GEN Presents:

Smuggler’s Blues
By Admiral Kyle Kessler

I'm pretty happy with how this one turned out. I'd rate it up there with "A Conflict of Loyalties" as my best yet. Of course, how much you're going to enjoy it is another matter entirely! It's an attempt to go back to the time when Kessler first met Kerrigan, and gives a little more insight into Kerrigan's devious nature. He seems to be a popular character, I may write a story exclusively about him soon. This one is a prequel to "A Conflict of Loyalties" and should really be read after you've read the that. This one also won the Training Office Contest #4's Fiction Division

Prologue

Artuk raised a grime-stained hand to wipe the accumulation of sweat from his eyes and surveyed the perimeter of the mining camp in the glen below the bluff. The outworlders were clearly visible despite the late hour, their camp brightly illuminated by powerful lamps. He counted several dozen outworlder workers, occupied with their strange machinery. None appeared to be watching the forest for danger, although a handful were wearing the outworlders’ powerful weapons on their belts. These ones would have to be dealt with first.
He loosened his brown woollen cloak and slipped a hand down to his belt for the long knife he kept secured there. Freeing it from the confines of its oiled snakeskin scabbard, he kissed the blade and whispered a brief prayer to Mortu. Once properly sanctified, he laid it to rest on the mossy rocks before his prone body, and stretched out his arm to take up his crossbow. Raising himself into a sitting position, he selected a bolt from his leather quiver and slotted it into place quietly. Looking over to Cormac’s position, he saw his fellow warriors signal that all was ready. He nodded, a grim smile of satisfaction playing across his lips. Tonight’s battle would be immortalised in song by the bards. Tonight, for the first time, the Sons of Caradoc would strike back at the outworlders who had come to rape and defile his homeland. There would be many fresh notches to carve on the bone handles of his blades tonight, many fresh souls to ride the trails of smoke to Mortu’s paradise. Taking a careful aim at the nearest target, he waited patiently for the signal.

Parner Drell was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to get this operation on schedule. So far the mining rig had succumbed to countless minor problems and getting spare parts out to this forsaken region was damned difficult. There were personnel problems too. His engineers were coping with the job easily, they were used to working in far worse conditions, but the half-dozen hired guards that InGen Corporation Security Division had supplied were, to put it mildly, a pain in the ass. Not one of them wanted to be here, preferring an assignment in one of the office buildings that were springing up around Freeport, and they made no secret of their preferences either. Drell blamed Sergeant Torvus. It was his job to enforce discipline, but he seemed happy to let his men behave as they pleased. The situation was rapidly going to come to a confrontation if something wasn’t done, and soon. With a sigh he picked up the latest drilling report and tried to focus, then he heard the shouts.
Cursing under his breath, he dropped the report on his desk and stood angrily. "What now? This had better not be the ore processor again…"
Drell reached and opened the door to his trailer just as the first and only shot rang out. Beginning to panic, he pulled open the door and saw Sergeant Torvus twitching in a crumpled heap some five metres away, a couple of what looked like arrows sprouting from his chest. People were screaming now, terror and panic mixed with cries of pain and rage. Figures were sweeping from the forest’s fringe and Drell’s eye spotted one figure loping across the compound directly towards him, it’s brown cloak billowing in the light breeze, something long and sharp gleaming in its right hand. With a panicked eye, he realised that Torvus’ blaster still lay in its holster, some five metres distant. With his heart in his throat, Drell made a jump for it…

Artuk cleaned the blood from his blade with a grim smile of satisfaction, the exultant whoops of his battle brothers ringing throughout the forest glade. Murmuring a prayer of thanks to Mortu, he kissed the blade once more and returned it to the scabbard with a blessing. Looking towards the fringe, he spotted May-Deen breaking the cover of the forest, his outline broken up by the strange green and brown patterned smock that he wore. Artuk saluted him as he approached, clasped fist to chest. May-Deen stopped short of the two bodies at Artuk’s feet, his expression strangely unreadable.
"We’ll have to move out quickly. They may have had time to signal that they were under attack. Your men can’t afford to be here if any airspeeders show up."
Artuk shook his head, feathered braids swinging lazily. "The bodies must be burned, to send their souls to Mortu on wings of smoke. It is our way."
"You’re going to have to change your ways if you want to mount an effective guerrilla campaign, Artuk. No guerrilla army ever won a war by being where its enemies expected it to be."
"Your words are strange May-Deen, but they have the ring of wisdom about them. Nevertheless, it is our way. The Sons of Caradoc treat their enemies with respect. If we were to do otherwise, we would not be the Sons of Caradoc."
General Crix Madine sighed, the folds of his Rebel Commando team camcloak rustling slightly in the light wind.
Artuk grinned wolfishly. "But as soon as you deliver to us the blades of light that your people have promised us, there will be no reason for us to fear the sky-warriors either, yes?"
A tight smile crossed Madine’s bearded face. "Yes, Artuk, you’ll get your blasters soon enough, but it will take a while for your warriors to learn how to use them properly. It takes a while for a boy to master the use of his father’s knife. So it is with the "blades of light", you understand?"
Artuk nodded. "You speak the truth, May-Deen. But we are not boys. The learning will go quickly. The Sons of Caradoc are adept in matters of war. You will see."
Madine nodded thoughtfully as the first tongues of smoke from the improvised funeral pyre drifted across the glen and the ululations of Artuk’s brother warriors echoed through the night. "Yes, you certainly are, Artuk. You certainly are."

One

There was a certain majesty about hyperspace travel. The familiar coruscating blue halos of travel at superluminal speeds had a soothing, hypnotic effect, or so it had always seemed to Kyle Kessler. He often spent hours in the cockpit between jumps, gazing into hyperspace, lost in contemplation of the stark beauty of the galaxy. It was as good a way as any for a lone pilot to pass the time, and it kept him from brooding on the past, which given his particular history, was a good thing. It would be several hours before the Corel’s Dream arrived at Nar Shadda, but he was in no hurry. His cargo was non-perishable and he didn’t expect to meet his buyer immediately anyway, so what time he would normally have spent checking his cargo and preparing trading documentation, he instead spent in the cockpit, watching the stars bleed by.
It was a lonely life, all things considered, but he was used to that by now. None of his relationships had ever worked out to any degree, but he had few regrets. Serving the Empire as a TIE Pilot, and later as a Wing Commander had brought it’s own rewards, but it also brought a love for flying that quiet retirement in an apartment on Aurora Prime could never slake. So he’d sold his home, quit his security consultancy job and bought a beaten up Corellian freighter. With little capital and no real aims, he had taken to the life of an independent trader like a Rancor to fresh meat. He made little profit, his ship was always in need of repair, but he was happy. Happier than he could remember being in a very long time, so he continued to muddle along, making contacts here and there, losing money more often than he made any, but on the whole, happy, and content with his lot. Which was no mean achievement.
The Corel’s Dream was about as standard as they came. He couldn’t afford the fancy modifications that so many pilots installed on their YT-1300s, but he didn’t care. He’d once seen the Millennium Falcon itself, many, many years ago at the Battle of Endor, and he’d been impressed; but he simply didn’t require the kind of upgrades with which that famous ship had been fitted. He didn’t intend to get involved in anything more dangerous than talking to customs officials in any case. Of course, that didn’t mean he was taking any chances. The outer Rim was a notorious black spot for smuggling and piracy, so he made sure the Dream’s single Laser Cannon turret was in good shape and he kept his sensors and shields operating at as close to perfection as his rapidly burgeoning engineering skills would allow. It didn’t pay to take chances, after all. Not everyone shared his live and let live attitude.
He was startled out of his daydreaming by the proximity alarm. Nar Shadda was coming up soon. With a sigh he began warming up essential systems, powering up the laser, ensuring the shield capacitor was charged and ready to supply power to the defensive systems.
With a noticeable feeling of inertia, the Corel’s Dream shot back into realspace. He frowned. An old problem with the inertial damping system, he’d have to take a look at it when he’d made planetfall.
Sensors showed the usual chaotic mass of craft in Nar Shadda orbit, but none appeared to be paying any particular attention to his arrival, which suited him just fine. He powered up his shields anyway, just in case. There was no one in this particular area of the Outer Rim that he trusted enough to go into Nar Shadda unprotected. Port Control and Customs were non existent in this system, so his only problem was finding a landing bay as close as possible to his meeting point. He instructed the computer to begin querying the various Berthing Companies for the cheapest and most convenient options and soon had a berth that would suit his requirements.
Nar Shadda. The Vertical City. The place was a criminal paradise, and an architectural impossibility, but it all seemed to work. No doubt its wheels were oiled with corruption and greed, but they turned, and turned smoothly for those who knew where to apply the oil. Kessler didn’t fool himself into thinking he was savvy enough to be able to manipulate the system to his advantage without getting himself raped by the sharks who ran this place. He knew enough to stay out of trouble, find some useful contacts and not annoy the local crime bosses so much that he became noticeable.

The navcomputer indicated a suitable landing bay, cheap, and within walking distance of his place of business, so he initiated the credit transfer and took the Dream down. Swooping low over the rooftops of Nar Shadda’s skyscrapers, he descended into the gloom and traffic between the towering cityblocks and tracked his designated landing spot. The Dream landed without incident and he checked the time. He had an hour to waste before he was due to meet Ploovo Two-For-One, so he rose from the pilot’s station with a stretch of tired muscles and went aft to the cargo bay to check on his merchandise. All sixty crates of Blastech E-11 carbines were secure in their loading pallets, he noted with satisfaction. Gunrunning was a dangerous business, but highly profitable, so the benefits often outweighed the considerable risks. He hoped that on this occasion that would hold true, truth be told he badly needed the money. His license was up for renewal soon, and he couldn’t continue trading in the relatively safe area of Emperor’s Hammer space without one. He could always remain out of EH territory, trading on the shady side of proper business practices, but he was getting too old for the kind of trouble that went with that side of the business. He just wanted to stay free and flying, not make a quick and easy fortune; but there was a price to that kind of freedom, and occasionally, you had to pay the piper and dance to his tune if you wanted to enjoy the kind of freedom that having a license allowed. And on this occasion, the name of the song was "Gunrunning". It wasn’t his favourite tune, but it was the only one that was being played right now, so he intended to take one dance and get back to sitting on the sidelines as soon as possible.
Ploovo had told him to meet in a bar called "The Sullustan’s Sister" just off the financial quarter. Kessler knew of the place, but had never been there before. It wasn’t his type. Nevertheless, he made an effort to get there on time. Not purely for reasons of courtesy either. Ploovo was notorious for his attempts to double cross his business partners, and Kessler wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted to check out the lie of the land before it was too late to back out.
The bar was exactly as he expected inside. It was frequented by the nouveaux riche and it catered to their vulgar ideas of what constituted current high society fashions. All of the staff were Sullustans, females apparently, but that was a distinction that Kessler had never been able to make. Handing over his blaster at the door, he scanned the clientele. The patrons were mostly human, which probably said a lot about their attitudes to alien species. Human masters being served exclusively by small, physically unthreatening alien females. Kessler found the psychological implications distasteful, but it was just the kind of place he’d expect Ploovo to frequent. The thought occurred to him that twenty years ago, he’d probably have thought exactly the same way. Back then, the Empire was definitely a male-humans only club, but years of service in the multiracial Emperor’s Hammer Strike Fleet had quickly erased any reservations he’d had on that score. Finding no sign of Ploovo, he took a seat facing the door and waited.
"Mai saruba?"
A young female hovered by his table, waiting expectantly. He looked up and smiled. "Just a glass of water please, miss." The little Sullustan nodded and disappeared in the direction of the bar. Kessler took out a cigar and patted down his pockets, looking for his lighter. The waitress returned with his glass and produced a lighter of her own, face in an expression of what Kessler assumed was a smile. He accepted the offered light gratefully and paid for his drink, slightly shocked at the price.
"Thanks." He offered a small tip.
"Bib-do!" She returned to the bar looking for fresh customers.
Kessler decided he liked Sullustans.
Ploovo chose that moment to make his entrance. He was a short, fat humanoid, with small, glittering eyes set into a florid, sweaty face. His nose was badly scarred and disfigured, he reminded Kessler of the wanted posters he’d seen for the infamous Doctor Evazan, a comparison which, no doubt, Ploovo would have liked. He had his usual entourage of hired muscle accompanying him. Kessler noticed that none of them had been required to check their weapons at the door. Bad news. Still, it was a public place and there was no guarantee that Ploovo was going to double cross him.
He stood and approached Ploovo’s table, sitting himself opposite the crimelord and ignoring the calculating looks of his guards.
"Kessler, good to see you." Ploovo smiled, unctuously. "And early too." If he was displeased, he hid it well. A waitress brought a tray of drinks to the table. Without waiting to be asked, Kessler took one and sipped carefully. Some kind of wine, he couldn’t place the vintage.
"Nice place, you a regular?"
Ploovo picked up his own drink with a slight frown at Kessler’s manners. "I’m a silent partner. It’s a mutually profitable arrangement."
"You mean you get to launder your dirty money through the profits and the owner doesn’t have his windows smashed in by your thugs?"
Ploovo threw his head back and laughed, greatly amused. "Very good Kessler. I see you have a head for business after all." The scar tissue around his nose really was repellent. Kessler wondered how it had been injured. On reflection, he decided this wasn’t really the time or place for that avenue of discussion. "Okay Ploovo, I’d love to chat but Nar Shadda’s just not my kind of cesspool. I have your consignment, where’s my money?"
Ploovo’s smile broadened. "Let’s see the goods, Kessler"
"No chance, I wasn’t born yesterday. Cash first, then you get your sweaty paws on the merchandise."
Ploovo’s face assumed an expression of hurt. "Kyle, Kyle, you don’t think I’d try to double-cross you, do you? Your uncle Ploovo?"
"Sorry, Ploovo. You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone who gives a shit about your hurt feelings."
Ploovo chuckled quietly. "Well, there’s a slight problem with the deal, Kessler. Concerning the cash side of the arrangement. I’ve been having some monetary problems lately, and I simply don’t have the money at hand to cover your expenses, let alone the amount we agreed." Kessler’s face darkened. "I could always pay you via credit transfer?" One glance at his face told Ploovo exactly what Kessler thought of that idea. "Well, I could trade you for them, or you could trust me and wait a few days until I can liquidate some of my assets?"
Kessler considered his options. He trusted Ploovo’s "credit" less than he’d trust a Jawa to repair his hyperdrive, and he was positive that Ploovo’s story about cash-flow problems was a fairy-tale concocted to slope off some stock that he was having problems shifting; but his options were pretty limited. He was going to have to take the cargo or try to find another buyer for his weapons, and that was a risky business. Better to try to keep things simple.
"What’s the trade?"
Ploovo smiled. "Excellent! I’m sure you’ll have no trouble arranging a sale, and it’s all perfectly legal. I have nine tons of machine tools sitting idle in my warehouse, but the market for such things is a little slow here, and I’ve been having trouble shifting them. No doubt you’ll do better elsewhere. The standard market price is ten thousand, you’ll even make a small profit on the deal."
Kessler sighed. He was being shafted and he knew it, but his options were decreasing rapidly. He was going to have to accept Ploovo’s offer, although he seriously doubted Ploovo’s assurances that he would come out ahead of the deal.
"Okay, Ploovo you double-crossing bastard. Give me the machine tools."
Ploovo sipped his drink, contentedly. "So glad we understand each other Kessler."

***

Kessler groaned as he checked the stock prices again. Machine tools were not exactly high-value commodities, and if anything, the market was depressed at the moment. No matter which way he tried, he couldn’t find a price better than seven thousand anywhere on the major trading markets. He needed seven thousand to get his license, and that left nothing to invest in fresh capital. There wasn’t much point in being a licensed trader if you didn’t have any cargo to trade with. It was official. He’d been hosed.
The customs officer who’s terminal he’d borrowed accepted it back gratefully. "So, do I need to charge you Import Tax?"
"At the prices you’re paying for my goods here on Aurora? Not likely, I’ll be taking my stock elsewhere."
"Okay, you’re the boss."
Kessler left the Customs Office in a foul mood. He checked his pockets. A couple of hundred credits and assorted loose change. Time for a drink. There was a nearby bar he knew where he could relax and not worry about bumping into anyone who knew him from the TIE Corps. He set off at the rush.
Despite having had a ridiculous name inflicted on it, "Safe Landings" was a good bar. The barman was discreet and the clientele were pretty civilised. Of course, this was Aurora Prime, the more lawless elements tended to behave themselves here. Which was a shame, because Kessler was in a mood for a fight.
He downed his first drink in a single gulp, savouring the burning feeling settling into his gut and ordered another. Retiring to a side table, he sat and lit a cigar, feeling thoroughly pissed off. The only chance of getting a good price for his machine tools was to check around the border worlds, places where such items were needed to develop the material infrastructure of the fledgling colonies. The only problem was, such planets tended to be off the Market Net altogether, hence the need to visit each colony to establish the demand and price in person. It would take ages. It would not be fun. Shit.
He was well into his second drink, reflecting bitterly on the relative merits of laser burning Ploovo’s guts as opposed to coating him in gumquat sauce and dropping him into a Gundark pit, when someone pulled up the chair opposite him.
He was a lean, rangy spacer by the look of him. Probably aged in his early thirties, wearing a shabby blue jumpsuit under a brown flight jacket with a peaked cap tipped back over his sandy brown hair. He placed a drink at Kessler’s side of the table and offered his hand expectantly. "Name’s Dev Kerrigan, captain of the Far Trader. My friends call me Kerry."
Warily, Kessler took the offered hand and shook it. "Kyle Kessler, I don’t have any friends so you can call me what you like."
The newcomer grinned. "Sorry to interrupt like this, but I overheard you at Customs. You’re having trouble finding a buyer for your machine tools, right? Or do I have the wrong guy?"
Kessler grunted. "No you got the right man. I got shafted by a worthless, double-crossing piece of trash called Ploovo back on Nar Shadda. He must have seen me coming a parsec away."
Kerrigan signalled for fresh drinks to the barman. "Is that a fact? Would you be surprised if I was to tell you that this isn’t the first time Mister Ploovo has hosed his partners like this, and it just so happens that a group of his former associates wish to teach him a little lesson in correct business practice?"
Suddenly interested, Kessler leaned forward. "You know, mister Kerrigan… that wouldn’t surprise me one little bit." He sat back and exhaled noisily. "But other than satisfaction, what do I stand to get out of it?"
Kerrigan smiled broadly. "Well let’s start the negotiations in a more private setting, shall we? Your place or mine?"
Kessler handed Kerrigan a steaming mug of java and placed the pot down on the Dejarik table. Cradling his mug in his hands, he settled back into the couch. "Okay, mister Kerrigan, talk to me about details."

Kerrigan picked up his mug, glanced around the spartan recreation space onboard Corel’s Hope and sipped appreciatively before beginning. "Well it’s like this. As I’m sure you know by now, Ploovo Two-for-One isn’t the most honest of thieves in the galaxy, if you’ll excuse the obvious paradox that statement implies. One way or another, he’s screwed over just about everyone he’s ever dealt with. Three months ago, he took a cargo of spice off my hands and left me with a shipment of blasters in exchange that all came from a batch with defective power regulators. I know a bunch of people with similar stories, and none of us can figure out how the hell he manages to stay in business when he abuses everyone with such regularity."
Kessler nodded. "The thought was beginning to occur to me, too."
"Yeah, well, we figured it out eventually. He’s in the enviable position of being the sole contract in that sector for a pretty major arms smuggling organisation. He doesn’t ever upset his suppliers, only middlemen and small time players like us who need his custom regardless of the risks; so the syndicate he works for pretty much don’t care who he conducts his business as long as he keeps delivering the required profits, minus his cut and whatever he’s skimming off the top."
"So he only messes with small time hustlers like us, and plays it straight with the big boys?"
Kerrigan laughed. "Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say he plays it straight, but he’s a lot less blatant in his dealings with his suppliers." He reached for the pot of java and refilled his mug. "Anyway, we have a loose coalition of vengeful types united in the common desire to see Ploovo Two-for-One get a really big kick up his ass. We have a plan, we have the equipment we need, we just need the right person to set it all off for us, preferably someone who’s very recently been hosed by our mutual friend, someone who has a reputation for honesty, and someone who’s really a nasty, vicious, vindictive bastard at heart."
Kessler snorted in amusement. "Who’s accusing me of having a reputation for honesty?"
Kerrigan chuckled appreciatively. "Yeah, right. So are you in or not?"
Kessler frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hurt Ploovo, but he had more pressing problems to worry about, like his trading licence for example. "I don’t know, Kerry. I’d like to help, but I kind of have to find some cash quick to pay for my license…"
The lean spacer choked on his java. Coughing, he quickly recovered himself. "I’m sorry, I didn’t make it clear. We may be scum but we’re not stupid, and we’re not doing this for free either. The best way to make Ploovo cry is to hit him in the pocket, and we don’t intend to give his money away to the Spacers’ Widows and Orphans Trust once we’ve gotten our hands on it either."
Kessler’s frown began to disappear.
"Anyway, we’re not all as law-abiding as you, Kessler. I know some people who can give you a new license if you’re nice enough to them, so that’s not a problem."
Kessler thought about his options. He wondered how others had started down the slope into a life on the fringe. Had it begun this way for Kerrigan, or had he embraced the lifestyle with open arms? Regardless, his options were getting severely limited, and he really needed that license.
"Okay, Kerry. Let’s talk details."

***

Kessler fired the manoeuvring jets and brought the Corel’s Dream down onto the landing pad with a barely perceptible bump. It had taken him a while to get used to the control differences between TIEs and this venerable old freighter. TIEs tended to be extremely responsive to control input, and could be thrown about in violent manoeuvres by the slightest flick of the control column. The Corel’s Dream, on the other hand, was rugged, but graceful. YT-1300’s were fairly fast and extremely agile for a Freighter-Class starship, but they weren’t starfighters by any means and therefore responded to control input a lot more sluggishly than he preferred. However, he’d gotten used to it, even grown to like it after a fellow spacer he’d once travelled in convoy with asked why he threw his ship around so energetically. Kessler hadn’t realised he’d been doing anything differently, but the realisation that he’d been subconsciously treating his ship like a starfighter and it had been noticed in his flying style despite the limitations imposed by the Dream’s less responsive thrusters; had pleased him. He was, after all, still a starfighter pilot at heart.
Setting down at another cheap docking bay, Kessler made his way to the Sullustan’s Sister and casually mentioned to the bar staff that he was looking for Mister Ploovo. Settling down with a glass of Juri Juice, he didn’t have to wait long before he was approached by a tall Devaronian accompanied by two bodyguards.
"Kessler. Back so soon?" the horned humanoid observed while making himself comfortable. "Ploovo’s business with you was concluded to our mutual satisfaction or so I believed."
Kessler set down his glass, almost untouched. "Look, I don’t know who you are or what influence you have over Ploovo, but I need money and I need it fast. Ploovo’s the only man I know in this sector who offers contracts that pay the kind of money I need. My ship’s at his disposal, my only stipulation is that I don’t do assassinations."
Kessler’s attention was dawn to the shorter of the two bodyguards flanking the alien. There was something vaguely familiar about him, ex TIE Corps perhaps?
The non-human considered this for a while. "Very well, come with me. I think we may have a job lined up that requires a clean ship and an unknown pilot."
The two stood to leave. Kessler gave the shorter guard a second look, but couldn’t begin to place where he’d seen him before. It was a big Galaxy after all.

***

Two hours later Kessler stood at a crowded bar, nursing a Corellian Brandy with Kerrigan. Kerrigan managed to get the attention of the Bith bar staff and ordered another round of drinks.
"A clean ship and an unknown pilot" those were his exact words, right?"
Kessler sipped at his brandy. "Yeah."
"Oh well, you realise that you’re probably being set up? People like Ploovo tend to use people with clean licenses when they expect to be turned over and they need an innocent to use as bait." Kessler nodded.
"Sounds to me like he’s expecting trouble on this run and wants to use you as a lure to see where the shots are coming from."
"That was my conclusion too, yes."
Kerrigan studied the older spacer warily. "You still in?"
Kessler shrugged. "I don’t have much choice do I? Besides, if he’s going to pull what we both think he’s going to pull, I’ll be in the clear anyway. I have a clean license and the suspect cargo will be on another ship altogether. As long as I do my part, Ploovo will be more likely to trust me next time."
Kerrigan took a long swallow of his beer. "True, I’m just not overly happy about your getting put on the spot like this. There’s no guarantee that whoever Ploovo’s expecting to try to jump you is going to be the talkative type. They may only be interested in shooting, rather than stealing."
"Kerry, do you know what I did for a living during and after the Galactic Civil War?"
Kerrigan laughed. "Yeah okay… I just hope you’re as good as you think you are."
Kessler grinned despite himself. "Well despite Kessler’s 34th Rule of Starfighter Combat, yes, I am as good as I think I am."
"I’m not sure I want to know, but what’s Kessler’s 34th Rule?" Kerrigan asked.
"You’re never as good as you think you are." Kessler finished his drink and elbowed some space clear from a crowd of noisy revellers. "Shall we go?"

***

He seated himself and cleared his throat while activating the communications grid. "This is Preacher, make your report." He ordered, curtly.
The voice on the transmitting side crackled into life, the extreme long distance distorting the transmission. "This is Jackal. Everything is proceeding within planned parameters. We have a man on the inside who is about to commence his first dummy run for the target. My only concern is that we are running a risk of having our man eliminated before he can completely gain the target’s trust. His route takes him through a relatively dangerous Sector. I think it might be wise for us to arrange for a little insurance along the way."
"What sort of insurance do you propose?"
"Nothing too obvious. Perhaps it might be possible for a simple patrol to cross his path at the right moment? He’s a very competent starfighter pilot, but his ship leaves a lot to be desired. I wouldn’t want to leave his survival up to chance at this stage."
"Agreed. Leave it to me I’ll arrange something once you give me the location we can expect to intercept him at."
"You’ll have to wait, he won’t know his destination until he leaves. Keep a watch on this frequency or check the dead letter box for the details, I’ll send them as soon as I know. But what I do know is that his course takes him through the Dendrite Sector."
"The Dendrite Sector? As we expected."
"Yes, as we expected. Of course, this could be an elaborate double ruse, and the real cargo could be bound for somewhere else altogether, but it does raise some interesting possibilities, you agree?"
"Indeed. Well done so far. Keep working at it, I suspect we’ll have some definite results soon. Let us know that location as soon as possible and good luck. Preacher out."
"Understood. Jackal out."

***

Things were moving quickly. Kessler had been promised two thousand credits for simply flying by a series of navpoints with a dummy cargo. Of course, Quarrel hadn’t told him that he was being used as bait, but the fact that he had nothing more dangerous than thirty tons of fertiliser in his cargo bay was a bit of a giveaway.
He checked the navcomputer a final time. This was going to be the most dangerous part of the journey. The Dendrite Sector was a relative anomaly in this part of the Rim. There were very few habitable planets here and many large asteroid clusters and nebulae, making navigation very hazardous. Yet for all it’s disadvantages, the Sector made an effective buffer zone between Supreme Moff Lardo Babune’s Imperial Orthodoxy, Grand Admiral Stephan Ronin’s Emperor’s Hammer Territories; and the Independent Territories along the border of the New Republic. Neither of the three powers was anxious to see either of the others militarise the sector, but small patrols were allowed. The lack of a strong military or police presence, and the Sector’s ideal placement between three major economic blocs had naturally led to a proliferation of piracy and smuggling.
Kessler’s 17th Rule of Starfighter Combat applied: "Forewarned is forearmed. If you can’t be forewarned, then forearmed, foreshielded and escape co-ordinates fore-computed is an acceptable substitute." His guns were charged and online, and his shields were on standby.
The navcomputer warbled. One minute to go. The navpoint he was approaching was on the near side of a large but sparsely clustered asteroid field. It barely qualified as an asteroid field, so normal sublight travel was possible but mildly hazardous, superluminal travel however, through an astrogational object even as sparse as this was suicide. There was another navmarker on the far side of the field, and it would take around twenty minutes at a safe speed to make it to the other side. Once there, he could go to hyperspeed again, and his next stop on his circular route would be Nar Shadda. He strongly suspected that it wasn’t going to be so easy.
The Corel’s Dream lurched into realspace, Kessler’s eyes flicking over instrument readouts even as he cursed himself for not getting round to fixing the inertial dampers. Short range sensors detected nothing, he switched to medium range. Nothing. His limited long range scans also showed nothing unusual, but he’d be back in hyperspace before anything at long range could get close enough to become a threat anyway. He activated the shields and got a bearing on the next navmarker, then fed the data to the navcomputer in order for it to began the calculations for the next jump. He considered switching to an active scan in order to attempt to get a better picture of his surroundings. There was really nothing to be lost by doing it, his position had already been given away by his electromagnetic hyperspace exit flare and his passive sensors were extremely limited. He activated the Dream’s rectenna and ran a quick sweep as he approached the outer limit of the asteroids. Nothing. Anything waiting for him was hidden well, probably using the big rocks themselves as cover. There was nothing else for it, he was going to have to go for it.
He manoeuvred the Corel’s Dream into the fringe of the belt, running at a safe speed, easily avoiding the scattered rocks that littered his path. The thirty tons of organics in the cargo bay adding appreciably to his mass, and further complicating the dynamics of his flight. With the faulty inertial dampers, he could definitely feel a difference in her handling. Not ideal. Once again, he cursed himself for not getting round to fixing the problem when he had time.
The cockpit proximity alarm was starting to get on his nerves, as it was warbling every time he approached one of the large rock masses, which was every minute or so, so he switched it off with an irritated flick of a switch. Five minutes gone, and still no sign of trouble. Perhaps Ploovo had overreacted? It was possible. Eight minutes gone, twelve to go. He didn’t dare relax.
His passive sensors alarmed and he flicked a glance at the sensor panel. A ship had just emerged from hyperspace on the far side of the belt. Sensors identified it as a Gallofree Yards Medium Transport, escorted by two Headhunters. He began to relax slightly. A Gallofree was a far juicier target than a YT-1300, although he realised that wouldn’t make a difference to anyone specifically looking for him, but any casual attackers were likely to jump on the newcomer rather than himself. All the same, he kept a wary eye on the approaching ships. Pirates had used some pretty devious tricks to sucker unwary travellers before, there was no good reason why this couldn’t be one of them.
Then it happened. An ruby streak of laser fire arced from the cover of one of the bigger rocks and struck the lead Headhunter square on the port engine. The ship bucked before accelerating sharply, avoiding a second burst, and Kessler’s sensor display lit up across the board. Several small shapes detached from the asteroids ahead and launched after the small convoy. Kessler didn’t have a tactical computer to identify them, but he didn’t need one. He recognised the profile – Y-Wings. Two closed down on the lead Headhunter as he desperately tried to find his wingman. His rear quarter took a second hit, and his shields depleted, he lost an engine. No longer having a speed advantage, he tried to turn to fight, but the two raiders had pulled a bracket manoeuvre and neatly intersected him with laser fire as he presented a broad silhouette on the arc of his turn. His ship disintegrated around him in a fiery mess and the two Y-Wings turned their attention to fresh prey.
Kessler saw them coming. He angled the deflectors, disengaged the safety and slaved his gun turret to the forward fire arc. Swerving to port to avoid the path of an asteroid obscuring his line of fire, he triggered a long, probing burst at extreme range. Kessler’s 42nd Rule of Starfighter Combat: "Being a good pilot doesn’t hurt, but being a good shot is better. One shot on target is worth more than an hour of evasive manoeuvres, and it’s less boring too." Kessler was merely a good pilot, but he was an excellent shot.

The lead Y-Wing pilot was probably very surprised to see his shields crumple at such extreme range. He began to corkscrew wildly to throw off Kessler’s aim, his wingman carried on driving in, narrowing the range. Kessler had been hoping that might happen.
He switched targets and began to pile fire into the second Y-Wing, even as it’s pilot began to feel confident enough about the range to begin firing himself. Ignoring his return fire, Kessler kept up the attack. A barrage of shots hammered into the Y-Wing’s forward shields and punched through. Checking his systems display, Kessler noted that his own shields had stabilised but were down to 175% efficiency after the one-sided gunnery duel. With a brief smile of satisfaction, he switched concentration back to the fight. The lead Y-Wing was still maintaining it’s old attack course, yet it’s guns had fallen silent. In an instant, Kessler guessed that everything bar his engines had been disabled in the exchange of fire, and he switched his attention back to the second Y-Wing, who was just coming into optimum gunnery range after his corkscrew tactic had slowed down his rate of approach. Kessler began to pull the Dream up and around in a repeating arc, tracing a figure of eight in space, with the Y-Wing at it’s centre. It was a tactic best suited to small and agile starfighters, and Kessler’s ship was too large a target for it be very effective, but it reduced the amount of fire that hit while he was manoeuvring, while allowing him to squeeze off a burst of fire every time the enemy ship passed the centre of the figure eight. The difference in firepower and shielding between the two aggressors soon told. The Y-Wing’s shielding collapsed and his port engine spar sheared off under the attack, igniting his fuel slugs and disintegrating the fuselage and cockpit in the resulting explosion.
A swift check of the sensors showed no trace of the first attacker, but a dissipating fireball on the surface of an asteroid two clicks aft gave a good indication that he hadn’t managed to fix his flight controls until it was too late. Tough luck.
The Medium transport was in trouble. She was broadcasting a distress call on all frequencies, but there was considerable jamming and it was doubtful that the call was going anywhere fast. Her second escort had been destroyed, and without any armament she was a sitting duck for the remaining six Y-Wings. They had switched to Ion Cannons and were taking turns at making slow and leisurely strafing runs, their hits splashing over her shields in pale blue patterns.
Actually, this was good. No-one was bothering the Corel’s Dream, a situation which was as rare as it was welcome. The medium Transport’s desperate evasion course was taking her away from the navmarker, which left Kessler with a clear run to safety. He increased speed instinctively and changed course to get through the asteroid field as soon as possible.
Kessler tried to think of himself as a practical man, and this was true, most of the time. While a Wing Commander in the TIE Corps, he’d always taught his pilots to ignore ethical and moral considerations whenever they conflicted with practical ones. It was a harsh philosophy, but it kept his men and women alive more often than not. For himself, he’d been ordered to do some questionable things from time to time. He’d firebombed a crowd of civilians on an undercover mission to Coruscant on one occasion. It was something he was far from proud of, but he’d had time to come to terms with his actions; and while still troubled by some of the things he’d done in the line of duty, remorse didn’t rule his life. He’d been a warrior, and a warrior whose mind isn’t on the mission is a warrior waiting to die, or worse, waiting to get his team killed.
That was history now though. He wasn’t bound by the TIE Corps Oath of Service anymore, and he was acutely aware that he could easily have been in that Transport’s position had luck been looking the other way.
Seconds ticked by, the Transports shields weakened further. He checked the distance to the navbeacon. He’d be there and away in under two minutes.
He looked at the sensor display again. It’s shields were almost gone.
"Shit!"
The Corel’s Dream Pulled around in a tight high G turn and accelerated to attack speed, flipping and weaving violently to avoid the asteroids which were now a much greater threat at her higher speed.
"Shit!" he cursed again, angling the deflectors to the front quarter once again and selecting the nearest target, which was rapidly coming into gunnery range.
Could have been halfway to Nar Shadda by now, but no. I have to have a damn conscience attack don’t I? Shit!
He triggered the lasers and unleashed a punishing burst of fire into the closest Y-Wing. It broke apart in seconds, completely unable to absorb that kind of damage. The remainder scattered, their prey ignored for the moment.
Kessler’s 5th Rule of Starfighter Combat: Stay on the offensive. Anyone avoiding your fire isn’t shooting back at you, and that is what is known in the trade as ‘A Good Thing’.
Got to get more kills in quickly, keep hitting them before they can regroup.
Diving through the centre of the pack, his laser cannons found another target, probing streaks of fire shearing off an engine spar and condemning his victim to a perpetual, uncontrolled spin through cold, hard space.
The odds were four to one now, and the Dream had a shield and speed advantage, if not a firepower one. Spotting a wide, clear gap in the asteroids, Kessler gunned the throttle and rocketed clear, putting as much distance between himself and his tormentors as possible before swooping around to return to the fray. His plan was simple – zoom and boom. Exploit his speed and defensive advantage by making repeated diving attacks into the pack of Y-Wings. He’s seen rookie pilots in faster ships suckered into trying to dogfight with weaker but more numerous foes before. It was an old tactic, the pilot you were attacking simply dodged your fire long enough to set you up for his wingmen to take care of you. Kessler was far too old to fall for a trick like that. He selected his next target and prepared to draw a bead on him, when a cockpit warning alarm went off with a loud shriek.
Missile launch? Well that changes things. He thought wryly. The radar showed three concussion missiles locked on with bare seconds before impact. No time to shoot them down, think quick, Kessler.
Sometimes you just have to take it like a man.
The Corel’s Dream jinked wildly and corkscrewed, one missile missed and began to loop around for a return pass, the other two were more accurate, striking home both on the forward mandible and square on top of where the ventral gun turret would have been, if one had been installed. Riding out the shockwaves, Kessler fought to regain control, and brought the ship around to intersect the path of the closest of the larger asteroids, controls sluggish with the extra mass of his cargo. He floored the throttle and zoomed past, wrenching the Dream around the bulk of the rock just as the third missile caught up with his course change. It detonated harmlessly on the mass of the iron-nickel rock, giving him time to assess the situation. Shields were down to 50%, which was far from good. He’d underestimated the enemy, a mistake which most pilots didn’t have the opportunity to regret. It was pretty plain that his zoom and boom tactic was out of the question now, but at least he could still outmanoeuvre them. Muttering a brief prayer, he hauled the ship around, guessing that the Y-Wings would break into two flight elements of two ships each to split around the rock he’d used as cover. He was right. Linked laser fire took one of the first two Y-Wings in the face as it crested the top of asteroid, sending its remains spiralling and it’s wingman sweeping away frantically.
Didn’t expect to see me from this angle again did you boys? Tough luck.
He continued the turn, looping around the rock and ignoring the survivor, who began to turn his lumbering bomber around to get onto his tail. Clearing the mass of the asteroid in a wide loop, he emerged clear of the bottom, behind the second pair just as realisation of where he must have gone was dawning. For one of them, realisation dawned too late. For the other, by the time he began to evade, he was in a flight group of one. The survivor of the first pair cleared the bulk of the asteroid and settled himself down on Kessler’s tail at long range. He held his fire and began to pile on speed, while the one ahead started to dodge wildly, yet all the time holding him onto roughly the same course. Kessler checked his speed. He was travelling at optimum combat speed, yet not closing on the lead bomber as quickly as he’d have liked. His tail was closing the distance however, therefore logic dictated that the guy in front was sacrificing weapons power for speed, and the guy behind him was sacrificing shield power for speed, an intelligent tactic that showed these two at least were learning quickly and working together. His assumption was proven correct when a barrage of laser fire struck his rear quarter and the Dream shuddered. Smiling grimly, Kessler swung the ship around in as tight a turn as he could manage with its increased mass, and found himself racing head on with what had until a few seconds ago, been his pursuer. The Y-Wing pilot realised the situation he was in instantly – he had no shields and Kessler was about to fire. He had two choices, he made the wrong one.
Kessler ignored the incoming fire and lined up his target before squeezing the trigger. The Y-Wing exploded almost instantly.
You should have dodged.
He didn’t stop to admire his work, but swept around in a wide arc to pursue the remaining bomber. However, it seemed someone had finally taken the hint, for the remaining pilot went to lightspeed and escaped the battle before Kessler could track him.
Sighing with relief, he slowed to a safer speed and checked his systems display. Shields were down to 12%. No other damage. He grinned and patted the flight console affectionately.
The Medium Transport appeared to be in one piece, it’s engines were still online and it’s shields were slowly recharging. He opened a comms channel to its captain to enquire as to her status.
"This is Captain Kessler of the Corel’s Dream. You guys in one piece?"
"Captain Derrel of the Naboo Star. Got a little hairy there for a minute, but no real damage done" was the reply. "Shame about our escorts, but they were mercenaries anyway. No-one I knew personally."
Kessler winced at the callous remark, but then, that was life on the fringe after all. The mercs had known the risks when they took the job.
"Okay captain, I’d suggest you get your cargo out of there before any more show up. I’m in no shape to duel with another bunch right now."
A hiss of static, then Derrel’s voice returned, mildly concerned. "You okay? Your ship took a little beating from what I could see."
"No, she’s fine. This old girl’s older, tougher and uglier than I’ll ever be. Good luck with the rest of your trip, you can buy me a drink sometime."
"Sure thing Captain Kessler. Take care, Naboo Star out."
Kessler relaxed slightly and changed course to rendezvous with the navbeacon. Time to go home and collect his cash. If Ploovo didn’t trust him after this job, he’d personally hand feed him his damned fertiliser, all thirty tons of it.

In retrospect, Kessler would have admitted that going to the Naboo Star’s aid was a damned stupid thing to do, given that he was aware that the mission was very likely a set-up. Nevertheless, when the squadron of V-38s suddenly dropped their cloaks and opened fire on him, he was taken completely by surprise.
The Corel’s Dream’s shields were wiped out in the first barrage, and the cockpit’s master warning alarm went haywire, with red lights springing into life across the board. Instinctively, he began evasive manoeuvres without knowing exactly from which direction he was under attack. His sensors only confused the issue – the TIE Phantoms were decloaking to fire and slipping off his sensors too quickly to get an accurate ID, let alone a target lock. Only experience confirmed exactly how deep in the shit he really was.
V-38’s? Emperor’s Hammer ships? What the hell have I gotten myself into?

He redlined the engines, knowing that his freighter didn’t have a prayer against a whole squadron of TIE Phantoms. Nevertheless, within seconds, it became clear that with the extra mass of his cargo, he hadn’t a chance of making it to the navbouy in time, and without a gunner for the turret cannon, he had even less of a chance of defending himself.
The ship shuddered and he heard a small explosion aft, evidence that the hull plating was taking a savage battering. He had around fifty seconds to go before he could make the jump to lightspeed, in all likelihood, he’d be lucky to last another twenty. There was only one chance that he might make it. Ploovo might be pissed off, but that was the least of his concerns.
He ejected his cargo.
Dimly, as he fought to control the Dream on a straight course despite the pounding her hull was taking, he heard the cargo bay blast doors slam shut and the hollow roar of the bay venting to deep space. The Corel’s Dream surged forward as she suddenly found herself thirty tons lighter, and the threat display clearly showed three explosions blossoming in the night behind him as several unlucky pilots found themselves unable to avoid the mass of fractured cargo pallets and flash-frozen organic compounds in time. The relentless barrage of laser fire died, his pursuers unable to get a lock, their sensors obscured by the billowing cloud of debris and their pilots frantically trying to evade the fate that had befallen three of their comrades.
Kessler’s hand hovered anxiously over the hyperdrive lever, a trickle of cold sweat running down the line of his jaw. The seconds ticked by with agonising lassitude. The navcomputer chimed once, and in an instant, the cockpit filled with a blue glare as the stars bled away into superluminal streaks of light.
Taking everything into consideration, it had been a pretty eventful day.

"Mother Goose this is Eyeball One. Abort your attack, he’s dealt with the attackers and gone to lightspeed. I repeat, the target is away safely. Your presence is not required."
"Dealt with all of them? Not bad, who gave this guy permission to retire?"
*chuckle* "I think it happened around when Sector Admiral Compton was Flight Officer, but don’t quote me on that."
"Okay, Eyeball, enjoy the rest of your shift. We’re out of here."
"Roger. Enjoy your trip."
---
"Big Bird, this is Eyeball One. Area is clear. Send your transports to collect the bodies and the wreckage. The forensics boys have a lot of work ahead of them."
"Roger, Eyeball. Let’s see what we can’t learn about our mystery attackers shall we?"

Two

Artuk wrapped his cloak tighter around himself and buried himself deeper into the undergrowth. Despite May-Deen’s assurances that something as simple as a skin cream could protect the Sons of Caradoc from the sky warrior’s finding-magic, he didn’t relish being in a situation where he was forced to put the outworlder’s claims to the test. Fear was not an emotion that Artuk was used to, yet he’d seen first hand how easily the outworlders’ flying machines could detect his warriors even through the dense cover of the trees, and he’d also witnessed the awesome destructive power of their weapons firsthand.
After an age of quick, shallow breathing and sweat-stung eyes, May-Deen gave the signal that it was safe to continue. Wordlessly, a dozen of his fellow warriors rose from the ferns and bracken, pale faced and shaken, each one of them. Only the tall outworlder seemed unperturbed.
Anxious not to allow himself to seem less of a man than May-Deen, Artuk spoke first, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.
"It is as you say May-Deen. The salve you have given our warriors is charmed against the finding-magic of the sky-warriors."
Madine nodded. "It is a simple magic, Artuk. The cream prevents the heat of your bodies from rising into the air where the sky-warriors’ machines can smell it."
"As you say, yet I long for the day when I can reach out with my own blade of light and strike at our enemies, instead of cowering in the dirt like a woman."
Madine nodded. The other warriors rumbled their agreement. Fear makes men voluble, and these primitive warriors were no exception. "Soon, Artuk. Soon the Sons of Caradoc will have the weapons you desire. Then your enemies will not be so quick to pursue you with flying machines, and you can drive them from your lands like the dogs they are."
Artuk nodded, happy that his eagerness for battle had once again been asserted in front of his brothers. He looked up through the branches overhead, wondering where the winds had taken the sky-warriors this time. One day they will be made to regret the day they challenged the right of the Sons of Caradoc to walk their own lands. I will see that they do not live to regret it for long.

***

Kessler spotted Kerrigan propping up one corner of the bar with a pair of drinks waiting. He waved and walked over to meet the younger spacer.
"You look like shit, Kess" said Kerrigan, handing over a cold beer.
"Your mother didn’t think so" Kessler shot back.
"Kess, you’re old enough to be my mother’s grandfather." Kerrigan laughed.
Smiling, Kessler sipped at his drink, then nodded in approval. "This stuff’s good."
"Yeah, the barman brews it on the premises." He paused, allowing Kessler to take a good swipe of his beer. "So?"
Kessler drained the glass and set it down on the bar, signalling the Rodian barman for another. "Well I got myself sidelined in a little skirmish with a bunch of "legitimate" pirates. Then, as luck would have it, the real hit-squad showed up." He began to attack his second beer.
"Come on Kess, you’re not getting paid by the hour, what happened?"
Kessler shrugged. "I got one of the most savage poundings I’ve ever had the misfortune to take in my life. A Squadron of what I assume were V-38s jumped me."
Kerrigan’s eyes bugged in disbelief.
"Well, I assume they were V-38s. They were cloaked most of the time after all" he finished, sarcastically.
"Kess, it’s not that I don’t respect your skills as a pilot or anything, but TIE Phantoms? I’ve never even seen one, and you survived getting jumped by a whole squadron?"
Kessler chuckled. "Well the thing about V-38s Kerry, is that you’re not supposed to see them. That’s kind of the whole point."
Kerrigan gave him a sour look. "Shut up wise-ass. Explain."
Kessler sighed, suddenly looking a lot older than his thirty eight years. "I waited until I judged they were right on my tail and dumped my cargo over them. Then I kinda exceeded the safety margins of the engines and left in a hurry. Any idea what it all means?"
Kerrigan shrugged. "Well I think pushing your engines over the stated safe operating limits might mean you’ve invalidated your insurance…"
Kessler rolled his eyes.
"…But apart from that I have no idea. You think they were…" he stopped suddenly. "Kess, let’s not talk here. Your place or mine?"
"Mine. I can work on the repairs while you’re talking."

***

"Hydrospanner" Kessler grunted. Kerrigan selected the relevant tool from the tray and passed it down into the drive bay.
"You sure you know what you're doing down there?" Kerrigan asked, peering into the mess of wires and cables from which Kessler's legs protruded.
A muffled snort was his reply. "Kerry, do you know anything about repulsor coils or inertial dampers?"
"Nope."
"Then shut up unless you're talking about a subject you're qualified to speak on."
"Like our little conspiracy for example?"
Kessler reached from the drive bay and dropped the hydrospanner by Kerrigan's feet. "Exactly. Lump hammer?"
Kerrigan rooted around in the tray and passed Kessler a large, blunt hammer. "This it?"
"That's the sucker." He braced himself against the internal bulkhead, gripped the hammer in both hands and laid into what appeared to be the hyperdrive motivator with an almighty blow. Satisfied, he passed the hammer back up to the dumbfounded Kerrigan and climbed out of the drive bay. "That should work."
Kerrigan stared at him. "Where did you learn engineering? The Academy, or Watto's Junkyard?"
Kessler grinned and wiped his hands on an oily rag. "Back in Tornado Squadron we used to have a Chief Tech called Machiko Toranaga. Tornado was a frontline squadron, so our ships got pretty beat up from time to time. She was always low on engineering crew so she insisted on teaching us basic engineering, then the next time we brought a bent Missileboat in from a patrol she'd make us try to fix the problem ourselves."
"Basic engineering about sums it up."
"Yeah, yeah, spare me your sarcasm. Anyway, there was one thing about her engineering courses I never did understand."
Kerrigan sighed. "Go on..."
Kessler stooped to pick up a tool from the deck. "Why do they call it a hydrospanner?"
"Beats me."
"Seriously. Hydro means water, right? Does this thing look like it contains water?" He brandished the sturdy tool under Kerrigan's nose.
"Maybe it's hydraulic?"
Kessler peered at the spanner cautiously. "You mean it's supposed to have moving parts?"
"Of course it is! What do you use it for anyway?"
Kessler shrugged. "It's just got a twirly bit on the end that's useful for getting at stuff in obscure places."
"A 'twirly bit'?"
Kessler laughed good naturedly. "It's a technical term, Kerry."
Kerrigan shook his head, bemused. How the Corel's Dream stayed flying in one piece seemed to be one of life's unsolved mysteries.
"Anyway, we have more important matters to discuss. To the cockpit."
Kerrigan followed Kessler to the Dream's cockpit and sat himself in the co-pilot's station. Outside, the multicoloured face of Nar Shadda swirled in a garish neon haze. Kessler pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it, blowing clouds of aromatic blue smoke into the ventilation.
"Kess, those V-38s have been bothering me. I'm not sure what it means, but it's obvious that whoever's got it in for Ploovo's suppliers means business."
Kessler nodded. "Yeah, I figured that part out for myself, but which side do you suppose they're on? There aren't a whole lot of organisations that can afford that kind of high-tech muscle. I know the Emperor's Hammer has the odd "special ops" Squadron that uses them, and I have to tell you - I really don't feel like messing with the EH. I was never comfortable shooting at people I know."
Kerrigan pursed his lips, deep in thought. "You could be right, but remember, if the EH is pissed at Ploovo's people for some reason, we're doing them a favour by helping to screw him."
"True, which brings me onto the next thing I've been meaning to ask you. Who's this "we"? So far the only person I see getting shot at is me."
Kerrigan stared at Kessler for a good long while. He seemed to come to a decision. "Kess, I wasn't completely honest with you about our backers."
Kessler stared him out, daring him to continue.
"Well, you see, the thing is...have you ever heard of a guy named Tallon Karrde?"
"Nope."
"I said ‘Tallon Karrde.’"
Blank look.
"You’ve never heard of Tallon Karrde?"
Incomprehension.
"The man who took over Jabba the Hutt’s criminal empire after his death?"
"Jabba who?"
Kerrigan began to feel the situation slipping away from him. "Kess, how the hell have you managed to survive in this business without knowing who you’re not supposed to upset?"
Kessler shrugged, obviously unimpressed. "I’ve always made it my policy not to upset anyone in this line of work if I can help it. Those who’re determined to cause offence I either walk away from or kill. Simple business plan, and it’s worked so far.
"Well it's not that simple. Karrde's people are running guns in a big way these days, making a lot of money out of the conflict out here on the Rim, and he's got a lot of influence on the fringe. I mean, the kind of influence that means when a man in my line of work gets made an offer he can't refuse by one of Karrde's contacts, well...you just don't refuse."
"This Karrde person’s a serious piece of work then?"
Kerrigan spread his hands and shrugged. "Sorry, Kess. You're working for Tallon Karrde."
Kessler shook his head, glassy eyed. "So what's the deal?"
"Well, nothing's changed. Ploovo's taking a lot of business away from Karrde's pocket, but simply sending in the Bounty Hunter's Guild wouldn't solve anything. Ploovo's backers would just find someone else, and Karrde's organisation spent months finding out about Ploovo in the first place, so they're happy to leave him be as long as there's a chance to track back to his suppliers. It's them they want to close down. Without his backers Ploovo's a nobody. That's where we come in."
Kessler lifted his leg and stubbed out his cigar on the sole of his boot. "But if Karrde's people weren't behind the V-38 attack, that must mean that there's someone else trying to close Ploovo down. Surely it follows that these people must be the enemies of whoever Ploovo's supplying guns to? And doesn't that make them on the same side as Karrde? On the same side as us?"
"Kess, did I ever tell you Kerrigan's Rule of Life on the Edge Number One?"
The ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Kessler's mouth. "No, but I have a feeling you're going to."
"There's only one rule. The only person on your side is you."
"I like that one. I'll have to remember it."
Kerrigan stood, brushing down his jumpsuit. "Anyway, tell me about your latest meeting with the Fat Guy."
"Well, he was pretty surprised to see me alive."
"You don’t say?"
"Yeah, he didn’t exactly come right out and admit it, but it’s obvious he was using me as cheap bait to lure the ambushers out and nothing else, which explains why he didn’t pay me up front, and why he never asked what happened to the cargo of fertiliser." Kessler patted down his pockets for another cigar. "He was so impressed that I’d survived he didn’t even didn’t even argue when I demanded my money for completing the run. Apart from that, he’s offered me another run, at three times what he was paying last time, and with half up front."
"Now you’re talking!" Kerrigan grinned enthusiastically. "Split the proceeds fifty fifty?"
"Only if you don’t mind spending it with broken fingers" Kessler retorted.
Kerrigan laughed again, obviously pleased that their plans were coming to fruition. "Okay, so it’s a genuine weapons deal this time, right?"
"As far as I can tell, yes. He’s paying gun-running money for it. I think my actions have convinced him that I can handle myself in a fight."
"Any idea when this run will take place, or where?"
"So far all I know is when – two days from now. As for where…I have no idea. I won’t know until we get set to go." He paused, thoughtful for a second. "The only thing that’s been bugging me is how we’re going to track back to Ploovo’s suppliers? Even if we do hijack a shipment, it’s unlikely to have ‘If undelivered please return to Acme Gun Smugglers Inc’ written all over it is it?"
Kerrigan smiled, "It should be simple. All we need to do is steal a major shipment, then put the word around that we have a consignment of arms to sell on the market. Whoever’s supplying Ploovo will be looking around for who stole their guns anyway. When they check us out they’ll discover that what we’re offering matches the stolen shipment exactly. They’ll assume they’re dealing with a bunch of idiots, contact us to arrange a purchase, then try to doublecross us at the sale and steal back their guns…"
"Only we’ll be expecting that and will be loaded for bear?"
"Precisely. All we need to do is capture one of their ships, check its log to find out where it came from and we’re in business."
Kessler rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "Sounds good… but there are only two of us. I’m pretty good, but I’m not that good."
"Relax, Kess. We’re working for the big boys now. We’ll have backup. Lots and lots of backup."

***

"Preacher, this is Jackal. All is proceeding as planned. We’re going to need some backup though, and I mean subtle backup. A few R-41’s would be nice, but Y-Wings would be better."
"That shouldn’t be too hard to arrange, you have a location yet?"
"Negative. That’s going to be a problem too. We won’t know where we’re going or how many ships we’ll be intercepting until the very last minute. I’d recommend that you activate Wolf and Snake and get them to Nar Shadda immediately. I’ll introduce them to the principle and together we can arrange an intercept once we know the location."
"Sounds logical. I’ll get right on it."
"Any word from forensics on who our friendly ambushers were?"
"Nothing. They were completely clean. No identifying marks of any kind whatsoever, although that in itself tells us two things. One – the dead pilots have never worked for us, and Two – their current employers are an organisation at least as careful and resourceful as we are. That narrows the list of suspects down somewhat."
"We can’t completely rule out the possibility that they still may be a private organisation."
"True, but it’s highly unlikely. You’re doing a good job there, Jackal. Keep it up."
"Just you remember that when my bonus is due. Jackal out."

***

Kessler was spot-welding the more serious damage to the ventral armour plating when Kerrigan cleared the hatch to Docking Bay 33B with a group of suspicious-looking individuals in tow. Switching off his fusion welder, he removed his goggles and waved down to his friend. Kerrigan returned the wave, indicating everything was above-board. Kessler leaned over the hull and shouted down to the hired maintenance droid to continue with the repairs and indicated to Kerrigan to bring his guests onboard.
Inside, he found Kerrigan waiting in the crew compartment with five unsavoury-looking men and women. Wiping his hands on an oily rag, he shot Kerrigan an enquiring glance.
"People, this is Kyle Kessler. He’s the inside man, and the one who’s been taking all the risks so far. Ex-TIE Corps Colonel and he’s not dead yet, so you know he can handle himself in a fight." The group nodded and murmured their greetings.
Kerrigan turned to a tall, weasel-faced human and gestured with his hand. "Kess, this is Dino Dayton, but everyone calls him D-Day. He’s captain of the Firespray Class attack ship Killing Time and all round useful man to have in a fight. He was working for Ploovo last year as a convoy escort and got his last ship shot out from under him when they were jumped by a New Republic cruiser hunting for pirates in the Mandell sector. Ploovo’s idiots refused to stop and be searched despite the fact that they were in Independent space and the Republic couldn’t legally confiscate their contraband. D-Day was ordered to cover their escape, which he did, but Ploovo refused to compensate him for his damages, despite the whole debacle being Ploovo’s fault. Needless to say, D-Day hasn’t worked for him since."
Next up was a middle aged woman, large-boned, with a homely face, but a manner about her that suggested she wasn’t the type that stayed at home patching socks. "This is Angel. Don’t ask her what her real name is, no-one knows and she ain’t telling. She flies the YT-1300 Momma’s Pride and though it may not be quite the Millennium Falcon, it’s more than capable of blowing away this sorry excuse you call a ship."
Angel smiled. "More than a match for your Far Trader too, Kerry."
Kerrigan snorted. "That remains to be seen. Anyway, she’s got an itch she’s been waiting to scratch for years, ever since Ploovo sold her a ship that was on the "Destroy on Sight" lists of four major Intelligence and Security agencies. Not surprisingly, Angel and Ploovo aren’t the types who believe in keeping efficient ownership records, so she had quite some explaining to do when she first tried to obtain landing clearance at the next New Republic port. The last she saw of the ship was when it was impounded by New Republic Intelligence, and believe it or not – Ploovo doesn’t offer money back guarantees."
"Anyway, moving swiftly on, these last three are the famous Rodo brothers: Max, Harl and Kel. The Brothers Rodo are good, honest mercenaries with their own Y-Wings, and they’ll hate Ploovo too as long as we pay them enough."
The three human mercs smiled laconically. Kessler raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, as long as I pay them enough" Kerrigan amended.
Kessler walked to the stores locker and extracted a bottle of Chalquila and a handful of glasses. "So I guess this means we’re in business?"
Kerrigan nodded. "Looks that way. Make sure you let us know where to intercept you and we’ll be there waiting. I think we’ve got all the angles covered."
Kessler began to pour shots of alcohol. "Got a few questions , though. We’re disabling these ships and taking the cargo, hence the Y-Wings and our friends the Brothers Rodo here, right?"
"Right."
"How are we going to get the cargo transferred between ships?"
Angel broke in. "Taken care of. Momma’s Pride has boarding tackle that can fit just about any cargo port on most major commercial ship types. Kerry here will be riding shotgun with me in case it proves more practical to take a ship over and drive it out under its own power."
Kessler shot her an enquiring look. "That an optional extra or do you have a regular use for such a piece of equipment?"
Angel smiled, exposing badly-stained, yellowing teeth. "Don’t ask."
Kessler shrugged. "Fair enough. Secondly, the guys whose cargoes we’re going to be hustling. What happens to them?"
Kerrigan at least had the good grace to look uncomfortable. "Well we really don’t want them being able to ID us afterwards…"
Kessler’s face turned to steel.
"Be reasonable, Kess…"
"No."
Kerrigan set his mug down on the Dejarik table and fixed Kessler with a calculating stare. "Listen to me you dumb old fart, we’re not messing around with honest traders here. These people mean business, and we can’t afford the time to piss around with them. Now it’s not our plan to wade in all guns blazing and kill everybody, simply because that’s not professional. But one way or another we’re getting that cargo off these suckers; and if it comes down to a choice between killing some stubborn idiot who won’t give up when he should, or getting my own ass shot off because we’ve dicked around so long trying to be civilised with them that they’ve managed to call for help…well, that’s no choice at all. Understand?"
Kessler swallowed once. He’d considered himself a good judge of character until now, but there was a cold, hard side to Kerrigan that he’s never suspected existed behind his normal happy-go-lucky façade. The worst thing was, he was right.
Kessler didn’t argue.
Kerrigan turned to regard the rest of the gang. "Okay, we all know what the score is. Everyone get outta here and lie low until you get the signal, then be ready to move fast." People began to stand and leave the ship. Presently there was only Kerrigan and Kessler left. Kessler avoided Kerrigan’s eye.
"Sorry, Kess; but there are a few facts of life out here that just don’t seem to have sunk in yet."
Kessler sighed and faced his friend at last. "I know, it’s just hard adjusting. I used to know what the rules were, but these days it seems that the rules change so fast it’s getting hard to keep track."
"Rules were made to be broken, Kess."
"In the TIE Corps things were pretty simple. You killed who you were told to, because you figured that people senior to you had good reasons for choosing their targets. Most of the time, the other side was hell-bent on killing you first anyway, so it didn’t trouble your conscience too much. Occasionally I had to do things I… had problems with. But you always had the consolation of knowing you were acting under orders. But now I’m going to kill people who’ve never done me any harm, simply because they have something I want. There’s a word for that where I come from, Kerry. It’s called ‘murderer’."
Kerrigan wisely stayed silent. There were some things that you just couldn’t explain to a man. Some things people had to work out on their own.
"Is this how it started for you? How long does it take before you stop worrying about your conscience?"
Kerrigan thought carefully before answering. "Kess, I’m not your priest. You have to come to terms with your own conscience. If it makes you feel any better, we’re putting a major weapons dealer out of business. The guys running guns for him aren’t innocents either – they’re smuggling guns you moron! No-one signs on for that kind of business without expecting trouble sooner or later. No-one’s forcing them to do what they do. They made their choice..." He stood, brushing down his trousers. "It’s time you made yours."

***

Some distance away, Ploovo was paying careful attention to a report being delivered to him by one of his agents. Ploovo wasn’t, contrary to popular opinion, an idiot. It was true that on occasion his greed got the better of his common sense, but no-one stayed alive or successful for long in Ploovo’s business without being careful. One of the single most overriding factors in his success so far was that his enemies had a nasty habit of underestimating him, a habit which he was quite content to exploit whenever possible. As was routine in his organisation, a careful watch was kept on all new employees until their credentials had been suitably established. Ploovo could afford competent watchers, and the news of Kessler’s association with Kerrigan had been noted and reported on. This in itself caused little suspicion, some digging had revealed little of note in Kerrigan’s background. He was a minor smuggler and trader with few connections that mattered. But today’s meeting with the five nameless strangers had him mildly worried, for several reasons. Firstly, he didn’t like his employees associating with people he didn’t know. That was the second problem too. He had no idea who these strangers were. By their dress and mannerisms, they appeared to be Fringers, yet they were completely unknown to any of Ploovo’s people, and after having them followed back to their ships and having data searches performed on their crafts’ registrations, he was still none the wiser. All appeared to have suitably shady pasts, according to the official records, yet Ploovo had never heard of any of them. He didn’t trust official records. It was unofficial records that he relied on, and none of these five seemed to have any. That worried him. He should have heard of them if their records were as dubious as they appeared to be. He supposed that Kerrigan could have merely been introducing Kessler to some criminal associates, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Ploovo didn’t like the feeling of not having the upper hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for his communicator.
"Quarrel? Get me Karrde. It’s important."

***

Today was the day. Kessler had been paid his advance and was waiting for the shipment to be loaded into the Corel’s Dream when things took an unexpected turn for the worse. At noon precisely, four repulsorlift trucks arrived at Docking Bay 33B bearing his cargo. This had been more or less anticipated. The presence of the speeder containing Ploovo himself had not.
The crimeboss extricated his mass from the vehicle with some difficulty and, wiping his brow with a sweat stained handkerchief, looked up at the cockpit of the Dream. Kessler decided it would not be wise to keep him waiting. With more than a little trepidation, he buckled on his gunbelt and descended the boarding ramp to see what warranted a personal visit from the Fat Man himself.
"What’s up, Ploovo? You could have just sent one of your men to give me the jump co-ordinates."
Ploovo smiled unctuously. "A slight change of plan, Kessler. Elgin here will be accompanying you on this flight. He’ll be co-piloting you."
Kessler blinked, confused. "Elgin?"
A small mountain range in vaguely humanoid form unfolded itself from the back of Ploovo’s speeder. It had a gun. On closer inspection, it turned out to be a Blastech E-11 laser carbine, but Kessler strongly suspected it was mostly there for show. Elgin looked like the kind of person who might use a blaster to gently stir the remains of whomever he’d just beaten into a bloody pulp, but not the kind of person who’d gotten used to ideas like "safety catches" or "aimed shots". He looked like the type of person who regarded blaster burns as being something that only happened to other people. He didn’t look like someone who’d mastered the art of stepping over a hatchway without bruising his knuckles, much less someone who was supposed to be capable of handling the controls of a starship.
Kessler looked at Ploovo. He seemed serious. "My co-pilot?"
"That’s right."
Kessler looked at Elgin again. Elgin smiled. He had teeth like a row of broken bottles and beady little black eyes that glittered evilly from deep below a massive forehead. He was a walking stereotype. Kessler couldn’t even begin to determine where Ploovo had found him. Pilot he most certainly was not. "And he has actual flight experience, of course?"
"Let’s just say," Ploovo drawled, "That his particular field of expertise is escort missions. He’s very good at watching things, making sure no harm comes to them."
Kessler began to get a very bad feeling, but was careful to mask his reaction. "That’s funny Ploovo, because I was under the impression that’s what you were paying me for."
"No such thing as being overprotective where one’s investments are concerned, Kessler."
"So who’s here to protect me from him?"
"Elgin, say hello to Captain Kessler."
Elgin ambled good naturedly around the speeder, reached out and removed Kessler’s blaster from its holster. Kessler didn’t argue.
"Nice gun" Elgin rumbled. Then he twisted the barrel into a new and infinitely more interesting shape before handing it back to him.
"You’ll be taking the cargo to a rendezvous at these co-ordinates, Kessler" said Ploovo, handing the stunned spacer a dataslug. "Once there, you’ll be given your final destination. Safe trip." Ploovo climbed back into his speeder as the trucks began to unload their crates into the Corel’s Dream’s cargo hatch.
Kessler had a very bad feeling about this.

He was an hour into his flight and deep into hyperspace and still hadn’t managed to get off a signal to Kerrigan regarding his destination with Elgin’s brooding presence hovering over him. Things were not going according to plan. The entire plot was now badly derailed, there was no way Kerrigan’s people could make it to any intercept without knowing where the intercept was going to be. As well as that, Kessler was going to have be very careful that he played things straight with the massive Elgin shadowing his every move. Co-pilot, my ass! He’s here to watch me, plain and simple. Either something rattled Ploovo or he’s more naturally suspicious than anyone gave him credit for. Either way, the original plan was sunk, and Kessler was going to have to play it by ear, hope he could glean some useful information from the rendezvous with the rest of Ploovo’s smugglers.Elgin wasn’t the talkative type either. He seemed to have a Master’s Degree in Advanced Intimidation, however. The way he just watched
you all the time was very unnerving and he seemed to be immune to conversation. It had felt like a long trip.
The Dream emerged from hyperspace at the designated co-ordinates into a small fleet of light transports. Three other YT-1300’s and a Medium Transport idled, guarded by two Skipray Blastboats and four T-Wings. There was, of course, no sign of Kerrigan and Co.
"Corel’s Dream, this is Mandalore Star. Prep your navcomputer to plot a course for the Denubis System and open a datalink to receive further instructions. We’ll be leaving as soon as the Indigo Prime shows up."
Kessler keyed the communicator. "Roger, Mandalore. Setting co-ordinates now. Dream out."
The Denubis System? What the hell was the deal with that? Kessler was pretty sure that it was somewhere in Imperial Orthodoxy space, except that didn’t make sense. Supreme Moff Babune’s IO was an exceptionally well equipped organisation, and certainly didn’t need the kind or amount of weapons that Ploovo was capable of supplying. A few seconds later, the navcomputer had the co-ordinates and began to compute a safe course. It seemed that Denubis was technically outside the borders of IO space, but close enough that no-one was likely to argue with Babune’s fleets if they chose to exploit its resources. Technically however, it was just inside the Dendrite Sector, and therefore inviolable by treaty arrangements. Something strange was going on. Perhaps this was only another rendezvous point and their real destination was somewhere different altogether?
He opened up the data file the Mandalore Star had transmitted and began to read. His instructions were to proceed to Denubis III and put down at a certain grid co-ordinate. There they would be met by persons unknown and their cargo would be collected. After the transfer was complete, they were to go their separate ways. Easy in, easy out. He settled down to wait for the signal to leave.
Later, Kessler had time to think about what happened next. He supposed that there must be people out there for whom things always went according to plan. Speculating about these mythical people for whom life held few, if any, nasty surprises would keep him occupied for some time over the future course of his life, but he could never figure out why he never seemed to be one of them.
Kessler noticed a brief flicker on his threat display as a red blip popped in and out of existence, then two yellow dots appeared dangerously close to the Mandalore Star. The Mandalore Star exploded a split second later and Kessler’s small universe went to hell almost instantly.
Directly ahead he could clearly see the gutted debris of the outer shell of the stricken Medium Transport, space crisscrossed by bright emerald green streaks of laser fire as three of the escorting T-Wings were destroyed in moments. Fresh red blips flickered into and out of life across the board and more yellow missile indicators appeared. Heavy Rockets?
Kessler had the engines online and at maximum power before the missile warning alarm had even begun to warble. Elgin, returning from the cargo bay, was bowled off his feet by the Dream’s sudden surge of acceleration.
"Kessler! What are you trying to pull?"
"Hold onto something!" Kessler screamed while coaxing every erg of speed out of his ships tortured engines he possibly could. Two heavy Rockets hit the Mandalore…launched at point blank range from a ship that only appeared on sensors when it fired. TIE Phantoms again, no doubt about it. Two Heavy Rockets would spread a ship this size over most of this sector, I only pray they weren’t going faster than cruising speed when they fired!
Heavy Rockets were deadly against medium starships and dangerous to capital class ships when fired in numbers. They had reasonably sophisticated tracking capabilities and once locked on would follow their targets until they ran out of fuel, at which point they’d self destruct, but they had two limitations. Their speed was limited by the speed of the ship which launched them. A long time ago, Kessler had been Commander of Tornado Squadron in the Emperor’s Hammer Strike Fleet. He’d flown Spectre Class Assault Missileboats against the New Republic in the Minos Cluster, and a favourite tactic had been to launch his Rockets at extreme range, then go to full power and actually overtake his weapons. Rebel gunners were used to firing directly at incoming bombers, because they invariably hit incoming missile fire on the way in too, this tactic ensured that most of his rockets got through defensive fire. None of which was particularly useful in this particular circumstance, but it did illustrate that Heavy Rockets could be outrun, depending on the speed of the launch platform.
All of which, by itself, wouldn’t be enough to save the Corel’s Dream from certain destruction, since she’d started to evade from a standing start and probably couldn’t outrun a salvo of rockets given the best circumstances. But it would give him time, and he was relying on the Heavy Rocket’s other design limitation.
The shell of the Mandalore Star filled the cockpit canopy at an alarming rate as Kessler floored the accelerator. Elgin staggered into the cockpit, bracing himself on the copilot’s station in time to see where the ship was heading. Kessler felt, rather than saw his expression as he squealed LOOK OUT! In panicked terror, then Kessler pulled the Dream into a savage spiral to duck under and behind the Mandalore Star’s shattered hull. Elgin was thrown off balance again by the violent manoeuvre and Kessler dimly heard a thud as he hit the deck somewhere behind him. Told you to hold on, moron.
The RM-40 Heavy Rocket was designed to be fed initial targeting information by its launch platform’s onboard sensors. After firing, it switched to an optical image recognition tracker to maintain a targeting lock. This had the advantage of being a totally passive system, so anti missile defences couldn’t rely on transmissions from the warhead itself to track and shoot it down. They had to activate their own active tracking systems which in turn exposed them to fire from anti-radar missile systems et cetera. In the event of its optical tracking system being occluded for any reason, the RM-40 had a backup mass tracking device, which locked onto the nearest target on the same bearing and of the same mass as the last known contact with it’s original target. What this meant in practical terms was that if you were in the right place at the right time, and had sufficient warning, you could fool a Heavy Rocket into hitting something else.

The Corel’s Dream was tossed around like a cork in a bathtub by two titanic explosions detonating almost on top of the Dream’s rear quarter. The remaining shell of the Mandalore Star was vapourised in the release of energies from the further two Rockets which had impacted on her tortured hull. The Dream’s shields were wiped out in an instant, but Kessler wasn’t wasting any more time now he’d evaded the immediate danger. There was a brief flicker of pseudomotion, and the Corel’s Dream jumped to lightspeed and escape.

***

Preacher this is Jackal. Things are not going to go according to plan.
What do you mean?
The principle failed to make contact prior to departure, yet sources indicate that he did depart as planned. It’s now impossible to make the intercept as initially proposed.
This is not good, Jackal, Do you suspect that the subject has been compromised?
Possibly, but we have a high degree of likelihood that there was simply some unforeseen security measure that prevented contact from being made as planned. I believe the subject is still reliable, security-wise.
You believe? That’s not exactly inspiring is it?
No matter. We have a backup plan, but we’re unable to implement it just yet. We should be back on track within a day at the most. The operation has been delayed, nothing more serious than that.
I hope for your sake you’re right about that. We can’t afford failure on this, Jackal.
Relax, Preacher. Have I ever failed you yet?
There’s a first time for everything, Jackal. Report back in one day. Make sure Snake and Wolf send me their own reports too. Preacher out.

Three

Kessler forced his white-knuckled hands to release the hyperdrive jump lever and control surfaces, then remembered to start breathing again. His hands were trembling, he badly needed a cup of java. That had been far too close.
A groan of pain from behind reminded him that he wasn’t alone. He turned to see Elgin stretched out partially conscious on the deck of the companionway from the cockpit. For a second he considered going back to the cargo bay and breaking one of the blaster carbines out of the storage containers. It would be easy to deal with the huge humanoid in this state…
He shook his head. Kessler had murdered defenceless people before, a long time ago. He’d never developed a taste for it. Some of his dreams were particularly disturbing, and he had no wish to add to them.
Sighing, he broke open the medical locker and took an emergency case out, then walked aft to examine the comatose giant. Elgin had hit his head on the bulkhead hatch when he’d fallen over following the blast from the rockets hitting the wreck of the Mandalore Star. Kessler found it hard to believe that a mere collision with a hatch could have given a mass of bone like Elgin’s head much trouble, then he saw the dent in the hatch and quickly revised his opinion.
There was quite a lot of blood, but judging by the low moaning noises he was making, Elgin was still alive and breathing, if not totally lucid. Kessler selected a hypo and loaded it with a general purpose painkiller, then took a quick blood sample from the sleeping giant’s neck to check that it wouldn’t poison his alien metabolism. The indicator on the hypo turned green, and he pressed the injector to Elgin’s neck and fired a dose. He thought about Elgin’s body mass for a second, then cranked up the dial and gave him another dose, just to be sure. Packing away the hypo, he pulled out a sterile swab and cleaned away the worst of the blood, then covered the wound with a Bacta spray and finally applied a bandage to prevent the Bacta from being interfered with until it had time to set. Wiping his hands, he stood and packed away the medical kit, then realising he couldn’t move Elgin to a more comfortable resting position even he tried, he headed aft to make some java.
He was on his second mug when Elgin appeared in the hatchway, slightly unsteady on his feet, one hand holding onto his bandaged head, but the other holding his gun. Kessler noted with some satisfaction that at least it wasn’t pointed at him.
The large humanoid appeared confused.
"You didn’t take my gun?"
Kessler shook his head, sipping at his java.
"You did this?" he asked, indicating his head wound.
"I patched it up. You did the damage yourself."
Elgin considered this for a second, then slowly holstered his sidearm. "There enough there for a second mug?" he asked, indicating the pot of java on the Dejarik table.
Kessler nodded.
Elgin sat himself down opposite Kessler and helped himself to the pot. The two sat in silence for a second or two, then Elgin asked the question Kessler had been waiting for.
"What happened out there?"
Kessler shrugged. "I’m not really sure. We were attacked, I think by the same people who jumped me on my last run for your boss."
"Ploovo’s not my boss."
Kessler raised an eyebrow. "You mean you’re a contract worker or you work for someone other than Ploovo?"
Elgin deigned to reply. Had he spoken out of hurt pride at being considered a mere underling? Did his silence indicate that it was supposed to be a secret that Ploovo wasn’t his master? No matter. Another piece of information to be stored away for use at a later date.
"Anyway, whoever they were, they took out four of our ships almost instantly. They weren’t pirates, there was no profit motive in what they were doing. We were simply targets to them, to be eliminated as quickly as possible."
Elgin pondered this for a second. "Any ideas who attacked us?"
"I wasn’t too sure the first time it happened, but now I know whose territory we’re delivering these weapons to I’ve got a pretty good idea. You ever heard of the Imperial Orthodoxy?"
Elgin nodded.
"Well given that I haven’t seen any bill of sale for these weapons yet, it’s unlikely we’re selling our cargo to the official representatives in that sector. So I’d guess that our buyers are up to no good in IO space…"
"So the Imperial Orthodoxy might take objection to our supplying their subversives with weapons…" Elgin continued.
"And that leaves little room for speculation as to whom our mystery attackers might be. There aren’t many organisations out here who can afford TIE Phantoms, and it doesn’t make sense for the EH to be taking any objections to our business out here." He gave Elgin a strange look. "Don’t take this the wrong way, but I find it a little startling to hear you using words like "subversives" when "bad guys" would suffice."
Elgin grinned again, exposing those unsettling teeth of his. "Not too many of you human runts like to think that there could be any kind of intelligence behind a face and body like this. I sometimes find it useful to maintain that charade."
Kessler at least had the good grace to blush. Old Imperial prejudices against aliens had gotten the better of him again. "Sorry about that."
"Don’t worry about it." Elgin seemed to be used to the circumstances.
"So, our next concern is to decide how we’re going to play it from here. We’re on our way to the delivery point because that was the fastest way to get us out in one piece, but we already know our initial rendezvous was compromised. I’m not so sure our delivery point hasn’t been also."
Elgin shook his head slowly. "I’m not too sure about that. The only ones who knew about the delivery point were Ploovo, his distributor and the captain of the Mandalore Star. The information was kept secret specifically to avoid this sort of compromise. Given that the Mandalore Star was apparently the first ship hit, I think we can safely rule out her captain of any complicity."
"Good point. Which leaves Ploovo himself or his distributors. There’s always the possibility that the bad guys just have some really good slicers and Intel ops working for them, too" Kessler added. "Although there’s another possibility…"
Elgin gave him a sharp look, interested.
"We were waiting for another ship to turn up before we left. The captain of the Mandalore mentioned it when we arrived. The Indigo Prime he called it. Suspicious that it didn’t show. You’d have thought that if our attackers were so well informed about our plans they’d have waited for everyone to show before they began their attack. As it happens they executed their plan just after I arrived."
Elgin nodded. "So it might look as if the captain of the Indigo Prime, whomever that may be, sold us out. You may have something there. Of course, if we can put two and two together like this, you can bet that whoever attacked us isn’t going to be keen for us to be reporting back to Ploovo with our conclusions."
"Yeah, and given the fact that you’ve been sent to tag along with me, Ploovo’s first reaction is likely to be that I’m the rat. So I guess we’d better be very careful about who we meet before we can get back to Nar Shadda and report our findings to the Fat Man."
Elgin set down his cup carefully. "We still don’t know what we’re going to run into at the delivery point. Since we’re already committed to arriving, it might be a good idea to review our safety options before we get there…"
Kessler nodded. "Well the Dream is about as basic a ship as they come. The only upgrade I’ve installed over the standard factory specification is a single Taim and Bak Laser Cannon in the dorsal turret and a Rectenna to improve her early warning capabilities. Apart from that, she’s exactly like she was when she came out of the box."
Elgin sighed dramatically. "No quad lasers? Concussion missiles? Jammers? Countermeasures? Anything?"
Kessler grinned broadly, stuck a cigar in his mouth and patted down his pockets for his battered old steel lighter. "Nope. This is the Corel's Dream, not the Millenium Falcon."
"If we get out of this alive, I’m charging Ploovo extra."
"It gets worse than that, too. While you were out I ran a systems check. The shield capacitor was damaged before we made the jump to lightspeed. We still have shields, but that blast from those rockets took them down to twelve percent integrity, and with a damaged capacitor, I can’t recharge them. So once they go down, they’re going to stay down until I can get a new capacitor."
"You can’t repair it?"
"No. It’s fried. Needs total replacement."
Elgin mulled this over for a second. "Couldn’t you swap over a laser capacitor from the weapons systems? Would that work?"
"Sure, but I’m not going to."
Elgin waited. Eventually he got tired of watching Kessler puff away at his cigar. "Why not?"
"Because if I’m going to die out here, it’s not going to be because I wasn’t shooting back. Twelve percent shield integrity in one of these things is as good as a hundred percent integrity in a TIE Avenger. We can spend all day dodging enemy fire but if we can’t shoot back we’re screwed. It’s just a matter of time."
Elgin sighed and refilled his mug from the pot. "Well I guess I’d better brush up on my turret gunnery skills. It’s been a while, but I’ll see what I can do."
"Good man. You might want to get up there soon and make sure the turret works properly first though. Except for the day I installed it, the turret’s always been slaved to forward fire mode. It might be a little stiff."
Elgin stalked off to the turret access hatch, muttering comments about Kessler’s intelligence, manhood and ancestry to himself. Amused, Kessler watched him go, then poured out a fresh mug of java and went to the cockpit. He seated himself at the navigation station and ran a swift analysis of their course and ETA. Then he did a reference check on a number of variables. The results were not encouraging. Sitting back in the seat, he lifted his leg and stubbed out his cigar on the sole of a boot, then sipped some java and considered his options.
"Holy shit, Kessler! When was the last time you had the gimbals serviced on this piece of crap?"
Grinning despite himself, Kessler reached over to the pilot’s seat and picked up the headset. "Well, it’s been a while…"
"What? Like never?"
"Well that would more accurate, yes."
"This piece of shit is so stiff it couldn’t move fast enough to track the Death Star, let alone a TIE Phantom!"
"Well, keep playing with it, it should loosen up after a while."
"Captain Kessler, with all due respect to the fact that you’re the owner of this wonderful ship, might I suggest that you’re an overconfident moron whose appalling lack of concern for even basic maintenance is putting my precious ass in extreme danger, and if we get out of this alive, I’m going to take great pleasure in smashing your teeth in?"
"I have some more bad news by the way. If those IO guys know where we’re going, the Phantoms are fast enough to get there before us. They could also easily call ahead and alert anyone to be waiting for us when we arrive, so all in all, I really hope you can get that turret moving properly. Good luck, we arrive in fifteen minutes."
Kessler chuckled and disengaged the speakers to cut off the sudden stream of invective. When you’re in the shit up to your neck, there’s nothing more satisfying than sharing it with someone who’s metaphorically shorter than you.

***

"So what the hell happened? Any ideas?"
Kerrigan shook his head. "Plenty of theories, but we can’t know for certain until he contacts us. If he contacts us."
Kerrigan’s group were clustered in the communal area of the Far Trader. Like the Corel’s Dream, it was a YT-1300, but with many more optional extras installed than Kessler’s humble ship ever would. Wreaths of smoke hung in the air from the various narcotic stimulants being smoked by those present, making the area look and smell like a smuggler’s den, which just goes to show that sometimes a simile can be more accurate than anyone gives it credit for.
Angel muttered something under her breath without looking up. Kerrigan’s nose wrinkled in distaste. "Speak up, Angel, we didn’t quite catch that."
"I said: "It wouldn’t surprise me if this ‘Kessler’ turned out to be really working for Ploovo." It wouldn’t be the first time your intelligence has left me and mine hanging in the breeze either, Kerrigan. I swore I wouldn’t work with you again after Coruscant. I hope I’m not going to regret changing my mind."
Kerrigan rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh please. Angel, you do what you’re told the same as the rest of us. Don’t try to dignify the situation by pretending you have a choice. Anyway, if Kessler’s working for Ploovo he’s either much smarter or much more stupid than anyone ever gave him credit for and that would mean I’m not the incredibly perceptive judge of character that I’m famous for being."
"Famous for being able to spot a sucker a mile away, anyway" snorted D-Day.
"Same difference. Regardless, even if he is working for Ploovo, he knows exactly squat about you five. All he knows about me is what I’ve told him, so that means Ploovo doesn’t know jack shit either. Kessler’s one of life’s rare commodities – he actually believes in following the rules. I’ve studied his record, he’s playing it on the straight and narrow with me." Kerrigan rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "The only explanation is that Ploovo’s the one we’ve all misjudged. It’s entirely possible that he’s not as dumb as we’d all like to believe."
D-Day nodded in agreement. Angel gave him a look of disgust but didn’t offer any further argument.
"So, " D-Day continued. "We basically have to wait for Kessler to turn up before we get any answers, right?"
"Wrong." Kerrigan stood. "I’m not the patient type and I always plan for every eventuality. Get to your ships and start leaving, everyone head for our agreed meeting point but go by indirect routes and don’t all leave at the same time. We’ll meet in two hours. If Colonel Kessler won’t come to us, I can’t see any point in hanging around. Let’s go get him."

***

Kessler took a deep breath and spoke into the headset microphone. "Ten seconds. You ready?"
"As I’ll ever be. The seat’s too small and the weapons systems are antiquated but apart from that everything’s just great. Thanks for asking. How are you?"
He ignored the sarcasm and placed his hands on the control surfaces. The single forward firing laser mounted between the mandibles was armed and charged, Elgin’s turret gun was likewise. A lot now depended on luck.
The Corel’s Dream surged into realspace with no perceptible feeling of movement. That at least indicated that the repairs on the inertial damping system were working. He hoped that was a good omen.
He flicked a switch to get the navcomputer working on plotting an escape jump in case one was needed in a hurry. He’d already prepped the computer to calculate the base equations required for a jump between Denubis and Nar Shadda, but failsafes built into the system prevented the navcomputer from initiating a jump without first taking a sensor fix on the nearby stars to confirm it’s actual position matched where it thought it was before plotting the jump. That would take a few minutes.
Lacking anything else to do, and knowing that if things were going true to form he’d be wasting his time anyway, he began a sensor sweep of the system. Denubis had five planets. The inner three were rock composites, the outer two were gas giants. Life was possible on the third planet out from the stellar primary, and according to the records, there were indigenous humanoids who lived there in a primitive state, but there wasn’t supposed to be any official colonisation allowed by any of the three major powers adjoining this sector. Small commercial resource exploitation efforts were allowed, but only because it would prove impossible to stop them without starting a major conflict here.
The sensors showed very little. Actually, what they didn’t show told a clearer picture. No orbital facilities other than a scattering of what appeared to be communications satellites. No starship traffic, no electromagnetic activity other than faint indications of radio traffic localised on a small section of the planetary surface. Possibly more activity on the far side, but impossible to tell yet. And of course, no indication of any TIE Phantoms.
"Talk to me Kessler."
"Nothing. This place appears to have been settled by wildcatters. Possibly an independent commercial venture, but nothing major. No indication that anyone’s even seen our arrival."
"How long until we can get out of here?"
"A few minutes until the navcomputer plots the jump, a few hours until we can conclude our business, deliver our merchandise and get out of here." The ghost of a smile played over Kessler’s lips as he waited for the usual response from Elgin. He was disappointed.
"I just knew you were going to say that… Okay, let’s do it and get it over with."
Kessler sighed. "You’re no fun Elgin."
"Screw you."
Kessler chuckled. That was more like it. "Just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. Just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean those V-38’s aren’t there."
"Yeah, yeah…"
Privately, Kessler was pretty sure they were safe for the moment. The suspicious nature of the Indigo Prime’s non-arrival at the rendezvous left him in little doubt that her captain was either in league with, or captured by the Imperial Orthodoxy. Given how little information he’d been given about the run, Kessler strongly suspected that the captain of the Mandalore Star had been the only one who knew of their final destination. Since there was currently not enough of him left to fit into a small matchbox, the IO were unlikely to be coming by that information anytime soon.
The navcomputer pinged once and he flicked a switch to acknowledge the calculations, then brought the ship about to head towards Denubis III. He stored the jump co-ordinates and set the navcomputer to show the landing co-ordinates. These were superimposed over the map of the planet being gathered by his sensors, which were in turn plotted over the map of the surface that his astronavigational computer had in storage. Once a composite had been compiled of all three, he updated his records with the up to date surface map and studied it for a while.

The landing zone was in an area of dense temperate woodland. Presumably a clearing existed or had been cut into the forest to allow him to land. The nearest settlement appeared to be a small starport some 400 miles from his destination. Apart from its nav beacon he wasn’t detecting any active EM impulses from it, so he assumed it relied on passive orbital satellites for information on nearby space. Easy in, easy out. It certainly looked that way.
Being careful to keep his speed down to avoid generating any noticeable relativistic effects, he cruised into the planet’s upper atmosphere. His destination was currently in the dark side of the planet, but with the computer locked onto his landing zone, finding it in the dark wouldn’t be difficult. He began to encounter bad weather as he approached the landing zone, but it slacked off to a fine drizzle of rain as he narrowed the distance down to the last few miles. He checked the chronometer. He was half an hour early, but given the nature of his departure, that couldn’t really be helped. He extended the landing gear and switched on the strobes, illuminating a broad patch of rainswept primal forest below. After a few seconds, he spotted a small but strong light being shone in his direction from what appeared to be a clearing at a range of around a mile. He flicked the landing lights off, then back on again to indicate he’d noticed the signal, then dimmed the floods to avoid blinding his customers, and brought the Corel’s Dream in for a perfect landing.
He stripped off his gloves and tucked them into his gunbelt, then checked for his blaster before remembering that Elgin had already rendered it useless. Shrugging, he rose from the pilot’s seat and walked aft, meeting Elgin as he emerged from the gun turret.
"What now?" The large humanoid asked.
Kessler shrugged. "Not sure. This is my first time. I guess we’ll just play it by ear, but keep your blaster handy."
Elgin nodded and followed Kessler to the boarding ramp.
Emerging into the rain, they were protected from the downpour by the overhang of the Dream’s saucer section. The weather was wet, but not uncomfortable, although it was a little too cold for Kessler’s tastes. Elgin appeared not to notice, however. Squinting into the darkness at the tree line, they observed two figures step from the undergrowth and approach cautiously. One was dressed in furs and animal hides, the other was wearing a camcloak and a standard issue Rebel Commando team helmet. He was also carrying a blaster but was so far not pointing it at anyone. There was something familiar about the man’s face, but Kessler couldn’t quite place his identity. At least now it was clear why the IO weren’t happy about Ploovo’s operation. It looked as if weapons were being supplied to Rebellion-sponsored guerrilla fighters. That sort of thing made any government twitchy.
The two approached to the foot of the boarding ramp and the presumed Rebel lifted his free hand to shelter his face from the rain.
"There were supposed to be more of you."
Kessler stuck a cigar into his mouth and made a valiant attempt to light it. "We ran into problems. The others are dead. We’re all you’re getting." Removing the cigar from his mouth, he studied the end in disgust, gave up trying to light it, and shoved the unlit stogie back into the corner of his mouth.
The Rebel officer shook his head, droplets of water scattering from the brim of his helmet. "This wasn’t part of the deal. We’ve paid for two shiploads, Karrde’s people should be more careful."
Only two shiploads? So that means the others were delivering their cargo elsewhere. Interesting. Then another thought occurred to him. Karrde’s people? What the hell?
Elgin spoke up in a low bass rumble from behind Kessler. "Getting attacked by IO Special Ops Squadrons wasn’t part of the deal either. Now we’re cold, wet and getting more and more pissed off by the minute. Do you want these damned guns or not, Rebel boy?"
There was something very familiar about the Rebel’s face that Kessler couldn’t quite place. He got the impression he’d seen his face somewhere before, not in person, on he vid perhaps? An idea occurred to him, he chewed at the cigar, thinking.
The Rebel turned to the native, who was staring at Elgin’s huge bulk with a look of fascination and spoke to him in an unintelligible jabber. The native, jerked, taken by surprise, and replied in the same language, then nodded once, and turned to face the forest, raising his hands to his mouth and whistling. Several figures emerged from the trees, clad in animal skins and furs, shouldering crossbows and sheathing long knives.
The Rebel turned to address Kessler again. "Okay, captain. Show my people to your cargo bay and we’ll get you unloaded and on your way."
Kessler nodded to Elgin who shrugged and acquiesced. Pointing to the lead native, he indicated that he should follow.
Kessler stayed on the boarding ramp and regarded the Rebel officer with a carefully neutral stare.
"You want to come inside? It’s awfully wet out here."
The Rebel smiled. "Thank you, no. I’m about as cold and wet as I’m going to get anyway."
Kessler grinned. "Yeah, I guess that’s a fact." He let a few more seconds pass idly before continuing. "So what’s the story here? Oppressed natives rising against Imperial colonialists or something like that?"
The smile didn’t waver. "Yes, something like that."
Kessler stood to one side to allow a line of native warriors to pass him into the Dream. "So the Rebellion decided to lend a hand to help them throw off the yoke of the evil oppressor?"
"Now, captain; whatever gave you the impression that I was a Rebel?"
Kessler returned the smile.
"Interesting choice of words, captain. "The rebellion decided…" Most people would say "Alliance" or "New Republic". I find you can usually tell a lot about people by what they choose to say, or what they choose not to say, as the case may be."
This guy was sharp, whoever he was. Kessler decided there was nothing to risk by letting him have the point. "You’re pretty perceptive, allow me to introduce myself. Colonel Kyle Kessler, TIE Corps Wing Commander, retired." He offered his hand.
Still smiling, the Rebel soldier shook his outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you Colonel. TIE Corps you say? Ex-Emperor’s Hammer I take it?"
"Correct. Lately of Wing X, Imperial Star Destroyer Challenge, but before that I was on the Devastator up until Endor."
The man’s expression shifted slightly, Kessler couldn’t read it, but he seemed to be assessing something. "Endor? It’s a small universe, Colonel. I was there too. I realise this may be a delicate subject, but you have my commiserations. I’m happy you survived the experience."
Little pieces of information were slowly slotting into place, but Kessler still couldn’t get the big picture. "You were a fighter pilot?"
"No, my job was more advisory and planning related than that."
The final piece slid into place and Kessler suddenly realised who he was talking to. Holy shit. This is General Crix Madine.
The first crates of blaster rifles were being unloaded from the Corel’s Dream, and Kessler was forced to clear the boarding ramp to allow the men to proceed. The revelation that he was talking to the Rebellion’s foremost expert on guerrilla warfare had taken him by surprise, and he used the momentary interruption to cover his shock.
Madine paused to allow the first load of crates to pass, then turned to Kessler again. "What made you retire from the TIE Corps, Colonel? You don’t look as old as all that."
"Well, let’s just say that I was getting disillusioned with the way certain things were going." Clearly he was going to have to be careful with what kind of information he gave away here. "Look, obviously I’m not an Imperial officer any more, but don’t expect me to say too much about my background. There are still people serving with the Emperor’s Hammer that I care about, and I’m not going to say anything that might compromise their safety. Are we clear?"
Madine nodded. "Absolutely, Colonel. I can’t really blame you, I’d say the same thing in your position. Still, you seem like a decent man. I’m curious to hear your opinions on why you served the Empire. Surely you’re aware of some of the more…extreme measures that the Empire has undertaken in the past?"
This was an old topic of conversation. He’d been over it countless times before and well versed in all the old arguments. "The Rebellion isn’t exactly innocent on that score either. There were two million civilian construction workers on the second Death Star when it was destroyed, and have you seen the surface of Endor lately? A few billion tons of debris hitting the surface of the moon didn’t leave much alive larger than a bacteria you know?"
"Regrettable, but necessary under the circumstances, you must admit?"
"Right. ‘Regrettable but necessary’ Isn’t that what you lot accuse us of saying to excuse our policies?"
"Colonel, I think the difference is that we usually mean it when we use that phrase."
Kessler sighed. "Look, the Emperor’s Hammer isn’t the Empire. They don’t subscribe to the Emperor or Tarkin’s more extreme policies and they’re not the humans–only club that Palpatine’s Empire used to be."
Madine acknowledged that much. "It’s true that the Hammer is one of the more enlightened Imperial factions out here on the Rim, yes. But you can’t deny that it’s essentially a military dictatorship."
Kessler shrugged. "So what? It’s a strong decisive government. People are used to strong leadership in the Empire, the Reb…sorry – the New Republic wouldn’t have half the problems it does if there was someone at the top who could give an order and have it carried out without having to be debated by a dozen different committees first."
Apparently a sensitive issue, Madine winced. "It’s true that the Senate takes an inordinately long time to rubberstamp any decisions these days, but I guess that’s the principle difference between you and us. Our system guarantees moderate government but takes a long time to respond to dangers and new situations. Yours is capable of responding quickly to emergencies and making quick decisions, but has no safeguards against another dictator like Palpatine taking over."
That much was true at least. "That’s the thing with the Empire, I guess. It’s only as evil as the man leading it. Your war wasn’t with the Empire, it was with the Emperor. But now he’s dead, what are you still fighting for?"
Madine frowned. "You’re full of surprises Colonel. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it put quite like that before." He was silent for a few seconds, deep in thought. "I suppose it’s all come down to a difference in ideologies now. Maybe we’ve been fighting for so long we’ve lost track of exactly what it was we were fighting against?"
"Maybe you’re right. But is that any reason to continue the killing?"
Madine regarded Kessler with a strange look. "You’re a very complex man, Colonel Kessler. I only wish that more Imperial officers were so thoughtful. It’s a shame you felt compelled to retire."
"Well, I had my reasons. You’re not so bad yourself, General Madine."
Madine’s expression didn’t change. "What gave me away?"
Kessler removed his cigar and spat into the rain. "Just little things, I half recognised you from the wanted posters anyway."
"You realise that I should probably kill you now that you’re aware of my identity?"
Kessler indicated his empty holster. "Your choice, but I can’t stop you. As you can see, I’m unarmed and completely at your mercy."
The last crate of weapons was unloaded and Elgin reappeared by Kessler’s side. Madine’s glance flickered over the large humanoid, noting the heavy blaster pistol at his belt, then shifted back to Kessler.
"Will you give me your word that you won’t mention my name to anyone?"
A slow smile spread across Kessler’s face. "General, are you actually appealing to my sense of honour?"
"If I’m any judge of character, yes. The alternative is something I’d rather not contemplate, and I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy it either."

For not the first time this evening, Kessler wondered how things might have worked out if he’d met Madine without the barrier of their different causes separating them. "You drive a hard bargain, General. I accept."
Madine smiled and extended his hand. "It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Colonel. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, and please accept my advice and don’t return to your former occupation. I’d hate to have to kill you one day."
Kessler accepted the outstretched hand and shook it vigourously. "The pleasure was all mine. I probably shouldn’t say this, but good luck with your little operation here. I never liked Supreme Moff Babune or the Imperial Orthodoxy anyway."
Madine laughed. "Thank you, Colonel, have a safe trip, and goodnight." Then he turned and disappeared into the gloom.
Elgin nudged Kessler in the back. "Who was that?"
"None of your damn business. Come on, let’s get out of here and get back to Nar Shadda. Ploovo owes me money."

***

"Getting a good signal from the tracker, Kerry. I have his grid co-ordinates now. Wait, he’s powered up his repulsors, looks like he’s getting ready to leave."
"Okay D-Day. We’ll intercept once he breaks clear of the atmosphere. Maybe we can salvage something from this mess after all."
Angel kept her eyes staring firmly ahead and her hands on the flight controls of the Momma’s Pride, but she spoke in a friendly, conversational tone. "Nice, Kerry. Real nice. Piece of advice for you though – you ever put a tracking on device on me or my ship and you’ll be so dead it’ll have been a waste of time ever being born."
"Angel, would I ever do something like that to you?"
"Not if you enjoy living you won’t. Just a friendly warning, from one pro to another."
Kerrigan didn’t reply. He knew she meant it.
"So anyway," she continued. "Looks suspiciously like your little friend went ahead and made the delivery as per Ploovo’s orders. You still so sure he’s on the straight and level?"
"Just shut up and drive, Angel."
She cackled gleefully. It was true however. Kessler had a lot of explaining to do.

***

Kessler studied the sensors with more than a little trepidation. Despite the attenuation caused by the atmosphere of Denubis III, it was clear that were at least two ships in close orbit above, and their intentions were unclear. It was possible that they weren’t aware of his location, but lately he was having trouble believing in coincidences. He keyed the headset microphone.
"Elgin, we may have company. Can’t tell who they are but keep that laser cannon charged, we may need it."
"Oh great. Got any more good news?"
"Sure. Your mother says the tests are negative."
"Screw you, Kessler."
"Funny, that’s what she said."
Amusing as taunting Elgin was, they had a real problem. The Dream wasn’t going to be very responsive until they’d cleared the atmosphere, and they couldn’t go to hyperspace until they cleared the planet’s gravity well. Their unidentified friends up above were ideally placed to stage an ambush and his shields were still effectively useless. The range of options available to him were severely limited. Again.
The distance to the two ships narrowed and suddenly three other faint radar echoes were picked up. Smaller targets, probably fighters, but hard to tell exactly what at this range. Radar resolution improved suddenly as he broke clear of the cloud layer and his computer positively identified the two larger contacts as a YT1300 and a Firespray attack ship. Kerrigan? How the hell? He could probably guess what the three smaller contacts were.
He couldn’t allow them to make contact with him, not with Elgin onboard. He was fairly sure that the humanoid alien firmly believed that Kessler was on the straight and narrow. Any contact with Kerrigan’s little group now would ruin whatever chances he had of taking advantage of that belief.
It was make your mind up time.
He made the call.
"Elgin, we have a welcoming party waiting in orbit. I’m going to try to give them something else to shoot at. Strap in tight, it’s going to get rough."
"No problem, be careful."
The Corel’s Dream flipped over and dived back down into Denubis III’s atmosphere, racing towards the surface and picking up speed. At an altitude of three thousand metres, he levelled out and opened the throttle. The ship shook with a resounding boom as she broke the sound barrier, but still the speed increased. She wasn’t the most aerodynamic design in the galaxy and atmospheric resistance would make a significant impact on her top atmospheric speed, but she could still maintain a fair percentage of her maximum velocity for short periods of time. The leading edges of the Dream’s hull began to glow a dull red as heat generated by air friction built up. Within a minute, he was travelling at three times the speed of sound and still accelerating. He was forced to switch on his terrain following radar just in case any inconvenient mountains got in the way, and that, coupled with the massive shockwaves generated by his passage guaranteed that the local spaceport, now only 250 miles distant, was sure to have detected his presence.
He had a fairly good idea of what the Imperial Orthodoxy was trying to achieve here. Likely they were trying to establish a low level foothold in the Dendrite Sector, but by interplanetary treaty, the Sector was forbidden to government colonisation. So they tried to get in the back door by encouraging local corporations to set up mining freeholds, with the condition that the resources extracted be sold only to Orthodoxy buyers. In return, Orthodoxy forces unofficially provided protection from the more lawless elements of Dendrite Sector society. It wasn’t a bad plan, and given how desperate for resources the IO’s massive shipbuilding programme was, it was the only way to support their industries short of outright warfare. Somehow, the Rebellion had gotten wind of the technical treaty violation and had decided to do something about it.
There was a lot more to it than that, of course. The Rebellion and the Imperial Orthodoxy weren’t the only two players in the picture. The IO was technically allied to the Emperor’s Hammer, although there was little trust between the two dictatorships. Should the Rebellion move in against the IO’s operations in force, the IO would be able to claim Treaty Violation, since technically, they weren’t officially involved in any mining operations. The IO war machine would undoubtedly spring into action, claiming far more systems in "defence against the Rebel aggressors" than they had been willing to exploit by stealth. The Rebellion would be unable to allow such an action to go unanswered, and would respond in kind. The Emperor’s Hammer might or might not honour it’s treaty obligations to the Orthodoxy, and deploy it’s own forces. Or it might wait for the fighting to settle, then take advantage of its weakened neighbours and expand its own borders.
Whichever way you looked at it, it would be messy.
So the Rebels, constrained by treaty themselves, and unwilling to upset the delicate political balance in the Sector, had sent in Crix Madine to engineer as much trouble as possible, using smuggling networks like Talon Karrde and Ploovo’s organisation to supply the hardware. Smoothly, efficiently, and above all quietly. A very elegant solution.
None of which, however, Kessler thought, gets you one step closer to getting your Trading License. Keep your eye on the ball, Kessler. This isn’t your problem anymore you idiot.
A pair of radar contacts appeared on his scope, Skipray Blastboats launching from the starport to investigate. That figured. Such forces were what would be expected of a small commercially owned security force. They weren’t his real concern however, they wouldn’t be able to catch him in time anyway. What he was concerned about was his would-be ambushers. Were they willing to blow their cover by matching his speed and exposing themselves to detection by the authorities here? He checked his sensors. Apparently they were, and their intercept course was bringing them more or less directly over the starport. If I was a jittery corporate security controller, that would look awfully like an attack profile to me.
Someone at the starport appeared to have made a decision. The two Blastboats disengaged from Kessler's tail as his course took him further away from the starport, and they vectored over to intercept his other pursuers instead. Cheers, suckers!
"Make sure you’re strapped in, Elgin. It’s going to get very uncomfortable for a few minutes." Without waiting to acknowledge Elgin’s reply, he disengaged the engine safety interlocks, switched off the repulsorlifts and engaged the sublight drive.
There was a brief second of peace, then the Corel’s Dream leaped ahead with the deafening roar of her Ion Engine threatening to tear the ship apart. She blasted through the thick atmosphere of Denubis III, glowing white hot at her leading edges and threatening to shake herself to her component parts with the stress of her acceleration. Clutching onto the controls with both hands, Kessler fought to control her rapid ascent.
"Kessler you kriffin’ psycho, what the hell are you doing?"
"Shut up and hold on, Elgin."
Gradually, the turbulence ceased as the ship cleared the atmosphere and he eased open the throttle even further. His pursuers were too far behind to have a hope of catching him now. Within seconds they were clear of the gravity well, and he threw the hyperdrive motivator lever.
With a flicker of pseudomotion they were gone.

***

"Dammit, he’s away! He’s got some balls this friend of yours, Kerrigan. I’ve never seen anyone engage sublight drive in atmosphere before."
"Never mind him now, D-Day. We know where he’s going, or at least we’ll know where he’s gone once he drops back into realspace."
"What about the Blastboats? Should I take them out?"
"Don’t be an idiot, we’re on the same side! No, disengage and we’ll meet up with the Rodo brothers and get out of here. Better if they don’t get an ID on us."
"Understood. See you later."
D-Day Dayton’s Firespray Class Attack Ship peeled off and swept about to the side of the Momma’s Pride, heading away from the two Blastboats in an obvious retreat. Angels’ ship did the same. The two corporate ships would probably follow them at a discreet distance to ensure the retreat was genuine, but if they had any sense, wouldn’t pursue further than they could return to their starport safely in case this was all an elaborate feint.
"Momma, this is Rodo One. We’re watching the landing point as ordered and our sensors are picking up definite traces of small arms fire. Instructions?"
Kerrigan nervously chewed his lip, thinking furiously. "It’s probably the guerrillas making sure the shipment works" he told his three mercenary Y-Wingers. "Waste them. Maximum unnecessary use of force, then get yourselves out of there. We’re drawing the picket ships away, you should have plenty of time."
"We read you loud and clear. This won’t take a minute."
Angel sat haughtily in the pilot’s seat, chewing a little dreamweed. "Straight and narrow, huh? Studied his record did you? Plays by the rules does he?"
"Shut up and drive, Angel. We’ll sort mister Kessler out when we get back to Nar Shadda. Don’t worry about that."

***

Madine sat by the stream and watched the Sons of Caradoc playing with their new toys. Bright bursts of blaster fire illuminated the night throughout the clearing, clearly visible even through the rain. The joyful whoops of the warriors reminded him of children. In many ways they were children, actually. They were a charmingly unsophisticated people, brutally honest and fiercely defensive of their code of honour. They could be as petulant as children too, but they loved their land with a raw animal passion that he couldn’t help but be sympathetic to. The InGen Corporation’s work here was a violation of everything they held sacred about their lands.
He had enough decency to at least feel vaguely guilty about the cynical way in which their holy war to cleanse their lands of the invaders was being manipulated by the Republic; but he was pragmatic enough to realise that it was simply a case of common interests. The Denubii wanted their world rid of InGen, the Republic wanted their world rid of InGen, it was that simple.
The first detonation took him completely by surprise, but he was far enough away to avoid serious injury. Nevertheless, he was knocked over by the immense blast and he felt a sting of pain in his left arm as something tore through his camcloak. His first thought was that the crates of weapons had been booby-trapped, but then he heard the whine of proton torpedoes and knew he had to get under cover fast. Without a second thought, he took a gulping breath and dived into the stream.
It seemed to go on forever, but he forced himself to stay under and endure the concussions and the strangely muffled screams; but when his burning lungs could take no more, he risked breaking the surface. There was very little fire. The blasts had blown out any flames and the forest was already soaking wet, but smoke obscured everything further than ten or so metres away. Broken and battered trees lay scattered like matchsticks, the ground churned and seared by the force of the explosions. He called out: "Artuk? Cormac? Anyone?"
His only reply was the sizzling and popping of superheated rocks cooling in the patient rain.
He was going to have to move out, and soon. He glanced at his arm, the flesh was shredded around the elbow, probably by a splinter from a shattered tree. Numbly, he staggered away through the trees, the rain and shadows enfolding him in their protective embrace. There were other tribes out there, somewhere. Perhaps InGen had violated their lands too, enslaved their people. It was a long shot, but it was all he had left.

Four

The Corel’s Dream settled down gently with a hiss as her repulsors disengaged. Kessler heaved a sigh of relief and removed his headset. They’d made it. Standing up, he went aft and met Elgin by the boarding ramp. The large alien regarded him with a calculating look. Sensing he was working up to saying something, Kessler waited patiently for him to speak.
"You’re an asshole, Kessler, but you’re a good kind of asshole to have around in a tight spot. I owe you a face full of broken teeth for some of the stunts you pulled, but the fact that I’m still around to pulverise your scrawny little human ass is because of you, I guess. So I think I’ll forego the pleasure this time."
Kessler smiled. He’d come to enjoy Elgin’s company over the short period of time they’d been together. Of course, that was largely down to the fact that he was so easy to upset, but he wisely refrained from mentioning that. Besides, he had a use for Elgin now, and he wanted to stay on his good side.
"You’re welcome, Big Guy. I suppose I should apologise for ragging on you so much, but I just have a habit of being flippant whenever things get tense. No offence?"
"No offence."
Kessler triggered the boarding ramp hatch. "Okay, let’s go see your Boss."
He stepped out into Nar Shadda’s night air, and turned to take a good look at the Corel’s Dream. Her hull was blackened and pitted where the extreme heat from her atmospheric power climb had burned away at her leading edges. No doubt the stresses had caused other, less obvious damage, but it would time to do a full systems check and find out exactly what else was wrong. He sighed. He’d probably knocked a good few thousand off her resale value.
Stomping down the boarding ramp, Elgin muttered that Ploovo wasn’t his boss.
Kessler turned to face him, a carefully staged expression of puzzlement on his face.
"You said that before, and I wondered about that. What’s the deal there?"
Elgin shrugged. "Pretty simple. I don’t work for Ploovo, I work for his supplier. I keep an eye on things and make sure Ploovo’s on the level and no serious problems arise."
"Ploovo knows this, does he?"
"Sure. I do the odd bit of work for Ploovo here and there, but he asks me, he doesn’t tell me."
"So, you’re one of Karrde’s boys?"
Elgin grinned. "I didn’t say that. Anyway…"
Something flashed uncomfortably brightly in the darkness of the deserted docking bay. Kessler was temporarily blinded and felt something warm and wet splash over his face. He instinctively dived for cover, scrabbling for a blaster that he’d momentarily forgotten wasn’t in his holster.
Blinking furiously, his eyes cleared. He was lying exposed, an easy target, but there had been no second shot yet. Elgin was still standing.
"Get down you big moron!" Kessler hissed.
Elgin appeared to be in some difficulty, he was staring at his hands and his mouth was opening and closing as he seemed to be trying to say something. A large, dark stain was spreading over the centre of his chest. After a second, he sank slowly to his knees, then settled back on his haunches. His hands dropped to his sides, his head fell forward and he sighed once and was still.
"Elgin? On no….Elgin!"
He heard the crunch of booted feet moving from the shadows around him. "I’d be more worried about myself if I were in your position Kessler."
Kerrigan, D-Day and Angel moved out from their firing positions to cover Kessler as he lay next to Elgin’s corpse. Angel and Kerry both carried standard blasters, but D-Day was packing a very mean and very ugly looking heavy blaster rifle. It was of the type that was more at home providing covering fire for squads of soldiers. Or for killing overly large and threatening enemies with one shot.
"Where are the other three?" Kessler whispered.
"Paid and gone their separate ways. Besides which, Y-Wings couldn’t have made it back here ahead of you anyway" D-Day replied.
"Shut up, D-Day" Kerrigan snarled. "Pick him up, pat him down and get him onboard. We’ve got some talking to do with this double-crossing son of a bitch."
D-Day appeared to tense at Kerrigan’s imperious tone, and looked about to respond, but a quick look of warning from Angel appeared to make him reconsider.
Shrugging, he slung the rifle, hauled Kessler roughly to his feet, and gave him an expert search.
Stepping back with a puzzled expression on his face, he reported: "He’s clean. Not so much as a kitchen knife on him."
Kerrigan raised an eyebrow, but chose not to comment. He indicated the boarding ramp with the muzzle of his blaster. "Okay, Kessler. Open her up."
Once inside, Kessler was sat down next to the Dejarik table and placed his hands in clear view. He waited patiently for the first question.
"Okay, Kessler" Kerrigan started. "Start explaining, and make it convincing."
Kessler took a breath. "Someone screwed up our security. Ploovo put a bodyguard on me to make sure I didn’t talk to anyone before we launched."
"Bullshit. If Ploovo thought you were selling him out you’d be dead already."
"Only if he knew. I don’t know. Maybe he was just worried about something, like for example, why I was getting into meetings with known shitheads like you three?"
"Go on. Keep talking."
Kessler sighed. "Anyway, he refused to give me the location of my delivery destination. He gave me the details of a rendezvous where I would meet the rest of a convoy and be given further instructions there. Elgin – that’s the guy you just murdered, kept an eye on me all the way in. I couldn’t get word to anyone about how badly screwed our plan had gone.
"I made the rendezvous and met with a group of other ships. There was a Medium Transport there, the Mandalore Star, the captain seemed to be the guy with all the answers. He gave me my delivery destination and told me to wait for the last ship in the convoy to arrive. The Indigo Prime, it was called. You ever heard of it?"
All three shook their heads.
"Well it never showed. Our friends in the V-38s did instead, just after I arrived. I thought the timing was a little convenient. I suspect they’d been waiting all along and only attacked once the last target showed up – i.e. me. It looked like The Indigo Prime sold out the convoy. Whatever the reason, I’m pretty sure I was the only one to escape in one piece."
Angel’s expression didn’t change. Kerrigan appeared to consider the story. "So how come you didn’t take care of the hired muscle there and then and return to us with your share of the cargo?"
"Well, a number of reasons. Firstly because I’m not a killer. Secondly because I already had the delivery point co-ordinates plotted and jumping to there was the fastest way out of a very dangerous ambush, and finally, because mister Elgin gave away some information that I thought might prove useful."
"Which was?"
"All in good time." Kessler was starting to enjoy himself. Angel and D-Day were listening intently, and even Kerrigan appeared to no longer quite so sure of himself. He extracted a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it with his battered old steel lighter, blowing smoke rings into the air of the cabin.
"So anyway. There I am in the Denubis system, right outside the borders of Imperial Orthodoxy space with a cargo of cheap, reliable blaster carbines and energy cells. I need Elgin to believe I’m who I say I am, so I have to go ahead and do the deal, especially since all he wants to do is get out and report to his boss. His boss, which he’s already let slip isn’t Ploovo Two-for-One, but someone about whom he refuses to elaborate further."
Angel and D-Day exchange glances. Kerrigan ignores them.
"So I land at the selected landing site, and who should we find but a collection of native guerrilla fighters anxious to get their hands on some pretty new toys to help them kick the IO off their homeworld. An IO presence which, I might hasten to add, is highly illegal even if cleverly hidden beneath a commercial cover. Although it turns out that this cover isn’t quite as clever as they might think, because there’s a Rebel Commando officer there arranging for the handover of the weapons, and he’s obviously in charge of things.
"Johnny Reb, obviously doesn’t realise that Ploovo’s suppliers work through intermediaries, and when he hears that the rest of his weapons are spread in pieces over a large portion of the Dendrite Sector, gives me a mouthful, saying that our people should be more careful about their security measures. The thing is, he doesn’t realise that to me – "our people" means Ploovo. He doesn’t know I’m working for Ploovo. He assumes that I’m working for the people that the Rebellion approached to originally supply the weapons, not the people who’ve been subcontracted out to do it. So naturally, he doesn’t think twice about using the name of this mysterious supplier. I put two and two together, and realise that Elgin is also working for the same person. He later confirms this for me, and so I not only discover who Ploovo’s suppliers really are, I also have a contact who works directly for this person, and whom we can use as a way in.
"So, we arrive back on Nar Shadda, after being forced to ditch you losers before you can compromise my cover with Elgin. We’re about to go and report to Ploovo, where Elgin would doubtless have been very happy to tell him what an incredible job I’d done and how trustworthy and reliable I was…"
Angel broke in, a triumphant sneer in her voice. "Except the famous Dev Kerrigan, Crown Prince of Smugglers and Pirates, has our best lead yet shot, right in front of you. Way to go, Kerry. You’ve excelled yourself this time."
Kerrigan began to look seriously out of his depth. Even D-Day couldn’t help glancing at him askew.
Kessler stood from behind the Dejarik table and approached the slim spacer cautiously. He cast a meaningful look at Kerrigan’s blaster. The younger man blushed and holstered his weapon.
"No hard feelings, Kerry," Kessler offered, holding out his hand in a gesture of reconciliation.
"I don’t know what to say, Kess" he replied, accepting the handshake. "I misjudged you, I’m sorry"
"You will be." Pulling him forward, Kessler slammed his free fist into Kerrigan’s stomach, doubling him over. "That’s for putting a tracking device on my ship!"
Kessler’s knee shot up and split Kerrigan’s nose wide open, snapping his head back with a loud crack. "That’s for killing the best lead we’ve gained so far on this miserable operation!"
Kessler delivered a final thundering punch to Kerrigan’s jaw, knocking him off his feet and depositing him cleanly on the deck in a crumpled heap. "And that’s for lying to me again about who we’re working for you cheap son of a bitch!"
Kerrigan struggled to rise, but apparently gave it up as a bad idea. He slumped back to deck, breathing heavily and making bubbling noises through his nose. Kessler rubbed his tender knuckles, face like thunder.
Angel chuckled softly at Kerrigan’s discomfiture. "Hell, Kessler – I think I like you!"
Kessler ignored her. "Okay, I’m going to wipe Elgin’s guts off my face and then make contact with Ploovo before he starts getting really impatient. I’ll just make some shit up about what happened to Elgin, but you assholes had better lose his body before I get back. Ploovo doesn’t know I’m using this docking bay, but he will by the time I’ve spoken to him and you can bet he’ll have it put under surveillance. I’ll make contact with you all once I’m done."
"Kessler," D-Day called for his attention.
"What?"
"We dusted your landing site with proton torpedoes after you busted out. Tell him you came under attack during the exchange and Elgin bought the farm there."
Kessler took a second to absorb the implications of this, then nodded. It was as good a story as any. "Okay, D-Day. Thanks."
"You’re welcome."
Angel stopped him before he could depart. "You didn’t say who Elgin was really working for, Kessler."
"Well that’s the funny thing, isn’t it? Because according to this piece of shit," he indicated Kerrigan, "We’re part of Tallon Karrde’s organisation trying to shut down competition from Ploovo’s mystery suppliers. But according to Elgin, Karrde is Ploovo’s supplier."
Walking to the crew quarters to clean up, he growled "We’re all going to have a cosy little chat when I get back. I want some answers from Kerrigan and I want the truth this time."
Once he was out of earshot, Angel and D-Day gave each other significant looks.
"Karrde?" Angel asked.
"Looks like we have a winner." D-Day replied.
"If you two have quite finished gloating," came a voice from somewhere around deck level, "I’d really appreciate a hand getting up, and some suggestions for what we’re going to tell him when he gets back wouldn’t be amiss either."
D-Day shrugged. "If I were you I’d stay down until he’s gone. He looks really pissed off."
Angel shook her head ruefully. "You could always try telling him the truth, Kerry. I realise it’ll be difficult for you, but you should at least make the effort."
"Screw you, Angel."
"You couldn’t afford me, Kerrigan" she laughed.

***

"Preacher this is Jackal."
"About time! What the hell’s going on over there?"
"Relax, everything seems to working out, despite a few hiccups along the way. Suffice to say that our faith in the principle seems to have been justified. He’s managed to survive yet another ambush, identify our weapons supplier and find out exactly who’s behind the mysterious attacks too."
"Well, that’s unexpected. Have you considered recruiting him yet? He sounds resourceful."
"Trust me – he’s just not the type."
"Oh well… Is the supplier who we imagined it might be?"
"Yes, I’d say this confirms our suspicions, but it also poses a few new problems."
"You don’t say? Go on then, enlighten me."
"First of all, given the nature of who we’ve discovered the supplier to be, my cover with the principle is blown. He no longer trusts me, I’m requesting permission to tell him the truth."
"No chance. You got yourself into this mess, you get yourself out of it. You’re a consummate liar according to your record – make something up. I won’t allow you to jeopardise the security of this operation because you’ve had a sudden attack of honesty."
"Okay, you can’t blame me for asking. The other problem is a touch more serious however. Our "partners" in this little venture have been less than honest in the "full and immediate exchange of intelligence" they promised when we agreed to pool our resources over this operation."
"You have evidence of this?"
"You could say that. They’re the ones who’ve been ambushing and wiping out the various convoys that my principle has so far narrowly avoided being killed in. It’s pretty obvious that their own infiltration teams have been as successful as ours, and we have a lead on their own inside man. Look up any information you can find on a freighter named the "Indigo Prime". We have rock solid evidence that whoever the captain is – he’s an IO agent."
"If you’re right this would be a clear breach of our partnering arrangement."
"I’m right. These assholes have not only been holding back vital information from us, but their actions have nearly gotten our own agents killed – twice. Not only that, but now that we’ve got our first good lead in months, there’s every danger that with the chaos these assholes have caused in Ploovo’s operation, the supplier may pull the plug and select another distributor who isn’t attracting as much heat. We can’t afford for that to happen when we’re so close. They need to be taught a lesson in co-operation."
"Hmm….Okay, I’ll take a look at your evidence and see what I can pull up. In the meantime, your priority is to find out where the primary depot for the supplier’s weapons is located. It’s not necessary that you take it out, but you must locate it."
"Actually, I was thinking about that. It may be too late as far as Ploovo’s concerned, he’s suffered too many losses recently to be able to put together any kind of convincing operation, even if Karrde decides to let him keep the ball."
"You may be right. He’ll have to rely on outside help to actually move his shipments for him in the immediate future…"
"And that just makes his security situation worse. He’s wide open to infiltration now, and there’s no guarantee that his organisation isn’t still riddled with IO agents."
"Which surely makes it all the more important that we get a lead on Karrde’s base of operations all the sooner, doesn’t it?"
"Well, yes and no. Look at it this way, Preacher… Karrde’s not stupid. If we can work this much out, so can he. I think he’s going to pull the plug on Ploovo any day now, regardless of any fast talking that the Fat Man tries to do. Getting Kessler deeper into Ploovo’s operation may be a waste of time at this point. There’s no guarantee that proceeding this way will produce any results, in fact I’d say the odds were stacked against us."
"So what are you suggesting, Jackal?"
"Well if Karrde’s going to be looking around for a new supplier, we need to make sure that whoever he chooses isn’t totally infiltrated by IO agents the way Ploovo’s operation is. Let me ask you this: Who do we trust?"
"Rhetorical question, isn’t it? In this business we don’t trust anyone."
"Exactly. We don’t trust anyone."
"I think I see what you’re getting at…"
"It a beauty isn’t it?"
"If it works. What do you need?"
"Anyone on non-essential operations is going to have to be pulled immediately, and I mean like yesterday. They’re going to need to be briefed, and I’m going to need a list of all the assets we can put together. We’ll need a nominal leader, someone trusted by the community, I’d recommend Lynx. He’s got a good, deep cover and a background that suits the bill perfectly. He’s also got a front business that we can use for our shop window. I can’t think of anyone better placed at short notice."
"It’s a long shot, Captain, but it might just work. We’re going to be bidding against some pretty stiff competition if this contract goes on the market. We’ll need a hook to make us stand out from the crowd."
"You leave that up to me, Preacher. I have just the thing…"

***

"Call for you Boss."
Ploovo looked up from his plate of Jujo Grubs and frowned. "I’m eating, Quarrel. You deal with it."
"You’ll want to take this one. It’s Kessler."
Ploovo paused, fork halfway to his mouth, then set down his food and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "Elgin?"
"Nothing from Elgin as yet, Boss. Kessler says he’s got news but he’ll only talk to you."
If Kessler was here and Elgin hadn’t reported, that could only mean one thing. Ploovo didn’t like the implication. "Okay, put him on." He sat back, resting his hands on his vast girth and waited for Kessler’s image to appear on his holoreader.
"Ploovo, this is Kessler. I’m back, obviously and I made the shipment as promised, but I don’t think you should hold your breath waiting for everyone else."
"Another ambush?"
"Yeah. I doubt anyone else got out. We were jumped during the delivery too, but I don’t think it was by the same people….it’s complicated. Elgin bought it before we could get back onboard and underway."
"Unfortunate. Good help is so hard to find these days."
"There is good news. I have a lead on who’s responsible."
Ploovo’s eyes flickered to his dinner guest, who had so far wisely remained silent. "Don’t say any more over this line, Kessler. Come up to my suite at the Regency Building, Quarrell will give you the address. Maybe when we get this sorted out I can find you a job that doesn’t involve half the galaxy lining up to take shots at you." He closed the link and sat back, gazing at the man sitting opposite him. "It seems we’re not quite as badly screwed as we thought we were. One of my men survived the ambush, and we appear to have a lead on who may be responsible."
Tallon Karrde lifted a morsel of food to his mouth and savoured the taste for a second before replying. "Lucky for you, Ploovo. Maybe it won’t be necessary for me to take my business elsewhere after all…"
"I can assure you, Mister Karrde, that my man Kessler is very reliable. If he says he has a lead, then our problems are over." Nervously, Ploovo lifted a bottle in one sweaty paw. "More wine?"
Talon Karrde nodded, favouring Ploovo with a calculating stare.

***

Kessler raised his arms and stood perfectly still as he was frisked for concealed weapons. Finding none, the guard stepped back satisfied and nodded to Quarrel. The Devaronian unfolded his arms and stepped away from the security desk, indicating to Kessler with a curt nod that he should follow. The two rode the private turbolift to Ploovo’s penthouse in silence, Quarrel’s customary air of inhospitability mixed with something Kessler had never noticed in the alien before. He wasn’t a great judge of alien mannerisms or facial expressions, but Kessler got the distinct impression that Quarrel was nervous about something.
I guess I’d be nervous in his position. He could be out of a job by next week.
The turbolift stopped on the sixty-eighth floor and two men, apparently some of Ploovo’s guards, boarded. They nodded to Quarrel who quietly acknowledged them , and the lift resumed its journey.
The two men seemed strangely familiar for some reason. Of course, Ploovo had a lot of goons, but then it came to him. These were the same two who had accompanied Quarrel when he had first met Kessler in The Sullustan’s Sister. Curiosity satisfied, he tried to relax, but couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something else was amiss. The shorter of the two guards – Kessler had thought he seemed familiar the first time he’d seen him, and now, staring at the back of his thick, powerful neck in the crowded turbolift, the feeling had returned.
Quarrel reached inside his jacket, pulled out a small, compact blaster and checked it over to make sure it was in working order. "Sorry about this Kessler. Nothing personal."
Ignoring Quarrel, the guard in front of him angled his head over in a slow, languorous twist that made an audible popping noise as the vertebrae in his neck reset.
Years before, when he’d been a Lieutenant Colonel and newly promoted to command of the TIE Fighter’s Corps 10th Fighter Wing, Kessler had been required to attend a diplomatic function. The ISD Challenge had been in Auroran orbit at the time, and most of her crew were on leave, but Kessler was covering for the ship’s commanding officer who was himself on leave at the time. The Emperor’s Hammer was about to conclude diplomatic negotiations and sign an Alliance with Supreme Moff Babune’s Imperial Orthodoxy, and the EH Directorate needed a large group of senior officers from all branches of service to attend the ceremony that marked the signing of the EH/IO Treaty. Kessler hadn’t been doing anything amazingly important at the time, so the Battlegroup Commander, Rear Admiral Rapier, had ordered him to get into dress uniform and make himself available for window-dressing duty at the ceremony on Aurora. Kessler had grudgingly complied with his orders, polished his medals and boots, and taken a shuttle down to Aurora Prime.
Once at the Senate Hall, he’d been introduced to a small group of IO Officers who were going to form the Embassy Staff on Aurora once the treaty was signed. One man in particular caught his imagination. He’d been a short, but powerfully built Commander, who’d been introduced as the Cultural Attaché. He knew it was wrong to judge a book by it’s cover, but one look at the man made it pretty obvious that the only thing he knew about culture was how to subjugate alien ones. Besides, it was common knowledge in military circles that Cultural Attaché was simply a polite way of telling people that here was the Intelligence Operative. It was the Intel Community’s way of playing by the rules, keeping everything above board, showing that yes, you were going to be spied on, but it was going to be done in a polite, legal manner. Kessler had been highly amused by it all.
After the introductions came the ceremony itself. Kessler was only required to look good in uniform for the cameras, so he stood where the diplomats told him to stand and endured two hours of boring speeches and tedious diplomatic double talk, which culminated in the signing of the Non-Aggression Pact between the Emperor’s Hammer and the Imperial Orthodoxy. The whole process was made even more unbearable by the fact that Kessler had been forced to stand directly behind the so-called Cultural Attaché for the duration of the ceremony, and the man had an insufferable habit of twisting his neck around in his collar every few minutes with an irritating popping noise as his vertebrae reset. Kessler suddenly remembered where he’d met the short guard before.
The muzzle of Quarrel’s blaster swung up in slow motion and he felt himself swinging an arm over the shoulder and around the neck of the man in front of him. There was a flash and a whining noise as he twisted the shorter man off balance and grasped for the Blaster Rifle slung over the man’s shoulder. The second guard appeared to realise that the assassination attempt wasn’t going as smoothly as planned and began to reach for his own weapon. Quarrel’s face twisted into a mask of fury and he steadied his aim on the pistol for a second shot. The second guard had his weapon clear of it’s holster, and the guard Kessler was holding seemed to be growing heavy in his arms. The second guard’s eyes flickered down to waist level and widened in shock, his mouth opening as he began to shout something. Quarrel’s gun flared again, then the world went bright white.

When Kessler’s eyes cleared the turbolift was quiet except for the hum of the repulsors carrying the lift to the penthouse. Quarrel lay unmoving on the deck, slumped over the dead body of the other guard. He realised he was still holding up the Intelligence Operative he’d met at that diplomatic function all those years ago, so he released his grip on the man’s neck and he slid to the floor quietly. All three bodies were peppered with small holes, edges seared by intense burns. Looking down, Kessler realised he was holding an Imperial Repeating Blaster Carbine in his white-knuckled hand. He’d obviously fired it on full auto, and the ensuing hail of shots in the close confines of the turbolift had done their deadly work.
Why kill me?
Quarrel and the two bodyguards had been IO agents, and it had been pretty obvious that Kessler knew exactly who was behind Ploovo’s problems. So they’d arranged to kill him. It still didn’t make any sense to do it like this however. Not here, right on Ploovo’s front doorstep, there was far too much to lose. Unless Kessler was being set up to take the blame for something else entirely.
Like an assassination?
But why kill Ploovo? What was the point? Take the Fat Man out of the equation and Karrde’s people simply switch to another distributor, then you have to begin the infiltration process all over again. It still didn’t make sense.
The turbolift doors opened and two guards waiting in the atrium took one look at the carnage before whipping their weapons clear of their holsters and aiming them straight at Kessler’s face.
"Drop the weapon! Do it now!!"
Kessler dropped the weapon.
"Out of the lift, face down on the floor! Keep your hands where we can see them!"
Still dazed from his ordeal, Kessler complied. A blaster muzzle was shoved behind his ear and he was roughly searched as one man spoke into a communicator excitedly.
At the other end of the atrium a door opened and Kessler heard Ploovo’s distinct thin, reedy voice. "Kessler? What the hell’s been going on?"
The two guards ignored Ploovo, then a second voice spoke. "The famous Captain Kessler I presume? Ploovo’s been telling me a lot about you. He seems to think very highly of you."
Kessler looked up from the deck and saw a tall, well dressed man with short cut hair and a thin moustache. He seemed amused.
"Although I suspect his opinion of you is about to change dramatically unless you can do some really fast talking."
"The lift is clear, Mister Karrde, sir. All three of them are dead."
Tallon Karrde? It’s all starting to make sense now.
Kessler met Karrde’s eye. "Are these two men yours?"
Karrde nodded.
"Good, because right now they’re the only people around here we can trust."
"Kessler I said what the hell’s been going on!!!"
Kessler ignored Ploovo. "Ploovo’s henchmen were Imperial Orthodoxy agents, they were going to kill you and set me up to take the blame for it, Mister Karrde."
Karrde nodded to his bodyguards, and they hauled Kessler to his feet. Glancing at them gratefully, he continued. "I’ve only just figured out what’s been going on, but you know how delicate the situation in the Dendrite Sector is between the Rebels and the IO, that’s why you’re being used to supply insurgents instead of the Rebels openly attacking, right?"
"Go on.."
"The IO must have been infiltrating Ploovo’s organisation for months now. Who knows how many of Ploovo’s people really work for the Empire? But simply ambushing shipments is no solution to their problem, all you’d do is switch to another distributor."
"Now hold on a second…" Ploovo began.
"Shut up Fat Boy" Kessler snapped. Karrde’s eyes glittered in amusement. Kessler continued. "The real prize was Mister Big himself. Kill you and that puts the whole operation back for months, perhaps permanently. Whoever succeeds you may not be quite as sympathetic to the Rebellion. So instead of shutting down Lard-Ass here, they just make things bad enough that you’d want to come here and check out for yourself just how incompetent Ploovo was becoming." He shrugged. "Once that happened they could kill you all and put paid to any chance for stability in the Sector."
Karrde treated Kessler to a long penetrating stare before nodding once. "Okay Captain. You’ve convinced me." He turned to Ploovo. "Sorry Bubble-Butt. You’re fired. Goodbye."
Ploovo’s face paled. He began to protest loudly, but was ignored by all present.
Karrde reached inside his jacket and pulled out a sporting blaster, checking it for power, then touched the butt of the Repeater on the deck with his toe. "You may as well make yourself useful, Kessler. If you can’t defend yourself, you’re a burden to us. Pick this up…" a meaningful glance into the turbolift. "You obviously know how to use it."
Kessler bent to retrieve the weapon, as he straightened, he saw the turbolift doors slide shut and the lift begin to descend. "Looks like we’ve got company coming."
"Mister Karrde" one the guards called over. "Reception isn’t responding, sir."
"Like I said" Kessler added. "No telling how many of Ploovo’s people are in this."
Karrde frowned. "Ploovo, shut your whining for a second and answer one question, do you have another way out of this rat hole of yours?"
Ploovo gulped. "Yes. I have a shuttle on the roof."
"Then lead the way."
"Erm…the access is via the turbolift."
Karrde sighed. "Is there any other way up to the roof?"
Ploovo stared at him blankly. "I suppose we could take the fire escape. It’s through the master bedroom."
Karrde’s two men glanced at each other briefly, then nodded and stepped to the open doors at into Ploovo’s penthouse at the far end of the atrium. Weapons at the ready, they checked inside and nodded to their Boss that the first room was clear.
"Ploovo," said Kessler. "Those doors to your apartment, are they shielded?"
"Not shielded, no, but they are armoured and I can lock them. Quarrel was in charge of security though. His people may have the access code."
"Okay, In that case I suggest…" It was then that he noticed two blinking red lights flashing on and off outside the windows of Ploovo’s lounge. "Everybody get down!"
The windows shattered as the hovering airspeeder outside opened fire with what seemed to be a rapid fire blaster cannon. Furniture and artwork disintegrated in a blaze of laser fire as the gunner worked his way across the apartment, shredding one of Karrde’s bodyguards as he tried to return fire. The other took a headlong dive back into the atrium and slapped the doorlock on his way, the armoured doors swinging shut and sealing with a hiss.
Kessler looked up from behind the security desk. "Everyone okay?"
Karrde and Ploovo both acknowledged. The remaining bodyguard stood, brushing debris from his clothes. "Mareel’s dead sir. Doesn’t look like we can get out that way now."
"We’re in some real pretty shit now." Kessler muttered. "You," he gestured at the bodyguard with his rifle. "What’s your name?"
"Derrel."
"Okay, Derrel. See if you can get the turbolift doors open. We’ll climb the shaft up to the roof."
"There’s no guarantee they haven’t got the roof covered or the shuttle taken out already."
"No, but there’s every guarantee they’ve got this penthouse covered and we’re running out of options. Anyway, the shuttle isn’t what I’m counting on. Get on with it."
Derrel shrugged, holstered his blaster and stepped towards the turbolift.
Kessler turned to Karrde. "You got a communicator on you?"
Karrde reached into his jacket and flipped a small device to Kessler.
"Thanks, now I suggest you help your man Derrel there to get those doors open, and I hope you’re not scared of heights."
Karrde smiled, nodded and went to attend to the doors. The were sealed for safety reasons, but Derrel didn’t have time to worry about safety protocols. He blasted open the access hatch to the lift controls and pulled out a live cable, turned around to warn everyone to stand clear and thrust the cable into the circuit panel. There was a flash and a shower of sparks, and the turbolift doors creaked open and shuddered to a halt halfway. Derrel shook his scorched hand and grimaced in pain. "Door’s open. Sort of."
Kessler nodded and tossed the commlink back to Karrde with a quick "Thanks", then peered down the shaft. The oncoming lift wasn’t visible yet, but it would be here within minutes. "Okay, we don’t have much time, let’s go. Derrel, your hand going to be okay?"
Derrel nodded.
"Right, get going. You first."
Derrel slipped through the gap in the doors and began to climb the service ladder. Kessler stepped forward to go next, then realised that the gap was barely two feet wide. He turned to look at Ploovo. Ploovo looked at the gap, then at Kessler, panic clearly written all over his fat, sweaty face. Kessler sighed. "Wait a minute, Ploovo."
He slung the rifle over his shoulder and wedged himself into the gap, bracing his back against one door and his boots against the other, then heaved. The doors slowly edged open, inch by painful inch. Through gritted teeth, he hissed "Move it, Fat Boy!" Ploovo gratefully ducked under him and squeezed through the gap, reaching for the ladder and climbing unsteadily. Kessler relaxed and let the doors return to their resting position, gasping for breath. Karrde was giving him a strange look. "What?"
Karrde shrugged. "I’d have left him."
"Lucky for him I was here, then. Come on. Follow me." He slipped into the shaft and began to climb, a low whistling noise growing louder as he climbed to the top of the shaft. The turbolift was almost here. It wouldn’t take them long to realise where they’d gone, especially when they saw the state of the shaft doors.
Reaching the top of the shaft, he found Ploovo shivering in fear and Derrel covering the access door with his blaster.
"Derrel, you looked outside yet?"
"Not yet."
"Okay, Ploovo, get the hell back. Derrel, you and me, ready?"
"Ready."
Weapons held in both hands, he triggered the door release and the two of them surged out onto the rooftop. It was bitterly cold. A strong wind cut through his clothing as if it were paper, and he had to struggle to maintain his footing, but the shuttle seemed to be in once piece for the moment.
"Kessler, that turbolift’s arrived. They’re here."
That meant if they weren’t onboard that shuttle now, the men below would realise where they’d gone, and signal to their compatriots in the airspeeder to check the roof.
"Let’s go!"
Ploovo didn’t need a second invitation, he shoved past the two men and waddled towards his shuttle as fast as his legs would carry him, waving his arms in an effort to attract attention.
Who’s he trying to signal? There isn’t a crew on that thing, is there? Oh no. Ploovo you damned idiot, why didn’t you tell us your shuttle was crewed?
Without pausing to think, Kessler grabbed Karrde by the arm and dived behind a ventilation stack, screaming for Derrel to take cover and hoping his voice would carry above the wind. There was a whine of repulsorlifts and the scream of laser fire as the shuttle spun about and gunned down Ploovo at point blank range. Kessler couldn’t see if Derrel had escaped the blast or not.
Karrde winced, rubbing at bruised elbow. "Any more bright ideas, Kessler?"
"Only one," Kessler replied, clearing the safety lock on his rifle. "Take aim at that turbolift hatch and shoot anything that sticks it’s nose out."
Karrde nodded, smiling grimly.
More laser fire tore across the rooftop as the airspeeder joined the shuttle in searching the rooftop for any survivors. Kessler hoped that meant they hadn’t found Derrel, then the turbolift doors chimed and opened, and he and Karrde unleashed a volley of fire into the open doorway. There were choked screams from the interior, and one man staggered free, clutching at his guts with both hands. Karrde tracked him with the muzzle of his sporting blaster and calmly fired a single shot through his head. He ejected the spent powerpack and clipped a fresh one into place. "It’s only a matter of time before that airspeeder or that shuttle finds us, and it’s all over when they do. It’s been nice knowing you Captain Kessler, shame you couldn’t have had your flash of inspiration regarding Ploovo’s problems a little sooner."
Kessler peered around the corner of the ventilation stack then grinned at Karrde cheerfully. "We’re not dead yet, but I’d recommend you make yourself as small as you possibly can for the next thirty seconds or so." then dropped his rifle and covered his head with his hands.
"What the…"
That was as far as he got before his words were drowned in a deafening explosion. A wave of heat swept over them both, and the whine of the shuttle’s engines abruptly cut out, replaced by a much deeper rumble.
"Okay, you can look up now," said Kessler, climbing to his feet. He grinned broadly and waved to the pilot in the cockpit of the YT-1300 Far Trader as it hovered low over the rooftop. Dev Kerrigan waved back to him and set her down gently, clear of the burning wreckage of Ploovo’s shuttle. Kessler watched Kerrigan strap on a headset microphone and his amplified voice boomed out over the rooftop: "You called, sir?"
The boarding ramp extended as Karrde stood and stared, astonished. "You have a lot of friends it seems, Captain."
"Yeah, you could say that." He glanced around the roof and shouted "Derrel, you still alive?"
Karrde’s remaining bodyguard stood from behind the cover of a gutted ventilation stack and waved. "The airspeeder hightailed it out of here. There was a Firespray Class attack ship close on it’s tail. I didn’t see it go down."
Kessler smiled. "That’ll be our friend mister D-Day Dayton. You can relax, these guys are on my side, get your ass onboard before any more bad guys show up!"
Derrel nodded in the affirmative and headed towards the Far Trader’s boarding ramp. Kessler turned to Karrde. "After you."
In the cockpit of the Far Trader, Kerrigan grinned enthusiastically at Kessler as the three refugees entered. Kessler gave him a big thumbs up and Kerrigan saluted, withdrew the ramp and boosted power to the engines. The ship lifted clear and Kerrigan indicated to Karrde that he should sit in the co-pilot’s station, then saw Derrel clutching at his wounded hand. "Kess, there’s a medical kit in the locker over the navigation station. See if there’s a bacta spray in there for your man’s hand."
"Sure thing."
Kerrigan grinned and keyed his transmitter. "Momma’s Pride this is Far Trader. Dustoff site is clear, we’re on our way out. You can stand down now."
"Roger that Far Trader. Momma out."
"Killing Time this is Far Trader. How goes the hunt old buddy?"
"Sweet. This sucker’s a greasy spot on the side of a skyscraper. Where you at?"
"We’re on our way home. Got to pick up the Corel’s Dream for our friend Mister K here then were getting the hell out of town. Meet you at the rendezvous."
"You got it, Kerry. See you later."
Kerrigan gunned the throttle and the Far Trader accelerated swiftly, heading back to Docking Bay 33B and Kessler’s ship. Karrde cleared his throat and addressed Kerrigan. "I seem to be in the debt of Captain Kessler’s friends, yet you have me at a disadvantage. I’m Tallon Karrde, and you might be?"
Kerrigan offered him his hand. "Dev Kerrigan, pleased to meet you. Let me just say if Kess is letting you get away with calling him Captain he must like you. Most folks call him ‘Colonel’ or ‘Kess’, or if they’re feeling especially respectful – ‘grumpy old fart.’"
"Screw you, Kerrigan." Kessler shot back cheerfully. Karrde laughed.
"So," Kerrigan continued while checking instrumentation to make sure their flight path was clear. "What happened to Jelly-Belly?"
"Ploovo’s dead." Kessler muttered.
Kerrigan grinned. "Shame. Anyway, I guess that means," he said, turning to Karrde; "That you’re in the market for a new distributor for your merchandise in this Sector?"
Karrde nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
Kerrigan’s shark-like grin widened even further. "Mister Karrde, this could be your lucky day!"

***

"Preacher this is Jackal.
"You’re on time for a change."
"Spare me. What’s the news?"
"You’ll be happy to hear it’s all going just as planned. Karrde’s fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Within a few weeks, Agent Lynx’s dummy company will be responsible for the distribution and control of the entire arms trade in the Dendrite Sector. The Imperial Orthodoxy haven’t a hope of infiltrating our network. The best part is, we’ll be profiting from the supply of Rebel weapons to saboteurs working against a rival Imperial faction, and we can control exactly what goes where and to whom. Within a month we should have a complete list of Karrde’s customers. We’ll have the names and locations of every Rebel agent in the Sector, courtesy of Rebel Intelligence themselves! If Coruscant only knew exactly who Karrde was really dealing with, they’d just shit themselves. I have to hand it to you, Jackal. It was a brilliant idea"
"Yeah, I am pretty damn good, aren’t I?"
"You’ll be pleased to hear your promotion to Major was today approved by the Supreme Director himself."
"Now that’s what I like to hear!"
*chuckle* "Yes, well, you earned it. Congratulations on a job well done."
"Okay Preacher. I’ve just got a spot of business to tidy up, some loose ends to sort out and I’ll be ready for my next assignment."
"No rush. You’ve earned some leave. Snake sends her regards by the way. She says to tell you she really enjoyed working with you again."
"Yeah, I’ll just bet she did. Jackal out."

***

Kerrigan pushed the drink over to Kessler’s side of the table and glanced about the bar. The Sullustan’s Sister was crowded, the usual gang of business types braying about stock deals and mergers. He shook his head bemusedly. "I can’t see what you see in the place. You sure about this?"
Kessler nodded. "Yes, I’m sure. Take my share and buy Ploovo’s interest in this place for me. I always wanted to own a bar."
"Sure, but this one?"
"Yeah, this one."
"Okay, you’re the boss." Kerrigan reached inside his jacket and pulled clear an envelope, then placed it on Kessler’s side of the table. "Here. A gift."
Kessler frowned. "What is it?"
"Open it and see."
Kessler slit the seam from the envelope and pulled out a crisp, freshly stamped document. It was a Spacer’s Guild Trading License, complete with Emperor’s Hammer, Independent Territories and New Republic trading stamps. Valid for six years. Kessler’s ugly face split into a warm smile.
"Thanks Kerry."
"You’re welcome you ugly old fart."
"No IO trading stamp?"
"I didn’t want to encourage you. I don’t think they like you there very much."
Kessler laughed. "Good point."
Kerrigan took a sip of his drink and sighed. "So what now?"
Kessler pondered for a second or two. "I’m not sure. I have to get some repairs done first, but the EH has begun to open up a series of colonies along the border worlds near the Minos Cluster. Lot of opportunities there, and the regular trading runs are getting too competitive for my tastes." He shrugged. "If I get in early, make the right contacts, I should be able to break even, maybe even turn a profit."
"You’re welcome to work with us, you know?"
Kessler shook his head. "I’m not a smuggler, Kerry."
Kerrigan smiled laconically. "Yeah, you said that before."
Looking around the bar, Kessler grinned. "It certainly hasn’t been boring anyway. I’ll give you that much."
"You’re welcome, Kess. We couldn’t have done it without you. Any time you need a favour, just look me up, and if you ever change your mind… well, the offer’s always there."
Kessler stood and grasped the younger spacer’s hand, shaking it warmly. "Thanks, Kerry. It’s been a blast, but if excitement was what I was after I’d never had retired. I’m looking forward to some nice, dull, boring, safe cargo runs for the foreseeable future. Sticking around you tends to be anything but boring."
Kerrigan released Kessler’s hand and grasped him gently by the shoulder. "Okay, go on. I hate long goodbyes. Get outta here you old pirate."
Smiling, Kessler left.
Kerrigan spent a few more minutes finishing off his drink, then put on his cap and collected his blaster from the door. Stepping outside into the busy street, he hailed a cab and settled into the passenger seat for the trip back to the starport. He had to be on Aurora Prime tomorrow and couldn’t afford to hang around. Things were looking up for the man who called himself Dev Kerrigan. A promotion to Major was only the icing on the cake. Preacher had even hinted that he was being recommended for an Imperial Cross.
And they said no-one appreciated you if you worked in Intel Division?
Kerrigan laughed all the way to the starport.

© (copyright) Paul Lee Charlton. All Rights Reserved

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