This is the Setnin Sector

2001 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Eighteen years after Episode IV – A New Hope

All in all, and considering what could have happened, it had been a good day for Queed.

He looked at the three bodies of his would-be assailants and grimaced at their burnt and distorted bodies. The one in green, he thought. I can't even tell what species he is, now. With distaste he looked at his modified blaster and sighed, shaking his head at the irony. I thought a malfunctioning blaster would kill me!

It was a shame, he knew, that the weapon had malfunctioned so badly, throwing an entire blaster pack of energy at his attackers. The flashes had been bright and hot, the chamber of the expensive ordnance melting to slag as the energy had ripped through the hallway of the landing station. Queed himself was hurt but the damage was minimal. His armour had taken most of the blast and, although his rags that hung from certain areas of the armour were burnt and tattered, he appeared none the worse for the explosion.

I'll have to have words with Grabby about this, he thought as he placed the weapon in a small tub of tepid rainwater to cool it off.

It took three hours for Queed to make his way from Sanctuary, high in the Zelon mountains, to the city of Chancai. His rented speeder was heavily laden with his latest target, an on-the-run embezzler who, for some strange reason, had decided that hiding within the buildings of Sanctuary was a good idea. Sanctuary was that in name only. It was a place where one could disappear if they so wished but the name held reverence for those only of an underworld disposition. The well-dressed banker was easy to locate but the hired muscle he had paid for had not counted on Queed - or his malfunctioning blaster.

He arrived at Grabby's Gunshop just as the balding weapons specialist was about to close his shutters for the day. Grabby leaned down to activate the rollers and when he stood straight again he had the wide figure of Queed in his vision, standing at the reinforced window that served as his shop front. He smiled as he recognised the figure, and smiled even more as he saw that the figure didn't have any weapons to bear. He slid the door open manually and cocked his head to one side.

   "Evenin', Queed," he said jovially. "I'm just about to shut shop."

   "I need to have a word," Queed rumbled. He produced the melted blaster and held it under the gunsmith's nose. "About this."

Grabby had to stare at the mass of metal for a moment before noticing his stamp mark on the still intact weapon's butt. "Ah," he said.

   "'Ah', indeed," Queed replied and stepped through the door. Grabby locked the portal and activated the rollers anyway, sealing the shop tight for the night.

   "The first shot was fine," Queed explained as he leaned under Grabby's countertop and pressed a small stud three times. The door to the rear of the shop, which led to Grabby's workshop, slid open. Grabby frowned at his forwardness but followed him into the tool-strewn room all the same.

   "The next shot started a power surge and it exploded before I managed to throw it to one side. The energy discharge acted like an area effect and wasted the three men I was up against."

   "Not all bad, then," Grabby said with a light tone but he let his smile drop as the helmet of the huge bounty hunter swung in his direction.

   "I want my money back," Queed hissed.

Grabby held up his hands with exaggeration.

   "Hey, hold up there a minute. You know the rules. Once you've inspected the merchandise there's no refund. Sold as seen, Queed."

   "This piece of... workmanship... nearly killed me, Grabby. I expect some kind of recompense. To replace it would mean more money than I earned on the job on which I lost it. Considering I am a good customer..."

   "You are consistent."

   "... I was hoping for some form of aid in recouping my losses."

Grabby took the weapon from Queed and turned it over. He saw the exciter chamber had completely dissolved, and from what he could tell the energy had been forced through the barrel as the small space had collapsed. It was a testament to his skill as a weaponsmith that the custom-bored barrel and crystal arrangement had managed to take the brunt of the power surge before the pack had exhausted itself - or taken Queed's arm off.

   "This is the custom Tolleck, isn't it?" Grabby asked.

   "I picked it up last month," Queed nodded agreement.

   "I may know what happened. I was using some old scrap parts for the exciter chamber and by the looks of it," he took a small electromonocle from his breast pocket and placed it over his eye, "the molecular lining wasn't good enough." He placed his head closer to the blaster.

   "I thought you were a professional," Queed said in a low voice.

   "Easy, Queed," Grabby let the monocle drop from his eye and he deftly caught it in his other hand. "I get my chambers from a scrap merchant who's usually very reliable."

   "Regardless of the reason for the malfunction and the apparently less-than-reliable contacts you have, what are you going to do for me?"

Grabby sighed. He knew he wasn't going to get Queed out of his shop before he actually offered him a replacement so he placed the useless ordnance on the table and stepped to his secure cupboard.

   "I'll loan you a modified Blastech for now and I'll see what I can do for you as far as a replacement goes. I'll have to charge something, though, Queed, I've been let down just as much as you have."

   "I'll pay you half," Queed offered.

   "Not likely," Grabby let out an honest laugh. "Three quarters. I don't mind doing the job for free but you're going to have to pay full whack for the parts. I've got better chambers from Simdil, so that..."

   "Who?" Queed interjected. The sharpness of the hunter's voice shocked Grabby somewhat and he reflexively stepped back.

   "What?"

   "Chamber from who?"

   "My contact..."

   "What's his name?"

Grabby frowned.

   "Simdil."

   "Joquim Simdil."

Grabby frowned even more.

   "Well... yes, if you really want to know. Look, he sold me one dodgy chamber, there's no need for getting back at him..."

But Queed wasn't listening. He turned slightly as if to make his way out of the shop but then turned back to Grabby who had adopted a confused expression.

   "Where can I find him?" Queed prompted.

   "Why?"

   "He's... an old acquaintance."

Even though the hunter's helmet disguised any features Grabby knew what he was thinking.

   "Forget it."

   "You're not going to tell me where he is?"

   "I am most certainly not. Queed, this guy might have sold me a dodgy part but that's no reason to get vengeful. Look, I'll do the job for half, but you're not blowing away one of my best contacts."

Although the bounty hunter knew he could break Grabby if he so desired he knew it was not a good idea. Grabby was the best in his particular field and he had a certain amount of respect for his talents and his loyalty to his fellow partners in crime. Although he didn't fully understand the loyalty, he knew that ruining Grabby would turn a lot of people against him. He also knew that Grabby knew this.

His mind worked furiously. There were a few tense moments as Grabby watched Queed expectantly, trying to figure out what it was he was going to do. Finally, Queed nodded assignation.

   "Very well. I guess I am over-reacting. Build my weapon; I'll pay you seventy-five percent. Don't bother with the Blastech, I have a backup anyway and I have no jobs for a while. When will it be done by?"

   "Tomorrow night. Morning if I can get other orders done and out of the way."

With an added snarl to make out that Simdil had dropped from his thoughts Queed shook his head.

   "Sooner would be better, Grabby."

   "Call me. I'll see what I can do."

   "You know I won't be happy if I don't get my gun on time, Grabby."

The gunsmith frowned.

   "Yes," he said, understanding the bounty hunters words perfectly. "I know you will."

Queed didn't like rented apartments but he hated staying on his ship even more. Every time he glanced out of the windows of his vessel he would see someone hanging about by the hangar doors watching the vessel, or be continually hassled by the port officials. He knew he had made many enemies in the underworld and he knew that, in turn, this had made potential clients loath to ask him for his services. He hated that.

But he hated the scrutiny more.

The highly polished Tolleck blaster that Grabby had furnished him with was clean and new - and in pieces. Queed disassembled the blaster as fast as he could, not fully understanding the mechanics of the weapon but knowing how to simply fieldstrip the casing. He removed the connections and finally got to his target.

He gingerly removed the exciter chamber from the Tolleck and held it up to the light. It appeared brand new, so he was sure that Grabby had lived up to his promise about using better parts, and it also appeared unused. He looked over it until he found what he was looking for.

Stamped just below the blaster pack connection nodule were a serial number and a name.

N6984657D. Pocock Inc.

Jomobol Pocock frowned at the reference. "Goodness gracious," he said after a long pause. "I stopped the production of blaster chambers years ago."

Queed picked the exciter chamber up from the wide desk that Pocock sat behind. The window to his left was illuminated briefly as a ship descended the centre shaft of the Chancai Trade Centre.

   "Why?"

   "It turned out that only sixty percent of the chambers manufactured were aligned properly. The Chancai Board of Trade cancelled my licence. I didn't even know these still existed..."

The bounty hunter placed the chamber back into his belt pouch. "What happened to the dud chambers?"

   "Oh, they were destroyed. Well, most of them, anyway, but some found their way onto the market somehow." Pocock shrugged as if helpless but Queed wondered how many credits the ganglord had made from the circulation of the suddenly inexpensive chambers.

   "What about the good ones?"

   "They were sold in bulk to a scrap merchant on Wennicas."

Queed suddenly became very attentive. "What was his name?"

   "Can I ask why you're so interested?"

   "His name, Pocock."

The ganglord's face contorted into a visage of disgust at Queed's demand. "Well, really, Queed, if we're going to do business together I'd expect a little more courtesy."

   "My apologies, Jomobol. It's just that I was sold a dud chamber and it nearly killed me so I need a little recompense."

   "A dud chamber? I think not. I sold him only the best ones, as far as I recall, but I suppose those few dud chambers must have go into circulation somehow. Anyway, we both got a good deal. Look, I like this contact of mine, you're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

There was a pause but it was intentional on Queed's part; he wanted the ganglord to think he was considering doing something 'stupid' so that maybe word would reach the man that Pocock spoke of; that the bounty hunter was looking for him before he actually went to see him. That might work to his advantage as far as the fear factor was concerned.

   "No, Jomobol, I just need to find the supplier of the dud chamber. I'm not on hire."

Pocock nodded. "Well, I've got a couple of people I want you pick up. Do this for me, for free, and I'll tell you what you need to know. You don't get something for nothing, Queed."

   "Are they terminations?" Queed asked. "I don't want to hang around here, I'd prefer it if they were terminations."

Pocock grimaced again. "Yes, I know you would."

The scrap dealer's yard was surprisingly organised. Hulks of old ships were parked neatly along one side of the landing area and huge bins containing parts were lined along the other side. Small 'droids zipped across the open ground with tools and items and as Queed approached the small dome of the scrap yard’s living area one bleeped for him to get out of it's way.

On the steps of the dome stood Arach Raynor. Queed knew of the merchant and was expecting to see the young man he had met years before, with his long hair hanging lanky over his shoulders. He was confronted by an older man, with worry-lines and sagging jowls, the hair now cropped to a neat but still unkempt mop of hair on his head.

   "Word has it you're looking for me," Arach said by way of greeting. Queed saw that he wore a blaster at his hip and that the flap of the holster was uncovered, the butt of the weapon slightly out for ease of reach. He made a show of scrutinising the blaster before stopping just at the base of the stairs.

   "I need some information," Queed replied. He took the exciter chamber out of his belt pouch and flicked it through the air towards Arach who caught it with a surprised expression.

   "I need to know who you sold these to," Queed asked.

Arach looked over the chamber and then his eyes settled on the serial number. "Oh, the N6 batch. I sold off my load of chambers years ago to all sorts of people. Why the interest?"

   "Everyone asks me that," Queed sighed theatrically. "I'm simply looking for the man you sold the chambers to, that's all. I have no contract on you, I have no interest in anything but the man you sold that chamber to. Now, what is his name?"

   "Professional courtesy, Queed, I can't tell you that."

   "Was it Joquim Simdil?"

Arach smiled and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe of the dome. "Now, why the ploy, Queed? If you knew who he was..."

   "I know who he is. I just need to find him."

A pause.

   "I'll pay you for the information."

Arach appeared unfazed.

   "I can make it worth your while, Raynor."

   "Doesn't sound like the Queed I know," Arach said. "Offering money for information? I thought you bounty hunters were more resourceful than that."

Queed shrugged. "Fair enough. Tell me what I want to know or I'll fry your eyes out and reduce this scrapyard to less than what its name implies."

There was another pause and slowly Arach smiled wider. "I know you would," he said.

Lotion, system pass, hotel tickets... oh, freck, what have I forgotten?

Joquim Simdil looked about the room of his spacious A-Desando home and scratched his head. He knew there was something he needed. Something that he should have with him but he couldn't remember for the life of him what it was. He chewed his bottom lip and scratched his head harder.

Hire speeder receipt, indent cards, liner tickets... think, you idiot!

He stepped over to an ornate cabinet that stood by the main window that looked out over the rolling hills and some of the most expensive living areas that A-Desando had to offer. He swung the door open and started to sort through the small containers within. When his hand settled on a small wad of thin plastic cards he rejoiced with a yelp of satisfaction.

The free drink cards!

Simdil took the cards and placed them in his jacket pocket. He slammed the door with pleasure and, whilst humming the advertisement tune We're All Going To Luronsa, he grabbed his sealed travel pack and headed for the front door.

Which was already open.

The small man back-pedalled as the hulking form of Queed filled his doorway, a small wiry machine in his hand with which he had evidently unlocked the door with. As Simdil fled to his living room with a cry of panic Queed kicked the door shut behind him and pulled his modified Tolleck pistol.

Simdil careered into the living room, his legs pumping hard but not appearing to work properly. He slammed his hand on the comlink by his favourite chair but received no signal tone from it. As Queed stormed into the room he dived over the chair and pressed a panic button by his antique fireplace. Again, there was no response.

He felt the gloved hand of Queed grab him roughly by the collar and heave him to his feet. The lift didn't stop there, however, and Simdil was catapulted across the room to slam into the ornate cupboard. As he tried to catch his breath and clear his blurred eyes the hand grabbed him again and flung him to his favourite chair. He slammed into it head on and the repulsors on the furniture whined as he drifted back into the window at the back of the room. The plastiglass didn't break and he rebounded from it, the chair drifting back towards Queed who followed his quarry with intent.

Simdil tried to get out of the chair but a well-placed kick sent him sprawling back into it. He gagged as the last bit of wind he had left in his labouring lungs was finally forced from his body and sat there, gulping for air, as Queed stood patiently.

Slowly, feeling returned to Simdil's body and he looked up at the hunter with tear-filled eyes.

   "You've done well for yourself," Queed rumbled, his helmeted head quickly scanning the room.

   "You can't... you can't..."

   "Can't what?" Queed stepped closer, causing Simdil to pull his legs in close and cower in the large, deep chair.

   "You can't be here!" Simdil cried aloud.

   "Why?" Queed asked with mock surprise. "We're old friends, aren't we?"

   "You can't..."

   "For the last two years I've asked myself why I didn't come after you before. I convinced myself I just didn't care."

   "I... I..."

   "But I'm a busy man, I can't just up ship and go after everyone whose frecked me off. But I had a few days to kill. And you're not an easy man to find, which is not surprising..." Queed's voice rose into a bellow, "...since you dumped me on a dead world and took off!"

   "But.. you..."

   "Why was that, Simdil? I thought the contract said that I was to work for you for  a month, at which time I could go and couldn't touch you or those bastards that set me up. So why did you leave me, eh? Why? Why!"

Simdil's nerves broke but he found a voice. "I couldn't just order you about for a month! You're too dangerous!"

   "But I wasn't allowed to hurt you, remember? It said so on that 'contract' that Ranth drew up!"

   "I... I wasn't going to risk it!"

Queed's helmeted head nodded. "Wasn't going to risk it. So you dumped me on the next available world after keeping me penned up for a month and hoped that legalities and justice and contracts would prevail."

   "Please! It was Tarr Ranth's idea! Not mine! He wanted payback! It was him! I'm just a yes man!"

   "Ranth's not here," Queed answered with a light, mocking tone.

Simdil watched with mounting terror as Queed quickly raised his pistol. "But the law... the contract..." Simdil virtually squeaked.

   "Oh, please. Do you know how many governments and lawkeepers want my hide? What's one more?"

   "But the contract," Simdil added with desperation. "What about the Bounty Hunter's Guild response to you killing me? They'll find out! They'll come for you!"

Queed leaned forward. "One slight flaw with that plan, Simdil."

He leaned in closer so that he could whisper to the man as he pushed the pistol against the side of his head.

   "I've never been a Guild member."

Joquim Simdil's body was found three hours later by his friends who had arrived at his home to find out why he had been late for the connection shuttle that was to take them to Luronsa IV for his retirement vacation. The story was transmitted via the holonet news as just another murder for the A-Desando lawkeepers to solve.

But Jan Lomona knew what it meant. He knew who had killed Simdil, and why. He knew what the message meant, the one burnt into the wall behind Simdil's body.

Remember what sector you're in.

He also knew who the message was meant for.

He looked over at Jomobol Pocock as the ganglord poured him another drink. He needed details as to what Queed had said to Pocock so that he could judge what Queed's designs were on the others who had been present at Tatooine two years ago. As ever, Pocock had not been forthcoming with information and had drawn the story from Jan. Jan, knowing that it was all history and of no consequence to him anyway, had told him.

   "So, Queed came here looking for him? And he didn't have an official warrant? Damn it, Pocock, you should have kept you're mouth shut."

   "But Queed was very effective in removing two of those newcomers that have been stepping on my toes. I thought that little job was worth something. Besides, I don't know this Joquim Simdil, what do I care?"

Jan nodded agreement. "Fair enough. I didn't know him that well, I guess. It's just that it's all a little complicated." He sighed heavily.

   "Besides," Pocock continued, "he doesn't need official warrants, just contracts. He's an independent."

   "Is he?" Jan appeared surprised. "I never knew that. Was there a contract on Simdil?"

   "No. But from what you tell me I can understand why Queed wanted to nail him. I'm surprised he didn't go after Ranth himself, if the set-up you describe is true. Are you worried he might come after you?"

Jan shook his head with absolute conviction. "No. I wasn't really part of the set-up. I was just there at the time, didn't really have much to do with it. If I'd known what was going down I would never have gone. I try not to get involved in personal squabbles. Besides, I'm easy to find. If Queed wanted me he would have got to me by now. I've never really been that worried about it."

   "I guess if he was that upset with you, he would kill you," Pocock mused.

Jan nodded slowly.

   "Yes," he said, "I know he would."

This is the Setnin Sector

2001 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Eighteen years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – Continuing on from Point of Honour by Louis Turfrey, this tale shows the true depths to which Queed will go to achieve his aims and objectives.  Queed manipulates the situation to his advantage, running roughshod over convention and twisting the rules.

Cast of Characters

Queed

Joquim Simdil

Jomobol Pocock

Grabby Cap

Arach Raynor

Jan Lomona