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Related in Time and Space 2000 short story by Mark Newbold Four years
before Episode IV – A New Hope The D’Dash Decider swung around the asteroid in a looping arc and came to a growling halt. Five Zobian Pirate vessels sat in a diamond formation, weapons armed and ready to haul fiery destruction at the broad freighter. The Deciders engines throbbed, hot and action ready as the six ships waited, pilots twitching to see who would initiate the confrontation further. Petrol Merritch checked his
controls and wiped the sweat from his ebony brow. These five pirate vessels had been tailing him since he’d
completed the run to Rediarr and wherever he’d ducked to, they had
followed. They’re persistent;
I’ll give them that. But it ends
here. Petrol Merritch wasn’t known for his patience, which was a character trait that had propelled him high up the ladder of Dressels employees. Lack of patience, a determined attitude and an unwillingness to accept defeat had placed him among the elite smugglers of the Setnin Sector. These pirates obviously didn’t know that, or else they would have steered well clear of the Afagard Assemblies Stock Heavy Freighter that they had been following. Petrol glanced up again at the Zobians and squinted. What the hell are you doing in my sector? Zobians usually steer well clear of Setnin. What’s going down? He frowned at himself – time for investigation would come later. First, to the business at hand. The lead ship edged forward, coming within the optimum fire zone of the Decider. Petrol eyed it closely. It was what observers called a Prime Ship, one of the most lethal among the Zobian fleet. Designed for surprise attacks, powerful and fast. Its weapons were hot and its intent was clear. Destruction. Petrol Merritch had waited long enough. He knew of other smugglers who might have opened a channel by now, or turned tail and run, claiming that discretion was the better part of valour. He couldn’t stomach attitudes like that. Only one way would suffice. The hard way. His first torpedo hit the
Zobian clean across the bridge window, cracking the glass and leaking oxygen
into the depths of the asteroid field.
Confusion abounded as the Decider moved away and around the
ship, launching a barrage into the other four, who split formation and
regrouped. But without their Prime
Ship they were at odds about what to do and their attack was messy and
disorganised. Petrol took full
advantage, splaying a barrage of fire into them and scorching damage across
their hulls. He checked the vicinity
for other ships but there were none.
He was alone with the Zobians in the sparse asteroid field that lay on
the edge of the Cawbate System. That
suits me just fine. Nobody should
have to see this. The crippled Prime Ship lay alone, naked without the protection of its sister ships that were regrouping in a wide arc designed to assess the capabilities of the Decider. Its capabilities swiftly became evident as another barrage of torpedoes ripped into the Prime Ships bridge and blew it to pieces, the Decider barrelling right through the wreckage and heading towards the other ships. Merritch opened the com. “You’ve got one chance only to back off and get the hell out of the system. And tell your leaders to stay out of Setnin – it’s out of bounds to outsiders.” He expected no reply and wasn’t surprised. The four ships turned tail and hit the sublight engines to full, dodging through the asteroids towards clear space and lightspeed. Merritch leaned back into his seat and folded his hands behind his back. This would please Dressel. A successful run under the nose of Glann Cipple and the Zobians running scared. A fine start to the new tax year. “We might see
them again, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Even the Zobians know when to stay out of Setnin.” Dressel rubbed his chin with his forefinger and raised
his eyes towards Petrol Merritch. A
cool breeze blew through the windows of his twin-hulled sailbarge the Duet
as they glided over the sands of Cawbate’s desert region, the sun shining
benevolently above. Merritch remained
with his hands held firmly behind his back, eyes staring forward, a twitch of
muscle in his firm jaw. Dressels
bodyguard Kailo, a blue-skinned Duros female, watched Petrol closely. She, along with many others, had heard tales
of his ruthlessness along the lanes.
This incident with the Zobians came as no surprise to those in the
Dressel operation. But beware any who
crossed Merritch who weren’t affiliated with the ganglord. “The Zobians
are opportunists but they’re not fools.
Like any animal they know the universal constants of pain and
reward. Too much pain is not worth
the reward.” Dressel smiled as he
shifted on his sofa. “Luckily for us,
we know that’s not always necessarily true.” Merritch nodded slowly as he looked down at Dressel. The ganglord blinked and crossed his
eyebrows. “Sit down
Petrol. You’re not on a run now. Relax, there’ll be plenty of time for
formalities later.” Merritch released his hands from behind his back and
eased into the leather seat opposite Dressels desk. He watched the sand dunes roll by for a few seconds and then
glanced over towards Kailo. “I need a few
minutes with Dressel…alone.” He
intoned curtly. As an after thought
he added, “If you don’t mind.” Dressel turned towards Merritch and frowned. “You know Kailo
as well as I do. What you can say to
me, you can say to her.” Kailo inclined her head towards her employer and her
responsibility. She had been trained
on Ferrerea as a Shadow Warrior by Glann Cipple’s bodyguard Melm, but upon
completion of her training agreed to work for Dressel as his chief of
security. Dressel had never had cause
to doubt her procedures or her loyalty, and for her part Kailo had never had
cause to be anything but satisfied with her job. Merritch shook his shaved head. “Then you won’t
hear what I have to say.” Dressel sat upright and stood to his feet, an expression
of irritability drawn across his face.
Kailo simply bowed, acknowledged both Dressel and Merritch and exited
the office. Dressel moved towards a
cabinet that sat underneath a blind-covered window and snatched two
glasses. He placed them on the desk
and poured two glasses of Trabeene, a smooth green liquid liquor distilled on
Cawbate. He replaced the lid and
handed the glass to Petrol, who accepted it with a nod. “So
Petrol. What’s this all about?” He motioned towards the door that Kailo
had just walked through. “It had
better be important. I don’t like to
leave my chief of security in the dark.”
Dressel sipped from the glass.
He knew Petrol Merritch well.
Perhaps too well. He had hired
him as a youngster a decade ago and watched with grim interest as the
smuggler fought tooth and nail to claw his way up the ladder of influence
within his operation. He knew that
sometimes it was at the expense of men who had worked for him much longer,
and with nothing but loyalty and distinction. But Dressel saw within Merritch something of the man that he
once was as an eager runner trying to impress the big boys. An enterprising operator. It had brought him into the confidences of
Dressel, one of the foremost ganglords in the Mid-Rim. And so he had Dressels
undivided attention. But he wasn’t to know his own importance. That would be a display of weakness on
Dressels part. “The run to
Rediarr went well. The northern
outlaw faction paid in full for the weapons, plus a percentage on top for my
guarantee that I would keep their location a secret.” “And did you?” Merritch twitched into what was the closest thing he
possessed that could pass for a smile and sipped from the glass. “I made the
same agreement with the southern outlaw faction. Percentage for my silence.
Once I had informed each side of the others whereabouts it was only a
matter of time before they contacted me to arrange for more weapons.” Dressel smiled.
This was the kind of buyer he liked.
Hungry, desperate and caught between a rock and a hard place. “How did you
manage to tell both sides of the others whereabouts without giving yourself
away?” Merritch downed the remainder of the Trabeene and placed
the glass on the desk. He took
another glance at the sands of Cawbate as they drifted by. Always on the move, aren’t you
Dressel? Wise man – A firmly rooted
tree may be strong against a hurricane, but it’s also open to attack. And unable to hide itself away. “Simple coded messages and
manipulations, plus their word that no-one would know who had sold them their
weapons. Honourable fools. Both sides think that they have an informer
in their midst.” Dressel nodded. A
simple but effective ploy. Set both
sides against each other and pretend to be each other’s best friend. “As ever, well
done.” Dressel eyed Petrol
closely. “But you didn’t ask Kailo to
leave just to tell me some routine gun-running procedure.” “No I
didn’t. Something’s building up in
Setnin.” Dressel shook his head in confusion. “What do you
mean `building up’?” “Along the
lanes there’s talk of the increased amount of Imperial ships entering the
sector. Lane blockades, customs
checks, passenger liners being boarded.
People are unhappy.” Dressel smiled and opened his arms wide. “Petrol, as
much as it would please me to be the bringer of good news to all beings,
there’s very little I can do about the increased presence of the Empire in
the Setnin Sector.” “That’s not my
point. Grand Moff Treece has set out
his stall. He plans to tax and block
as much illegal trafficking throughout the sector as he can. And he’s made a good start.” “I know. Trade to the outermost worlds in the
sector has decreased by eight percent.”
Dressel gritted his teeth. “I
don’t appreciate trade deficits.” Merritch stood to his feet and walked around the table,
eyeing the walls closely and peering outside. Dressel followed him closely with his eyes as he did so. Something really is bothering you
Merritch. What is it? “Whilst I was on Rediarr I bumped
into a few other smugglers.” “Who?” “The regular
crowd. Sull Dinn, Velka Mararr, Anzai
Karoo.” Dressel frowned at the mention of that last name, the old
smuggler being a former colleague from many years ago. Merritch continued. “It appears
that they presence of the Empire in the sector may not be a purely military
operation.” Dressel shook his head in confusion. “Merritch,
they’re the New Order. Why else would
they be here?” “They haven’t
shown any particular interest in Setnin before. Why now? Even Palpatine
knows the logic in steering clear of places like Janos, that’s why they
haven’t tried to take the jewels.
What I mean is that they’re here by invitation.” Dressel couldn’t help but crack a broad smile as he stood
to refill his empty glass. As he
poured another two shots he turned towards the waiting smuggler. “Forgive my
incredulity but who in the five fire rings of Fornax would invite the Empire
into the Setnin Sector?” Merritch paused a beat as Dressel drew the glass to his
lips. “Glann Cipple.” Even Petrol Merritch was unprepared for the explosive
reaction Dressel gave to the mention of that name. The crystal-cut glass flew across the room, shattering into the
wall in a spray of glass and Trabeene.
He gritted his teeth and hunkered over the desk, his palms flat, his
fingers bunched into knots. He drew a
deep breath and turned to Merritch. “Who told you
that?” “A man called
Pillot Alvarna. An Imperial officer
based on Kummane. I came across him
as I was tying up the Rediarr job.” Dressel lowered his head and stared at the desktop. “Rather
fortuitous for him to be on Rediarr at the same time as you, don’t you
think?” “Fortune can
favour us all.” “I don’t need a
lesson in philosophy, least of all from you.” Dressel stood straight and closed his eyes. “Glann Cipple…why would he get involved
with the Empire now?” It sounded to Merritch more like a rhetorical question
than a direct query, so he remained silent.
He knew as well as anyone of the history between the two former allies
and partners. And their acrimonious split. But the fact that both had set themselves
up as wildly successful operators within the Setnin underworld and yet still
harboured such enmity towards each other…it seemed counterproductive. Dressel opened his eyes. “So
Petrol. In your widely-travelled and
expert opinion, what should we do about it?” “I don’t see
that there is anything that we can do.
If Cipple has the inside track on the Empires presence here then we’re
already too late.” He looked out of
the window again as the cool breeze picked up as they approached the
mountains. “We’ll just have to deal
with it.” Dressel lasered a steely glare at Merritch. “You should
know me better than that by now. I
don’t have to deal with anything. But I do have to formulate a plan of action.” He turned to Merritch and folded his
arms. “And seen as you were the
bringer of such important news, I think you should be the man to implement
it.” Petrol Merritch turned away from the window and equalled
Dressels steel gaze. “I’d be
disappointed if it was anyone else.” “You’re cleared
to land on Level 15, Northside Port, docking bay 742b. Remain on beacon and you’ll be
automatically tractored in.” Merritch answered the message with a flick of the com
button and relinquished control of the D’Dash Decider to Chancai’s
automated docking system. Under
normal circumstances he would have piloted his freighter into the bay by his
own hand but air traffic around the trade centre was a miasma of ships,
skimmers, speeders and freighters.
Safety took premium and so the auto system was initiated. Other matters had to be taken into account, such as the
presence of the Imperial Star Destroyer Repressor, commanded by one of
Merritchs’ long-time adversaries Commander Ooamlek. Despite the increase of the Empire in Setnin there had been a
large scattering of Imperials throughout the sector for a number of
years. But of late, that scattering
had become a concentrated mass, centring around the Yatchrare System and
along the Bordon Space Lane. And
despite his habit of comfortably avoiding Imperial entanglements, Merritch
didn’t welcome their presence. The Deciders engines rapidly cooled in the
air-conditioned confines of the bay as Petrol exited his ship. He knew the maze-like levels of Chancai
well. Like many other smugglers, much
of his business in the Setnin Sector was conducted here and the trade city
had become something of a second home, with its own network of enemies and
allies. He paused a second to get his
bearings and turned the corner. The crowds were a pulsing throb of life and Petrol had to
force his way through to make his way to the turbolift. Once inside he relaxed – this was a crazy
way to make a point, but Dressel had no other way to do it, not without
tipping his hand. A few brief seconds
later and the lift had shifted horizontally across the level towards another
lift tube, one that was not regularly used by the general public. The life shuddered to a halt and the doors slowly
opened. Merritch already had his
blaster in hand, butt facing out, the barrel towards himself to show
compliance. The white armoured Stormtrooper
took the weapon in silence and motioned for Merritch to follow him with an
inclination of his head. In silence
Merritch followed, through a plush lobby area to a large, frosted glass
double door. The trooper stepped
back, waiting for a signal. The doors
parted slightly and the trooper motioned for Petrol to enter. Night had descended and Chancai was laid out before Grand
Moff Den Treece like a bejewelled blanket.
He barely seemed to register the entrance of Merritch as he closed the
door silently and waited close to the desk.
The view was a spectacular one.
The lights of Fringe Mall began to illuminate as they watched, and
Petrol was reminded of the calming effect such vistas had on men of power and
influence. Dressel was the same, as
was Glann Cipple by all accounts. For
Petrol’s part, one windows perspective was much the same as another – it just
depended where the window happened to be at the time. “I must be
going up in Dressels estimation for him to see fit to send his best
operative.” Treece intoned as he
turned from the window. Merritch
remained impassive, stolid, as he waited for a question worthy of reply. Treece smiled inwardly. “I understand you have some
information. Something that I
urgently need to know?” Petrol nodded and seated himself without invitation. Treece raised a single eyebrow and took
his own seat behind his expansive and expensive desk. He waited for Merritch to get comfortable. “As you know
I’ve been sent here by Dressel to impart some information.” “That’s
correct.” Treece crossed his
legs. “I find that information passed
on by your illustrious employer is usually of great importance.” Merritch shrugged. “That’s
correct.” Treece frowned.
Time was eternal but his patience was not. Chancai wouldn’t run itself.
The Setnin Sector probably could, but Chancai was a different matter
altogether. She needed nurturing,
guiding, caressing. All the
attentions he could never afford a woman in his life – when he had the trade
city as his mistress. “Well Merritch. Spit it out.” “Who gave the
order for the Empire to progress with an aggressive move into the Setnin
Sector?” Treece uncrossed his legs and sat upright. This wasn’t the type of agenda issue that
Dressel usually raised. Not Dressel,
Mister Spyte, Torona Formoon, Predd Jason or Geon Tasar. None of them. Matters of state were of no concern to them unless it involved
moving the odd customs frigate a couple of light years in either direction or
ordering an occasional officer to turn a blind eye to a smuggling run…in the
best interest of the New Order, of course.
This line of questioning brought to him by Petrol Merritch was on
another scale entirely. And it disturbed him. “I suggest you
refine your line of questioning to other matters Mister Merritch. The affairs of the Empire are of no
concern to Dressel. To any of
you.” Petrol’s face remained stony-like as he clenched a muscle
in his cheek and drew breath. “I understand
your concerns Grand Moff, but I’ll ask the question again. Who gave the order?” Something about the intensity of Merritchs questioning
sparked a rush of curiosity in Treece, so he allowed the slippage of protocol
to slide. “Alright
Merritch. It’s no great secret. The order came directly from
Coruscant. Imperial City to be
precise. Imperial centre want us to
increase our presence here in order to facilitate a defensive stronghold in
the Mid-Rim. Against possible
future…insurrections.” He allowed the
final word to hang in the air, the inherent implication more than
apparent. Merritch nodded slowly and
leaned forward in his seat. “As we
thought. Orders from on high. But what if I were to tell you that there
was more to your presence here than simple battle tactics from the Core?” “I’d say you
have an active imagination.” “Your presence
here is certainly imaginative.” Treece stood to his feet, turning his back on Merritch
and pacing to the window. Night had
all but arrived and the velvet cloth had softly landed. Ships came and went, oblivious to the
secretive conversation being held. “So tell
me. Why are we here? What else could have possibly brought the
Empire into the Setnin Sector?” Petrol remembered the last time he had spoken the name
and paused a second before answering. “Glann Cipple.” The reaction was much the same, an anguished cry of
frustration, and Merritch wondered what it was about the man that engendered
such a response in his enemies and adversaries. Treece leaned against the window, palms out towards the world,
his hot breath evaporating against the glass. He turned towards the smuggler. “Glann
Cipple? What evidence do you have to
back this up?” Petrol shrugged his broad shoulders. “None
whatsoever. Simply what I’ve been
told.” Treece frowned, his eyes narrowing with deep suspicion. “I warn you
Merritch, and I warn Dressel. Don’t
play me for a fool. I know Dressel
wants Cipple out of the way as much as I do, but without proof and evidence
we can do nothing. The best way to
defeat him is to discredit him.
Humiliate him.” He turned back
towards the view. “He’s been
established too long to be taken by force.
That would prove nothing that the populace don’t already know. That the Empire is the dominant force in
the galaxy.” He looked back at
Merritch. “But to demean Cipple. To make him small…that would be a true
victory.” Petrol lowered his gaze to the tabletop as he collected
his thoughts. Treece had a real
problem with Glann Cipple. As
powerful as Cipple was, surely he couldn’t hope to compete with the power of
a Grand Moff. Or could he? It was well known that Cipple had collated
vast files on almost every major player in the Mid-Rim, Merritch included. What if Cipple had such a file on Treece,
and what if it held devastating information that could end Treece’s career? Or even his life. “Go back to
Dressel.” Treeces words broke
Merritchs’ train of thought and delivered him back to the present. “Tell him that I’m grateful for the
information and that I value his endeavours to rid the sector of such a
parasite as Cipple. Tell him I’ll be
I touch shortly with further instructions.” Merritch nodded and stood to his feet. To his mind Dressel had just made a deal
with the devil. And Treece likewise. An even deal all round. “We’ll see him
again, but don’t hold your breath.
He’ll curse our names for about a month but even Gaalent’s smart
enough to know when to call it quits.” Glann Cipple nodded and smiled grimly at Jan Lomona. A light rain wafted across the city of
Amagad, the sun struggling to break through the grey clouds above. Jan Lomona crossed his legs and leaned
back in the chair, an expression of ease lying on his tanned features. Cipple’s white-haired bodyguard Melm watched
Lomona closely. He often heard tales
of Lomonas reckless trips through the spacelanes so this incident with
Gaalent came as no surprise. Jan
Lomona was good…good at annoying regular paying customers, but also good at
appeasing them. “Gaalent is an
opportunist but he’s no fool. He
knows the rewards for staying on my good side.” Cipple smiled slyly as he shifted in his seat. “Luckily for him.” Jan nodded as he looked across at Glann Cipple. He took a brief glance outside at the
rain-dripped cityscape of Amagad and then glanced over towards Melm. “Could I have a
few minutes with Glann? Something’s
kind of come up.” He enquired with an
edge of uncertainty in his voice. Cipple turned towards Lomona and frowned. “If it’s
operational then there’s nothing you can say to me that I wouldn’t want Melm
to hear.” Melm inclined his head towards his employer and his
responsibility. Trained as a Shadow
Warrior on Ferrerea, Melm owed Cipple his life after an incident many years
before. Feeling duty-bound to repay
the debt he gave his existence to protecting Cipple and building him a
personal Shadow Warrior army. Cipple
never had cause to doubt his loyalty.
Jan shook his head. “Unless it’s
one-on-one then you ain’t gonna hear it.” Glann fired Lomona a fiery glare that said Even I have
my limits Lomona – and you’re dancing perilously close to them. Cipple nodded to Melm, who exited the
office through his own concealed doorway.
Cipple stood and moved towards a cabinet that lay beneath a collection
of highly valuable art pieces and snatched two glasses. He placed them on the desk and poured two
glasses of Geenau Whiskey, a smooth and rich amber liquid liquor. He replaced the lid and handed the glass
to Jan, who accepted it. “So. What is this about?” He knew Jan Lomona well, and for some
time. He had hired him as a youngster
almost a decade ago and watched with interest as the smuggler flew through
the ranks of his operation with apparent ease. It was rarely without incident, but Cipple had the patience to
deal with that. He saw within Lomona
something of the man that he once was when he worked for Duze Jostenn - an
eager runner trying to impress the bigger operators. All enterprise and crazy ideas. And this unconventional approach had brought
Lomona into the confidences of Glann Cipple, the foremost ganglord in the
Setnin Sector. And as such he had Cipple’s attention. “Apart from
Gaalent throwing a fit, the run to Gista went well. I planned to sell the DL-5 spice to Gaalent and pick up
the DL-2 for delivery to Noscage.” “And did you?” Jan Lomona smiled wickedly and took a hefty chug from the
glass. “Of
course. Gaalent received a crate with
DL-5 written on it in big letters.
And the consortium on Noscage should be taking delivery of a crate
with DL-2 written on it in big letters any time now. Of course, their invoice won’t actually say
DL-2. But that’s hardly a problem, is
it?” Glann Cipple nodded.
A straight swap. This was the
kind of deal he liked. Devious,
immoral, double-dealing and manipulative.
Classic Lomona. “Gaalent’s your
best contact on Gista. How will you keep him onside without giving yourself
away?” Jan downed the final drops of Whiskey and raised an
eyebrow. “Ah, Gaalent thinks he’s smart
but you’ve got cloak room attendants with more streetwise than him. Just give him a while to figure out a way
of blaming anybody but you for the switch and it’ll be business as usual.” Cipple nodded.
Simple enough. It wasn’t good
business to have the sectors prime gangleader as anything but your best
friend. Even if he did stitch you up
and practically leave his calling card.
“Good
work. So tell me - why did Melm
really have to leave the room?” Jan paused for a moment, weighing up the right words and
the right manner in which to impart his information. “Because I
heard some interesting news on Gista.” Cipple frowned. “What news?” Jan leaned back in his seat. “You know all
about increased Imperial traffic blocking up the sector. Slowing down trade and smuggling.” Cipple folded his arms across his chest and breathed out
through his nose. “Of
course. Nothing happens within Setnin
borders that I don’t eventually hear about.
Bear that in mind.” Jan made a mental note of the less than subtle warning
and continued. “It looks like
Treece is making his move. Increased taxes, blockades, general mayhem for the
underworld.” “I know.” Cipple stated simply, although those two
words said more than a speech ever could.
Glann Cipple had one steely eye on the affairs of the galaxy at large,
and the Setnin Sector in detail. The
Imperial presence was one such detail. Jan Lomona stood and walked around the desk He paused beside Glann, facing the
view as the rain clouds began to spread apart and the drizzle abated. “When I was on Gista there were a
few other lane jockeys there.” “Such as?” “Some of our
guys. Himbimimam, Boba Dallagra,
Laace. And some guys from out of the
sector, and not all underworld types.” Cipple poured himself a small finger of Whiskey. “Go on.” “Well, to cut a
long story short there might be more to the Empire being here than the
obvious expansion policy.” Glann swilled the Whiskey around the glass for a second,
took a sip and lowered the glass to the desk. “What are you
getting at?” “They were
invited into the sector.” Cipple smiled and reached for Lomonas empty glass. He
filled it to the brim with Geenau and handed it to the A-desandian who waited
by the window. The rain picked up
again. “Lomona, if
anyone‘s gong to invite the Empire into the Setnin Sector it would be
me. So tell me – who invited
them?” Jan Lomona paused a beat as Glann Cipple drew the glass
to his lips. “Dressel.” Jan expected a more fierce response to the news but was
relieved to see Cipple nod slowly and stand to his feet. The rain continued to drizzle, harder now
as the clouds rolled around the Bay of Amagad and came back on themselves for
a second swing at the city. The
charge in the air of impending thunderstorms reflected the atmosphere in
Cipples office. Jan held his hands
behind his back and turned to Glann.
The bald-headed ganglord simply squinted one eye and breathed out. “So the
question really is – what do we do about it?” Jan Lomona shrugged his broad shoulders and raised the
glass to his lips. “What we always
do. Deal with it.” Thunder rolled around the bay… Related in Time and Space 2000 short story by Mark Newbold Four years
before Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – A new set of characters
working for a well-established gangleader.
Working in a similar line of work and building up a similar
reputation, Petrol Merritch is Dressels equivalent of Jan Lomona. And this short story by Mark
Newbold is a precursor to Jan Lomona and the Sirens of Amagad, showing the seeds of the partnership between
Dressel and Treece that would cause so much bother for Glann Cipple
and his team.
Cast of Characters Petrol
Merritch Dressel Kailo Grand Moff
Den Treece Glann Cipple Jan Lomona Sull Dinn Velka Mararr |