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