart by his blaster fire. There seemed little point sneaking around
anymore, and he was determined none of his prey were to be taken alive. He owed his brother that, and no one, not even
a hunter of Ranth’s reputation was going to make him break his word to his brother. He slammed into the corner of the
building next to the freighter, and carefully scanned round the corner. There should be four left by his count; Reebo,
Cliver, Wishet and the man he’d sell his soul to get, Pillot Alvarna. He knew their names and their face’s. Had memorised the details on each one as he’d
built and consolidated his hit list, and he knew their MO.
The question was, did Ranth…? His eyes suddenly fixed on the two
comatose forms half hidden in the snow; the last of the henchmen - Ranth’s work
no-doubt. Probably still alive too, knowing
how the Hunter worked. Well, he’d soon
correct that— His head snapped round as he heard
the scream, and before he even realised it, he was up and running towards the source
– the largest of the shelters and where he was sure Pillot would be holed up. Ranth,
he growled to himself, and activated the Slip Wind micro-missiles on the side of his
Compact assault blaster. If he had to get
passed the fully armoured Hunter to get to Pillot, he’d need all the firepower he
could muster. He came up to the front steps at an
angle. He was in a hurry, yes, but not so
much so that he wanted to get himself killed. There
were still too many names on his list for him to die just yet. He couldn’t smell the death,
the filter in his helmet prevented that, but he didn’t need to, to know the signs. The snow around the entrance had
been turned to slush by the trudging of feet leading to the freighter and back, and it was
obvious what had added the orangey-red colour to it.
If he’d only managed to reach this remote place a few hours earlier he could
have prevented the massacre that Demicido’s men had wrought here, but he hadn’t. All he could offer the dead now was revenge,
and he’d make Pillot suffer. His lips curled up in a snarl
– there was no escape for his nemesis now, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of
letting his eagerness cause him to be reckless. He swept his blaster before him as
he crept up the steps to the main shelter, and the hallway stretched off in front of him. Two doors to the left, two to the
right and one straight ahead – which way to go? If he had his old team with him
this’d be easy enough; two men to cover, one to grenade. No messing, no trouble. There weren’t any innocents here to worry
about, but even so he wanted to see Pillot’s face.
He wanted satisfaction as well as
revenge. His Compact covered each room,
ready for any of the doors to open, for his prey to try and escape, and he moved in
slowly. Inside, away from the still blazing
hut he’d grenaded, he could hear muffled sounds.
Someone was moving around and they weren’t keeping quiet about it – and
they were coming his way. Eyes narrowed, and he lowed himself
down to a crouch, blaster aimed squarely at the door in front of him, ready to terminate
whoever came out of—
“Ranth.” Centaur didn’t lower his aim,
but the hunter seemed disinclined to attack. He
just stared at the mercenary, and something unspoken passed between the two men. Slowly Centaur came to his feet, lowering his own
rifle as the black armoured figure walked passed him and out into the snow. Maybe he isn’t so arrogant
after all, thought
Centaur, and turned his attention back to the room the hunter had exited. His heart pounded as he slowly pushed the door
open; this was the end of his vendetta. Sure
there were others on his list, but Pillot Alvarna was his goal. If he had him, then the others didn’t matter. Only Pillot’s death would quieten the
tortured soul of his brother, would finally let him sleep soundly at night knowing
he’d fulfilled his promise. It took a few seconds for his
vision to adjust to the dimness of the room, even with the help of the UV in his visor. Half a dozen corpses littered the floor, young and
old alike – probably a family of the travellers who’d made the fateful decision
to hide here from the storm. A soft moan drew his attention to
the figure hunched in the corner – the Gotal, and barely conscious, but where
was…? Centaur’s eyes fell on the
DEMP gun and he understood the scream he’d heard.
Ranth must have known the anti-droid pistol would fry the Gotal’s vision as
surely as burning out the eyes of a human. He
hadn’t realised that the hunter could be so callous— …and then he saw him. Centaur launched himself from the
building and rolled, bringing his blaster to bear. The
Compact tracked up and there was a whoosh as he launched the Slip Wind at the
hastily departing freighter…but it was too late. The
small missile streaked up towards the rapidly ascending ship, but it was too far away and
within the blink of an eye it had disappeared amongst the gloomy storm clouds, dark and
grey with their heavy load of snow. For a while Centaur just stood there, staring, and then turned to stalked back into the hut. Tarr Ranth was still laying on his
front where Pillot Alvarna had shot him. Whether
the ex-Imperial Intelligence agent had realised what effect a DEMP gun would have on the
Hunter, Centaur didn’t know. Somehow the
man had the luck of a Corellian. A trickle of blood continued to
seep from the hole in the back of Ranth’s head and Centaur shivered involuntary. Cybernetics – why
would anyone want to do that to themselves? The wound was easy enough to treat
with a med-pack, but whether Ranth would fully recover was another matter. Pillot had fired the weapon point blank, and on
its highest setting. Everything with a
circuit would have been fried by the blast, including all the gimmicks in his armour. It must have been the only reason why Pillot
hadn’t dropped him when they’d come face to face.
“Can’t believe I let you walk straight passed me, you bastard,”
murmured Centaur, and then turned his attention to the whimpering mess of the Gotal. What few supplies were left in the med-pack would
bring the alien around. He knew where Pillot
was heading, and he’d talk; the Burning could be quite effective for loosening
tongues.
“This isn’t over, Pillot,” promised Centaur. “This will never be over.”
Nine Men Down 2000 short story by Paul Squire Six years after Episode IV – A New Hope Histories –Paul Squires continuing story of Ryath Centaurs quest to hunt down and locate Pillot
Alvarna, the man he holds
responsible for the death of his younger brother Torath.
However, Centaur didn’t count upon coming across the bounty hunter Tarr Ranth, on a hit and out for blood.
Cast of Characters Ryath CentaurTarr Ranth Pillot Alvarna Wishet Demicido Valdon Pronour Reebo Cliver |