Frayed at the Edge

1988 short story by Paul Squire

Two years before Episode IV - A New Hope

Captain Ryath Centaur of his Emperors 21^st Blue Star Riders looked bleakly out of his visor.  His steady, dark blue eyes scanned the rocky grey landscape, and travelled down towards the mist filled valley ahead.  He shivered as the chill cold of the land pierced his white armour and flayed his frozen skin.  The wind howled like a wounded demonic creature, and drove the iced rain hard against his armour.

He turned towards his second-in-command and shouted over the storm.

   “Lieutenant Dinass, negative mikes, radio silence.  Pass the word.”

His orders were carried out until all eighteen of his biker squad had signalled their reply.

Ryath, as an after thought explained to his lieutenant,

   “We don’t want the Mynocks to know we’re coming eh, Gythal?”

   “No sir.”

   “Spread the word that this is the rebels last hole.  We outnumber the sneckers down there in the valley and the mist will give us the cover we need.”

   “Sir.  And sir, when do the Stormtroopers and armour get here?”

Gythal Dinass was worried.  Though planet-wise the Empire’s forces outnumbered the rebels greatly, their 20 man full squad was a tiny force to throw against the remaining 500 scum, disorganised as they were.   Plus the fact that the dense ice mist was just as likely to give the enemy as much advantage as them. 

   “The flat feet are ten minutes behind, the AT-ST’s should be here between five to twenty five minutes depending on transportation problems.”

Ryath didn’t believe either would be needed.

   “Look Lieutenant, these Durathosin rebels are inexperienced farmers, factory men or from the city.  They have no fighting experience behind them.  This’ll be a walkover.  A few shots from us and the scum will be running with their tails between their legs, begging for mercy. These men from Durathosin haven’t won a single engagement yet, and nor have any other rebels.  They don’t stand a chance.  It will be like shooting Grellfish in a barrel; no sweat!”

Ryath twisted the throttle on his speeder bike and slowly moved along the line front.  He stopped midway, and shifting around in his seat faced the young man to his right.

   “You alright lad?”

The youngster nodded.

   “Stick close and don’t take any unnecessary chances.  That’s an order!”

   “Yes sir.”  Replied the young Torath Centaur. He grinned excitedly, impatient for his first battle and comforted to have his older brother with him.

Ryath again stared down into the shrouded valley.

   “Attack formation.”  He yelled, and with mighty vigour, “Charge!”

The bikes moved into a V-shape formation and soared along the ridges crest. They then turned away from the valley, travelling down the slope over stony ground.  After five minutes, Captain Centaur held up his hand, and the squad stopped. 

Ahead was the pass, and the valley beyond.

   “That pass will be guarded by rebel scum, Lieutenant.  We don’t stay to engage, but aim for the valley’s heart.  Remember, all of you.”  He shouted, “we’re to sting and confuse. The main and full frontal attacks shall be conducted by the Stormtroopers who will attack in one minute, followed by our armour.  Good luck men, and give those traitorous scum hell.  Let’s go.”  He added with a flourishing wave. 

The few armed rebels, already bloodied and tired, looked up from their positions along the pass to see the Imperial attack formation descend upon them.  The energy from their antiquated guns shot out to meet the oncoming Imperial charge.

Ryath saw the multi-coloured barrage open up, and gave his bike an extra kick of speed.  The pass loomed up ahead.  To his left he sensed rather than saw one of his men hurled from his machine.  The machine stayed right on course.

Ryaths cannon flared red, then fired again, smashing the feeble wooden barricade three men were hiding behind.

The right flank rider was hit in the head by a shot from a rebel marksman.  Bone and plastic fused together as the soldiers brain was destroyed, but still he remained gripped to his bike, and in death went exploding to obliteration into a small fortification.  The two rebels desperately running from it were engulfed in the explosion.

The rebels were falling back, some just running, but the bikers sped on through the pass, tearing the shabby enemy lines apart.

As Ryath came upon them he pulled his bike high, disintegrating one mans head with a shot, and snapping the neck of another with his armoured boot. 

He looked to see his brother behind him, and the rest of his slick formation.  He’d lost only three men, whilst totally routing the rebel line.  Now his team was free to strike at the rebel base.  As they entered the mist, he shouted through his helmet com.

   “Split up and destroy all.  Havoc is the word.”  He yelled. 

The need for radio silence had just passed.

   “Torath, stick with me, understand.”

   “Yes sir.”  Came the reply.

The bikers sped off.  The battle was raging now, with laser bolts being hurled, men screaming and the metallic crunch of the AT-ST’s marching though the mist filled valley.

Ryath slowed down in a clearing deep within the mist, and seeing two rebels, swung his bike, cannon firing.  In two shots his targets were down and smouldering.  Calling on his brother, they flew towards a site where the rebels’ storehouse was believed to be. 

It wasn’t.

The rear rebel guard let off a volley of ballistic death which both riders rose to avoid. Turning a tight bank and releasing their own shots, they fled the area.

The blue and red leeches of energy still tried to attach to their crafts, though the firers were now enveloped by the mist.

Ryath looked back.  To his dismay saw his brothers machine hit several times.  It reared straight up, throwing Torath hard onto the ground, then went tumbling away to collide with the floor, exploding and blossoming out into sheets of red and gold flame. 

Torath was lying face down.  He moved as if to push himself up but slumped down and lay motionless. 

Ryath pulled his bike hard right and headed back to the prone figure.  He saw rebels in civilian clothes heading towards his brother, and pressed the firing button of his speeder bike threw several men back, instantly dead.  He was now just twenty meters from his brother, but noted grimly that he was being slowly enclosed.

A man loomed out at him from his left, swinging a heavy spear. Ryath took it full force in the upper chest, knocking him backwards off the speeder.  The hard ground knocked the wind out of him as he connected with a thump.  His bike spun lazily away.  In his daze, Ryath saw the spearman loom large over his head, thrusting down.  Ryath rolled to the left to avoid the blade, then again to the right.  The spearman twisted his weapon round; catching his helmet and pulling it clear with the hard end and swiping with the other end across Ryaths face.  Then as the Imperial soldier lay open brought the spear down hard. 

At that precise moment, an AT-ST loomed out of the mist, firing its cannons into the rebels and shaking the spearman.  The spear, off target now, hit hard against Ryaths armour, sliding down to pierce his right side.  Ryath let out an agonised scream and passed out.

The spearman left his weapon protruding from Ryath and ran into the mist pursued by the AT-ST, which in turn was followed by a weapon-laden rebel. The rebel stopped to kneel down, prepared his missile launcher, aimed, and let the rocket fly, collapsing the AT-ST’s cockpit, which then burst into ripe flame.  The battle continued.

Two days later Ryath dismissed himself from hospital and returned to barracks.  Holding his side, the young captain came eventually to the marital quarters, and thus his home.  His tap on the door sent a metallic echo throughout the house.  After a few moments the entrance door opened and a young attractive black haired, green-eyed beauty stood there silhouetted by the building’s light.

   “Can I help you?” She asked, full of innocence and charm.

   “I have reason to believe,” Started Ryath, “that you have a young, handsome, intelligent speeder-bike captain here.  Is that true?”

She stared at him in shock and disbelief. 

   “Why, no sir!  Just an ageing, weak, ugly one.”  She smiled sweetly.

Ryath grinned as he removed his helmet, and both fell into each other’s warm embrace.  To Ryath, she felt warm and soft, comforting, but as she gripped him tightly he let loose a sudden yelp.

   “What is it?” She asked, jumping back in shock.

His hand fell to his wound.

   “You’re wounded?  Come inside Ryath.  Gods, I’m such a fool!  I should have thought.” 

She took her husband by his hand, and pulled him into the living room.  There she stripped him, tenderly removing each piece of armour and then his bandages.  Then she softly rubbed some ointment onto his wound, and kissed it tenderly.  She kissed him again.  He pulled her to him; bringing his hand down her spine and letting her dress fall away.  He ignored the fact that the lights were on.  There, intertwined, they did the most natural and sensitive of all human acts.

Early next morning both Ryath and Sarra were woken by an Imperial officer banging on the door.  Ryath, bathrobe about him, invited the black uniformed colonel into the room.  Drinks were served by a fully clothed Sarra.

   “What can I do for you, Colonel Pillot?” Asked Ryath.

   “We believe your brother was captured along with a number of other Imperial soldiers during our engagement with the Durathosin rebels. In total the Durathosin’s have twenty prisoners.”  Pillot managed a smile.  “Although we managed to apprehend three of what they pass off as ranking officers.”

Ryath nodded thoughtfully.

   “Are they being processed?”  He asked, scratching his head slowly.  “I’d imagine they know much about the operations herein.”

The colonel raised an eyebrow in agreement.

   “They knew much, but central command believe that they know a lot more.  They’re currently in transit to the Maquina System to be our `guests’ at the correctional facility there.”

Ryath shifted on the spot.  It didn’t feel right, sending them away so soon after the engagement, but Ryath Centaur was enough of a professional to lay on a cold grin for his commanding officer.

   “How many rebels escaped?” Ryath continued.  He was surprised.  He thought the rebels here would be completely wiped out, thereby denying them the chance for interrogations and the like.   If these rebel factions ever united, formed any kind of rebel alliance; they would become a genuine threat.

   “We think,“ Pillot said slowly, “that nearly one hundred escaped, using that damned mist to their own advantage.”

   “I see,” Said Ryath thoughtfully.

   “Unfortunately they’re using our men as hostages, threatening to execute them, unless we recall our regiments back to barracks.”

   “You’re joking?”  Ryath said incredulously, though Pillot wasn’t smiling.  “We can’t do that.  What about a rescue mission?”

   “That is why we have come to you.  You see, we wouldn’t normally pay any attention to the scum’s threats, but there’s a complication.  My superior, General Mansinson of Sector Intelligence, is one of that twenty.  Thus we will comply with the rebels, but,” Pillot added with a half smile, “you and your elite squad will fly out to locate and rescue our men.  But the general is your number one priority.  He is all that matters.”

   “I see, sir,” Ryath thought of the job ahead.  “How long do I have? And what information can you divulge?”

   “All relevant information is at HQ, Captain, and the time you have got is none. And Captain.  If you succeed, you will earn yourself a promotion.”

Ryath smiled, then left to go to the other end of the house to kit up.  He headed for HQ shortly after.

Once Centaur had gone, Colonel Pillot turned to Sarra Centaur and kissed her upon the lips.  She didn’t draw back.

   “You have it all planned?” She asked.

   “Yes my love,” Pillot replied.  “Your part of the operation is simple.  You shall get into contact with the rebel leader, Zohan and tell him of Captain Centaur’s imminent attack.  Your husband shall be ambushed and killed, making you available to me.”  They both smiled at this.  “Even if he isn’t killed, he’ll be dismissed.  There is to be no strike, though my men at HQ will lead him to think otherwise. He’ll be shot if he returns.”

   “Even if he rescues your general?”

   “He won’t,” Pillot explained coldly.  “When you tell Zohan of the strike he’ll have all of the hostages killed, and I’ll take Mansinson’s place!”

The conspirators smiled again.

   “What do you have to do now then?” Asked Sarra.

   “Nothing at all.”

   “Then come to bed.”  She said simply.

They went hand-in-hand, while Ryath marched to almost certain death.

At 10:15am Captain Centaur and his surviving ten men of the elite Blue Star Riders flew off towards the position given as the rebel’s last location.  At 10:25am Sarra Centaur was flown to the true location of the rebels to divulge her information.  By 11:55am fifty rebels were waiting in ambush along a rocky mountain path through which the Imperial bikers would be passing.  The final trimmings to the trap were added when a rebel scout reported that the Imperials were just twenty-five klicks away at 12:45pm.

With Ryath at the front, the eleven men flew straight into the deceptively safe trap.  The first Ryath knew of what was happening was when the third man in his column had his bike shot from under him, killing him instantly.

The bikers swerved left and right, trying to avoid the wreckage.  Suddenly the whole area was alive with blaster bolts.  Rising to the left and up to rocky ground, Ryath saw three more men shot to pieces.  He saw several men run out of hidden locations in front of him, blasters levelled and firing.

His cannon let out a deadly blast and simply ripped his foes to pieces.  He zoomed around to his right, depressing the trigger button.  Rocks, men and blood sprayed up in front of his craft.  Circling around he could only see four of his men still flying, desperately trying to dodge the rebels’ shots.  He saw another of his men dismounted, holding his left leg and limping.  In his right hand was his blaster, which was firing at a crowd of rebels charging down upon him.  The rebels were armed with axes, knives, and spears.  The desperate man was hobbling away but the mob was almost upon him.  He turned again, firing his weapon several times, then fell back as a thrown knife knocked him off balance.  The mob pounced on him, tearing away like a pack of hyenas, slashing and beating.  Some were even used their bare hands.

Ryath gave a despairing cry and headed towards the crowd, but a blaster bolt struck his speeder and knocked him off balance.  Desperately he clung to his bike, slowing it down, but as he finally succeeded it crunched into a boulder.  Picking himself up off the floor, Ryath crawled over to inspect the bike.  The front stabiliser was irreparably smashed.  Drawing his blaster and spare energy pack from the bikes saddlebag, he looked out onto the battlefield.  Only three bikes were whizzing around now, blasting away and being shot back at.  Calling on the com, Ryath ordered his men to gather to him.  All turned in unison, flying in his direction. As one of them approached he was shot in the back.

The man arched to fall with a skull splitting crash upon the ground.

   “Go past,” Waved Ryath to his men as they came around him.  “Head for those rocks.” 

His fingers pointed to a cluster of large and small boulders.  A natural fortification.    “Dismount there, I’ll cover you.”

Seeing his men follow his orders, Ryath turned and fired at the approaching rebels.  Stones and splinters sprayed up at him as shots flew all around and hefting his pack he staggered up the hill.  He turned to fire again at a man almost upon him.  The shot from his powerful blaster cut right through the victim’s abdomen. The dead rebel rolled away.

With great effort, Ryath managed to reach his two surviving comrades, both of whom were covering him.  As he scrambled into the rocky shelter, a shot skimmed past his left shoulder, knocking him to the ground.  Lieutenant Dinass helped his captain up.

   “We don’t stand much of a chance, sir,” He said, as calmly as if he were talking about the weather.  “There’s thirty of them down there, and we’re low on power.”

   “We’ll find a way out, lieutenant,” Said Ryath sounding a lot calmer than he felt, “we always have done.  Are you okay, Bricshaw?”

   “I think so, sir.” Replied the biker, then adding “There’s some movement over there, sir.”

   “I see it lad, they’re bringing up a,” Ryath squinted through a crack in the rocks, “a damn rocket launcher!  Everybody out!  Out, out, out!” He screamed at the top of his voice.  As the three men struggled out of the hole, the rocket flew in.  There was an almighty explosion, a spout of gold, and then the sky was raining stone and dust.  The three dazed, stunned soldiers looked up through the dust cloud, to see rebel guns pointing straight at them.  Ryath dropped from his elbows onto his back.

   “Right then.” Said the lead rebel. “Looks like you’re our prisoners.”

Ryath looked across the small rebel camp with a pain behind his steel blue eyes.  He was scared for life, but not by any battle. The treachery of his wife wounded him far deeper.  She had been placed into Ryath’s prison, dispelling his original theory that she too had been captured.  The shock of what she had told him, which was everything, had left him numb.  Now she had gone, to her fortune and her lover.

Ryath was in a small prison cell with three other men.  Two were his own comrades and the third was General Mansinson.  This final man was also shocked by the tale Sarra Centaur had told.  These four men were the only Imperials in the camp not yet to be killed.

Zohan stood in front of the remote cameras.

   “This man,” He said pointing to the uniformed but helmet-less Ryath, “is an Imperial speeder-biker who was sent against my troops, despite our terms.  His squad was overwhelmed by my men, who suffered minimal losses.  Only he and two others,” He indicated Dinass and Bricshaw, “survived the battle.  I also have here your General Mansinson.”

Zohan, though making a pact with Pillot to kill all the hostages in exchange for transport off world wasn’t dumb enough to trust him.  He was keeping these four as insurance.

   “As promised, the other prisoners are being killed right now.”

The camera zoomed in on one soldier hung off the ground, roped to a piece of wood.  He was dead.

   “Unless you comply with my request these four shall also be killed.  Now stay at home Imperials, stay at home.”

The camera went dead.

The four prisoners were herded by a group of armed rebels back to their prison hole.  On route they passed a pit where the last Imperial was about to be killed.  He was to die in the same way as the others. Struggling as they brought him forth, he looked up and saw his last desperate hope.

   “Ryath!”

Ryath looked down to see his younger brother.

   “Torath?  Torath!”  He moved forward, but a large rebel grabbed his arm to restrain him.  Ryath looked down in dumb silence.

Torath Centaur was dragged into the centre of the pit and kicked down onto the floor. He was held down by several men whilst two more went to the edge of the pit and hefted a long wooden steak, sharpened to a point.  Torath, tears streaming down his face, sobbed for mercy.  Ryath looked helplessly on.  He knew what was about to happen.

A blood curdling scream erupted from the young mans blooded mouth as he died, like the twenty-two soldiers before him.

Ryath face as cold as hard marble, remembered every face that he saw that day and made a secret vow on each and every one.

Torath was the last in place; his dead body set up high along a corridor of blooded steaks decorated with skewed bodies.

Ryath would keep his vow on all eighty-seven rebels. 

Every last one.

Zohan had all his men kited out and briefed.  Now they approached the space docks at night.  Quiet and stealthy his commandos had raced on ahead, easily overcoming the unsuspecting guards.

With efficient speed, the rebels boarded the three vacant bulk freighters, specially positioned and prepared by Colonel Pillot - another man Ryath would not forget.

Ryath was pushed onto the first freighter, having been split up from his companions.  With him were thirty, dirty exhausted rebels.  They completely ignored the unnamed and insignificant soldier.

Minutes later the three crafts blasted off from the planet and fled into dark space.  From the shadows Colonel Pillot smiled to himself.  He watched this campaigns problems fly off, and smirked at the body of Mansinson on the ‘port’s floor.

Inside one of the freighters Captain Centaur edged towards the cockpit.  He past unseen through the airlock doors, coming out onto the command centre’s bridge.  Hiding in the shadows he saw only two men, one of which was the pilot.

Ryath slid his hand down his right leg, wincing as his wound reminded him of the pain he was leaving behind.  At his ankle, Ryath drew a knife.  The second man stood up and walked over to the airlock doors.

   “Just off to see what’s going on in the hold, okay?” he said.

As he passed Ryath the Imperial soldier, with the stealth of a Krayt stepped up behind him.  Grabbing the man’s mouth he brought his blade up through the neck and twisted it around in the rebel’s brain.  There was a minimum of blood and Ryath gently lifted the man up and stepped into the airlock.  There he wiped clean and sheathed his blade.  Then he took the man’s blaster.

At that moment the hatchway from the cargo area opened.  Ryath shot directly into the man’s face as he stepped through, throwing him arching back.  The hatchway slid shut, and Centaur dived through the entrance to the cockpit.

The pilot spun round to face the muzzle of Ryath’s blaster.

   “One false move my friend and you’ll be needing more than docking clearance.”  Ryath’s gun stayed steady.  “Now then, disconnect us from the main ship.”

The pilot did so and the small, shuttle-sized cockpit of the bulk freighter disengaged, leaving its main body behind.

A voice on the intercom cried.

   “Dan, what the devil are you playing at?”

But wisely Dan switched it off.

   “Where to then, mister?” He asked.

   “A place where there’s no rebels, no Imperials, and no questions.” replied Ryath Centaur. 

The freighter flew on into space, now on a new course…

Frayed at the Edge

1988 short story by Paul Squire

Two years before Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories - Written in Paris during April of 1988, this short story was the first written adventure of the ex-Imperial biker scout turned mercenary Ryath Centaur.  Although present in many later stories, Centaur was at his most active in the RPG sessions of the late eighties and early to mid nineties.   Centaur had his hit list of men upon whom he’d placed a death wish spent the next decade hunting them down and executing them for their crimes, including the traitorous Colonel Pillot.  At times, this brought him into conflict with both sides - rebel and Imperial, but he cared little.  Appearing in a cameo chapter in Jan Lomona and the Sirens of Amagad, Centaur is a good friend with Jan Lomona, and an occasional employee of Glann Cipple.

Also noteworthy is the fact that the rebels who were captured in Frayed at the Edge, are then transported to the Imperial prison facility on Maquina and remain there for almost twelve years until their liberation by Jan Lomona and Terrie Saffra in the Wrong Side of Hell story.

Cast of Characters

Captain Ryath Centaur

Sarra Centaur

Torath Centaur

Colonel Pillot

General Mansinson

Lieutenant Gythal Dinass

Lieutenant Bricshaw

Zohan

Dan