Chapter Three

Ryath Centaur depressed the throttle on his speeder bike, lifting the steering veins upwards as he did so. His opponent, Marco Sandril, heard the whine of Centaur’s engines and made the mistake of looking over his shoulder. At the last second Ryath activated the air brakes causing the bike to arch backwards, rising up and over. Repulsors pushed down on Marco's bike, giving Centaur more lift. As the bike reached a vertical position he kicked in the boost and the nose barrelled over the top of the canyon wall - his opponent wasn't so lucky. There was a sickening crunch followed by a small explosion.

Ryath Centaur didn't look back.

Tatooine was a desolate planet, stuck on the fringes of the Outer Rim Territories. Few people were interested in it, and even fewer frequented it. This suited the more sinister criminal elements of the galaxy, who took every opportunity to exploit it's potential for profit. Those that weren't making money were hiding from those that did. As such, bounty hunters were not difficult to find. Ryath did not often take an interest in fugitives, but this one was too easy to pass up.

Corkas Nimoil had been a clerk within Imperial Intelligence. He had absconded with vital information that had he’d tried to sell on the open market. Ryath Centaur wanted that information. It contained the location of almost every Imperial Agent within the sector, details on their movements, and their aliases. It also contained the location of a former colleague that Centaur wanted to get in touch with very badly indeed. His trail had led him to Tatooine, where he had tracked his quarry down to a small moisture farm. Apparently he hadn't been the only person after the information. One thing led to another and Corkas escaped across the dunes on a stolen speeder bike. A dozen merc’s had given chase.

Ryath was now the only one left following.

The speck in the distance was getting closer. Good thought Ryath. He gunned the boost once more, taking care not to overheat the modified engine, and dropped the bike nearer to the ground. The acceleration tugged at his arms and he tucked his head behind the small windscreen. He could now just make out the figure ahead. A glint of reflected sunlight told him that his quarry was looking back towards him. Fear, Ryath could almost smell it. He started charging the bikes blasters. As the power gauges rose, power dropped from the boosters.

Damn.

Ryath quickly realised there was a problem with the power transfer conduits. He shut down the blasters and re-started the boost. The speeder bike kicked, Ryath gripped on harder, and the bike sped onwards.

Corkas looked back over his shoulder.  Frek it was Centaur. He tried to get more speed out of the bike, but it just wasn't up to the job. That’s the last time I buy an ex- rental. He reached back to his belt, pulling off a small round object. Flicking a switch he took one more glance over his shoulder and dropped it.

Ryath sped onwards, less than fifty metres behind his quarry. He saw something glint on the ground in front and was half a microsecond too late with his reactions. The explosion took his bike upwards, its momentum carrying it ten metres into the air, throwing him off and sending him hurtling towards the ground at a great speed. He hit the ground and rolled with the explosion.  He cursed to himself as he saw the mangled wreckage on the ground before him. Fifty klicks from the nearest civilisation and not even a medical pack to stem the bleeding. He pulled out his communicator - it fell apart in his hands. It just wasn't his day. He started walking back towards the moisture farm.

Two hours later, Ryath was still walking. He'd cauterised the wound using a low level Blaster burn. The pain was well within his limits to control. Too bad about the information though. He'd been careless. He should have remembered that even Imperial clerks received combat training, especially ones that worked for Imperial Intelligence.

The twin suns of Tattoo Tattoo II and I were starting to set on the horizon ahead. As much as Ryath wanted to continue walking, he needed rest. He was wounded but he wasn't stupid. Choosing a rocky outcropping he started to search for a concealed resting-place.

Tarr Ranth pulled the Dark Star up into a steep climb. The port officials and the local Imperial Guard had been most helpful in providing him with the details he needed to complete his mission. He didn't want to be on Tatooine any longer than he had to. This godforsaken planet gave him the creeps. He hated the Hutts and despised Imperials. Backtracking from Mos Espa he climbed to a height of three thousand metres and started to comb the desert. Heat sensors searched the desert for the telltale signature of a humanoid body. Two hours more and the dawn would hide any chance of tracking his quarry.

The twin suns of Tatooine started their fiery rise above the horizon. Ryath stirred from his slumber.  He started to move and was immediately brought to consciousness by a sudden pain in his side. He managed to pull himself upright against the rock. The pain eased a little. Putting his hand to the wound he felt the new patch of blood that had formed over night. The wound was still bleeding. This was going to be a bad day. Taking time to catch his breath he pulled himself to his feet. He felt light-headed - the blood loss must be getting critical. He reached over to turn off the motion detector and suddenly realised it had already been deactivated.

   "Thought I'd let you sleep for a while. Didn't want you blasting me before we'd had a chance to talk." Tarr Ranth stood twenty metres above him, atop the rock he had been sleeping against. He stepped forwards, falling into the air. Without apparently doing anything his fall slowed and he hit the ground at less than walking speed. Ryath was genuinely surprised but was too exhausted to show it. Walking over to Centaur, Ranth threw him a med-pack, which Ryath opened immediately. Without further conversation Ranth started packing Ryath’s gear away for him. Ryath completed sealing his wound, injected some fluids and stims, and handed the pack back to Ranth. Ranth turned towards him, took the pack and offered him a ration bar and a water canteen. Ryath nodded his thanks, taking a deep drink and a bite of the ration bar.

   "So what brings you to Tatooine?"

Onboard the Freedom Flyer, Mactin was bitterly complaining.

The Flyer had been designed as a long-range scout ship and her facilities were designed for a maximum of two people. Add to that the extensive modifications that Nias had implemented, and three was definitely a crowd. Five days of constant hyperspace travel was taking its toll.

   "How come I have to take the small bunk?" He walked up to Nias lifting him up by the collar on his shirt so that he hung a good six inches off the ground. Pulling him in towards his face he said, "I hate enclosed spaces!" He dropped him on to the deck. Nias brushed himself down and smiled over his shoulder at Goah, who smiled sardonically back. Derril had arbitrarily decided earlier that Mactin would get the smaller bunk so he and Galletti could pull shifts on the larger one. Mactin had an unusual body odour that Nias didn't want to share with the rest of his ship. But he didn't want to have to tell Mactin to his face, either.

Nias got to his feet and turned towards Goah, winking conspiratorially at him.  He turned back towards Mactin, his face hardening.

   "The point is Mactin, if you don't use that bunk, then I'll be forced to drop you off at the nearest inhabited planet. You smell worse than a Bantha in heat. If you don't have a sonic shower, change those clothes, and start to wash regularly, then I will drop you off, very soon!" Nias had made his voice climb from a quiet whisper to a near scream. Mactin looked totally surprised, and a little chagrined. He looked over towards Goah who admirably kept a straight face. Mactin spotted this and scowled in defiance. Goah spoke.

   "Fair play Mactin, it is his ship. It’s either the lack of space or the fact that you spent a day in a Bacta bath, but you need a damn good clean." He turned towards Nias who looked back and smiled, reaching under his tunic and bringing out his holdout Blaster.  While Goah moved across Mactins field of view Nias raised the Blaster and stunned Mactin with a stun bolt. Nias walked over and checked he was okay. Turning round he smiled at Goah.

   “How do you think he will feel when he realises the only spare clothes we have in his size were left by my last Wookie co-pilot?”

Goah nodded back with a knowing glint in his eyes.

Mactin awoke with one of the universes worst headaches. He felt different somehow. With a sinking feeling he realised that his world had suddenly become…cleaner. He raised his head above the side of the bunk. Nias sat opposite him, trying in vain not to laugh. Mactin, still slightly dazed, wondered what he was smiling at. He looked down at himself and suddenly realised. His normally grey styled combat fatigues were replaced with a shabby Wookie shawl and bandoleer. Nias burst into peels of uncontrollable laughter. Mactin didn’t find it funny, at least not at first, but then the mood caught up with him and he followed into one of the galaxies longest, loudest laughing fits.

A short while later, Mactin was at the controls of the Freedom Flyer. He’d changed back into his old clothes as soon as they’d dried off. Why the others had decided to pounce upon him, gods only knew. He had decided that he would get them back somehow, but when and where still remained a mystery to him. The hyperspace alarm sounded. Two minutes to normal space. Good, thought Mactin. Their original instructions had instructed them that their contact would meet them on Chancai. As far as they knew, this hadn’t changed. The good thing was that they knew the contact and had worked with him before.

Jan Lomona was famous, infamous even, for his piloting abilities. The man had flown more successful missions for Glann Cipple than any of his other employees. Employee wasn’t really the correct term to use – Lomona preferred to remain an independent trader, which suited himself and Glann Cipple just fine. It also meant that Jan could negotiate different rates for different missions. Sometimes Mactin wished that he and Goah had the same sort of working relationship. Nias moved into the cockpit behind Mactin and sat in the nava-comp chair. Mactin was still annoyed at the prank that Derril had played on him, but was too curious not to ask Nias what he was doing. Nias replied in a smug manner that also annoyed Tarr Ranth.

   “I’ve written a program that accurately predicts the movement of all celestial objects along a projected hyperspace route. It means that once a route has been calculated from planetary orbit, it can be used safely for another two or three days, depending upon the planet. It also allows a quicker get-away in an emergency. I’ve just programmed routes for Amagad, Wennicas and Vosside Station. We should see how it performs when we leave.”

Mactin nearly jumped out of his seat at the last statement. He looked around at Nias in disbelief. Nias was smiling broadly. Mactin realised he’d been wound up again. Nias took over the piloting and was guided in to a docking bay on Level 9. As he pulled into the crowded bay he noticed activity near the base of a nearby transport but was unable to pin down what it might be. Tractor beams guided the Freedom Flyer to a soft landing, and Droids began gathering near to the ramp, preparing to begin their regular duties.

Nias and Goah left the ship while Mactin locked down the systems and set up the security grid. The plan was to meet at Zythlies Dropout Parlour in an hour.

Nias took the lead and headed for the port-masters office.

There was a message waiting at the office addressed to Goah. Galletti signed for it and they moved on to Zythlies. Arriving at the popular bar on the Southside of Level 9, they took a private booth.  They downloaded the message into Nias’s porta-comp and started to view. They looked on in interest as Glann Cipple appeared on screen.

   “Good day gentle beings. I shall make this short and to the point. I’m very disappointed in you Galletti. I hoped you would have accepted the help I had spent so much effort providing.  As for you Derril, I don’t like the way you operate but I need your expertise on this mission. You are to meet with Jan Lomona at Zythlies Dropout Parlour on Level 9, Unit 6537 after your arrival. Miss this appointment and I’ll assume that you have stolen the merchandise. And rest assured that if I assume that I will not be happy.  Lomona will provide you with transport to your next location.”  Cipple paused for a beat and narrowed his stare.  “Don’t fail me Galletti. And send Mactin Selka back with the Freedom Flyer to Amagad. It will act as insurance. I’ve arranged for all docking fees to be credited to your account Derril. It’s up to you whether you accompany Goah. I won’t be paying you. Contact me upon arriving at your next destination.”

Goah stared stoically at the screen. Nias smiled, assuming he required cheering up.

   “I’ve got some vintage Zander Wine sitting in my safe on the Flyer. Lets get going.”

They left Zythlies and headed down the main ramp towards the docking areas. They reached the middle of the ramp when Nias noticed some familiar faces heading towards them. Coming up the ramp, pushing through the local crowds were Jan Lomona, Ryath Centaur and Tarr Ranth.

This day was going from bad to worse.

Seven Days Earlier…

Jan had been getting frustrated with the way the Berone Sunrise had been operating of late. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew something was wrong. That’s how he ended up at Romanoe's repair station. Romanoe entered the lounge area, wiping his hands on a greasy rag, and threw himself down on to one of the couches. Jan winced as he thought about the cleaning bill that would follow Romanoe's departure. Romanoe had a look of concern upon his face.

   "Well. What's the damage?" Jan came to the point quickly. He knew he'd have to haggle so he didn't want to waste time. Romanoe looked thoughtful for a moment and then started his run-down.

   "The backup hyper-drive motivator is shot. You'll need a new one, and I mean new. Not a refit or a retro. The main sub-light engines will need a full re-calibration and the base thrusters need new feed jets. Two more landings and you would have been paying for a new undercarriage! Have you been travelling near too many high gravity wells lately?" Romanoe's question pulled up a pang of guilt into Jan's mind. He had only just returned from a run to Kessel and broken records but it had been very rough.  Romanoe continued.

   "Apart from the need for a new coolant line and some enhanced shielding projectors, the rest is pretty minor stuff. Shouldn't cost you more than forty thousand credits. Thirty five thousand for cash."

Now Jan was even more surprised. The shield modifications alone would cost twenty thousand. He wondered why Romanoe was working so cheap? He didn't have to wonder long. Romanoe stood up and began to pace around the lounge.

   "Wondering why I'm going so cheap?" Jan nodded, Romanoe continued. "I need a favour. One of my best technicians has gone down with Tarpets Syndrome. He caught a lung full of unprocessed Tibanna Gas, so he'll be out for a couple of months. I need to borrow Paige. If you'll let me, and if she'll come." Romanoe looked sheepish.

Jan smiled. Paige, his daughter, had spent a couple of months working with Romanoe. Jan had thought it would keep her out of trouble, a sort of apprenticeship, but it hadn't. She had been paid standard rates but she had thought herself more valuable than that. After a blazing argument she had left and then returned to the Sunrise. It looked like she was going to get paid well for this stint. He also knew she would make Romanoe's life hell. Jan wondered if Romanoe knew she had a crush on his chief engineer? Then again, thinking about it, she had a crush on Ryath Centaur as well. Jan had a worrying picture of his daughter married to Ryath, with lots of little baby Centaurs running around their feet.

Yuck!

Four days later the Berone Sunrise had been serviced and Jan was on Chancai. Tarr Ranth turned up. One minute Jan was sipping from a Junon Juice cocktail at Zythlies, the next minute somebody was flying over his shoulder and landing on the floor beyond the table. Jan was surprised to see it was Tarr Ranth. Jan looked over his shoulder to see an enraged Wookie charging towards the restaurant. Before Jan could properly react he heard a pinging noise, followed by a rush of air on his cheek, and saw the Wookie stop dead in his tracks, literally. The creature folded over forwards, a look of confusion and pain on its features. It then collapsed onto its face. Ranth got back to his feet, and walked swiftly over to the Wookie, administering an antidote to the poison dart he had shot it with. The Wookie stirred but didn’t wake up. Ranth applied a heavy looking set of binders and called local security. Within minutes the Wookie had been loaded onto a stretcher and a credit slip had been given to Ranth. Ranth was about to walk away when he seemed to remember something and headed in Jan's direction.

   "Thought I'd collect that bounty to fill in the time.  Lomona. I need a favour and Glann needs a job done."

Jan sighed.

I just knew it was gonna be one of those weeks.