Just Another Face in the Crowd
2002 short story by Mark Newbold Seven
years before Episode IV – A New Hope The
world of Actua Dua. Petrol Merritch
had been before and had no desire to visit again. Eleven
billion people crammed onto a world barely larger than a small moon
with a rapidly rising population and no end in sight to the misery, Actua Dua
was the smugglers true idea of hell.
Merritch preferred the wide-open desert expanses of his home world
Cawbate, and the calming seas of hyperspace.
This swarming dirt ball of life was abhorrent to him. He
docked his freighter the D’Dash Decider aboard one of the many docking
barges that hovered high above the planets surface and walked through the portmasters office towards the ferries that would take
him to the surface below. He squinted
and drew a deep breath as he was pushed along with the crowds. Actua Dua was an unimpressive world located
towards the Outer Rim and had many historical affiliations with the Setnin
Sector, the core location of his work with the ganglord Dressel. Merritch regularly did jobs this far out,
guarding Dressels interests away from Setnin and keeping a watchful eye on
his operations towards the Outer Rim.
For Dressel, there was as much money to be made away from Setnin as in
it, and with his former partner and chief competitor Glann Cipple making such
huge profits back home, he’d decided to concentrate on his non-Setnin
concerns. Which was
fine by Petrol Merritch. He
enjoyed long jaunts away from the sector; they only helped to enhance his
already fearsome reputation. But he never enjoyed Actua Dua. Merritch minded the gap as he stepped aboard the ferry
and began the long journey down to the dirt-encrusted world. Actua Dua was largely mud, with a
spattering of lakes and rivers, but no real oceans of note. Much of the planets moisture collected in
the clouds that drifted above, and spat their load down onto the surface at
regular intervals, only to be absorbed back into the skies. If grime and silt could be exported, Actua
Dua would indeed be a rich world. But
as it was, it was a pitiable planet, where the populace lived a hand-to-mouth
existence. Bright sunlight filled the windows of the ferry as he
watched impassively, the short journey taking them past other docking barges
and ferries, speeders and swoops.
Enormous skyscrapers filled the horizon of the cityscape, looking
strangely out of place on the low technology world, and Merritch winced
inwardly as he thought of the tens of thousands of families that lived within
each of their steel grey confines. He wiped his ebony brow as the heat began to rise, trip concluded, and following the mass of bodies he
exited the ferry and made a mental note of the vehicle number. As ever he was unhappy that he couldn’t
land his freighter on the surface, but he understood the requirement to leave
his ship on a docking barge a few kilometres above the ground. On Actua Dua,
every square centimetre of ground was precious. Petrol Merritch focused his mind on the task at hand, and
the reason he was here. Business. Dressel had many concerns out here on the
edge of the Outer Rim Territories, some that were stable and solid, some not
so. The criminal operations of the
gangster Jabba the Hutt were always of concern to Dressel, and while he was
wise enough to not consider messing with the larger and more established
operator, he wasn’t averse to dancing along the edges of the Hutts
empire. After all, it’s a big
galaxy, argued Dressel. There’s room for everybody. Petrol’s
travels took him through the swarming market square towards the teeming
warehouse district, where every available piece of ground was inhabited by a
beggar, salesperson or performer.
Street people of every kind worked their turf, trying to eke out a
living where there wasn’t one. Luckily
for Merritch, he was a large and imposing soul, and few had the nerve to
approach him. Those that did were met
with an icy glare or a brusque comment.
While his sympathies may have lay with the people of Actua Dua, that
sympathy didn’t extend to hand outs.
Like every other citizen of the galaxy, they would have to make their
own fortune, and their own luck. He’d
done the same, and from even more humble beginnings. The
throng thinned out as he reached the container hub, an enormous building
reaching ten stories into the skies. A
broad landing pad sat atop the hub, and perched on it sat a huge stock heavy
freighter. Merritch narrowed his eyes,
noting the configuration of the vessel and moved towards the entrance. He knew that from now on he was unwelcome,
and whoever he met would likely be a hostile.
But Merritch was prepared for that.
He wasn’t known for being the jovial type, and a visit from Petrol
Merritch was often a precursor to trouble.
Dressels enemies and opponents knew that only too well. Petrol
checked left and right, above and around before pushing the large door
open. It was cool and shady inside,
the hissing of air conditioning laying a backdrop to his thoughts. He lowered his hand to his hip and the
blaster that lay there, easing it out of its holster and holding it by his
side. Another huge door lay just ahead, one that led into the main area of the
container hubs first and main floor.
He checked the layout of the room as best he could, took a shallow
breath and entered. He
moved in unnoticed. Worker droids
scurried about, oblivious to the large mans movements. Merritch stuck to the walls, the shadows,
where he operated best, and edged towards the stairs that led upwards to the
office, where he planned to begin his surveillance of the container hub and
hack in to their computer, pillaging any information he could about their
activities. Treading with caution, he
tackled the metal steps, moving in silence, and reached the top. With an inward smile of satisfaction he opened
the door, And
the next thing he knew the tiles on the floor were racing towards him like a tide and his eyelids rushed down to greet them. “He’s coming around.” The
lead man pulled his compatriot back from Merritch’s
chair and frowned. “Watch him. I know about this son-of-a-krayt. They say
he’s a danger even when he’s asleep.” “Better believe it.” growled Merritch as
he shook his head to consciousness and fixed the man with a cold glare. “I could dream you dead.” The
man leaned in towards the smuggler and grinned. “Enjoy it smuggler scum. It’s the only chance you’ll get.” Petrol
narrowed his eyes and tested the bonds that held his wrists in place. They were secure, probably bound by crate
packaging or plate stripping. Nothing
he could conceivably prise his way out of.
Lucky for them they know how to secure their cargo, he thought
to himself. I’m not in the mood for
this. The
man walked around Petrol, pausing only to glance through the wide window down
onto the container bay below. It was a
flurry of activity, people and droids massing everywhere, whizzing around
carrying out tasks and duties like drones.
He turned back to Merritch and seated himself opposite. Petrol cocked his head slightly, waiting
for some pithy comment or cheap jibe.
He wasn’t disappointed. “So, you’re the legendary Petrol
Merritch?” He snorted. “I don’t think much to Dressels staff these
days. You were easier to catch than a
granite slug on tranquillisers.” Petrol
didn’t blink, didn’t visibly move, he just retuned the stare with
intensity. The man split a broad grin
across his face. “Ooohh,
attitude. I like attitude. Makes breaking you even more fun.” “Breaking me for what?” The
man stood and continued his walk. “Dressel must’ve sent you here for a
reason.” He paused and fixed Petrol with a stare. “You’re a top dog in his organisation,
which makes me wonder why he sent you all the way to a hole like this. After all,” he motioned outside. “Actua Dua ain’t exactly known as a tourist
haven.” He stopped his mosey and
paused in thought. “And you and this
place have a history. Ain’t that so?” Petrol
straightened his head and narrowed his eyes. “True.
I’ve been here before.” He
turned to glare at the other nine in the room. “It’s a hole.” “A hole important enough
to have Dressel send you here.”
He smiled. “I have my
suspicions why he’s made you come. But
believe me,” he paused again and leaned in towards Merritch. “By the time I’m through he won’t dare send
a ship this far towards the Rim ever again.” “Is that so?” replied Merritch, a slight
smile curving the edge of his lips.
“Why’s that?” The
man made as if to answer, but grinned and wagged a finger at Petrol, who
followed him with his eyes as he began to back away. “That’s for me to know and…” He
never finished his sentence as Petrol exploded forwards, his seat pulling
behind him. He head butted the man
full force under the chin, dropping him to the floor in an unconscious heap,
ducked down and spun in a three-hundred and sixty degree arc, taking down
another four shocked goons. The
remaining four quickly reached for their weapons, but Merritch was far too
swift and smashed into them with the chair, the legs battering them and
knocking them off balance. Two
stumbled backwards into the window, breaking the smudged plasti-glass
and dropping three metres down to the hard concrete below. The other two paused; their blasters not
quite out of their holsters, waiting to see what Petrol would do next. He butted one, a burly Rodian, in the
stomach and then stretched as hard as he could, pushing the bindings down his
legs and standing upright. He leaned
in to the last man, pressing him against the wall. Glancing down at the other eight bodies,
the man stammered as Merritch glowered at him. “Release me, now. Unless you’re friends with pain.” The
man didn’t hesitate to free Petrol of the crate binding, the steely synthetic
wrapping dropping to the floor.
Merritch rubbed his wrists slowly as the man stayed pressed against
the wall, hardly daring to breath.
He’d certainly heard of Petrol’s reputation, the smuggler could see
the fear stained all across his face, so he played on that fear as he had
done so many times before, his large frame and ruby-rich voice only helping
to enhance that perception. “You were waiting for me. How did you know I was here?” The
nervous man paused, a sheen of sweat lacing his
forehead. He rubbed his palms
together, desperate for someone, anyone, to enter the room and drag
him away from the situation. Merritch
slapped him round the face with the back of his hand, a contemptuous gesture
that widened the mans already dinner-plate wide
eyes. “Tell me.”
Merritch leaned in, his eyes narrow white slits embedded in his
mahogany face. “Now.” It was
a simple request, but so ingrained with dark intent it could have been a
death threat, which it as good as was.
The man swallowed hard. “Ensonn received a coded message this
afternoon. Told us one of Dressels men
was on his way. Just one, alone, no
back up. Ensonn guessed it was
you. Said no one else would be dumb
enough,” He flinched as Merritch growled at the comment. “Or brave enough to come here
without backup.” Merritch
twitched an eye and glanced at the floor, where the main man lay. “Ensonn?” The
nervous man nodded quickly. Merritch
was aware of Ensonn but had never met or seen his visage before. A former employee of Dressels, he had been
caught skimming profits and was sent to the Outer Rim as punishment. But he’d held a grudge, and occasionally
caused problems for Dressels men. So,
they had warning, thought Merritch.
Only a handful of people even know I’m out of Setnin. But why warn a scummer
like Ensonn? He’s strictly small fry,
a man with no vision. Who in Setnin
would deal with him? Petrol
turned his attention back to the nervous man and waited, quietly enjoying the
discomfort he was dishing out. “I’m not sure what I should do with
you.” Merritch began as he stepped
back, checking through the broken window and down to the mess of glass and
groggy bodies below. “If I leave you
alive, fate tells me you’ll be the one to bring me down.” The mans face
collapsed in a shiver of fear and he shook his head emphatically. “No way, not me. Don’t do things like that.” he answered with
a nervous quiver in his reedy voice.
Merritch eyed him closely and flicked out a hammer sized fist that
connected with the mans temple and levelled him to
the floor. “I do.” said Merritch impassively as he
exited the room, leaving the container hub as silently as he had entered it. “And you say they knew you were coming?” “It was a classic welcoming party.” Petrol
could sense Dressels annoyance from the other end of the line, his employers voice crackling down the line in the confines of
the Deciders cockpit. Dressel
was not the kind of man who liked to be second-guessed, under any
circumstances. More importantly, he
wasn’t the kind of gangster who enjoyed it, and learning that his prime
smuggler had run into such trouble on a hole like Actua Dua didn’t fill him
with glee. Far from it, he was
seething with annoyance, because even before Petrol mentioned the name, he
knew that it was Ensonn who had caused the problem. “You made the usual calls, the regular
arrival?” asked Dressel, knowing that Merritch would have done just
that. Petrol growled an affirmative,
and Dressel let out a long breath.
Ensonn had finally become more trouble than he was worth, but Dressel
was loath to eliminate him, for a handful of reasons. Ensonn was a nuisance, but nothing more
than that, and he had a genuine grudge against Dressel, which Dressel was
well aware of. And monitoring Ensonns activities gave Dressel an insight into Actua Dua’s underworld intricacies, which was well worth
knowing. But even this far away from
the Setnin Sector and Dressels influence Ensonn could cause little damage to
Dressels concerns on the Outer Rim.
And besides, the Setnin ganglord had friends and allies even out here. They kept him well informed about Ensonns activities. Or at least,
they usually did. This
lapse in security bothered Dressel. In
recent months, his former partner and now prime adversary Glann Cipple had
vastly increased his sphere of influence in and around Setnin. While he concentrated on his home sector,
making a fortress around himself, he also had runs towards the Core and out
towards the Rim. Dressel had decided
to ease back on direct confrontation for the time being, and was aiming
squarely at building his business outside Setnin. It was a ploy that was working, and he knew
that eventually he would be able to work harder within Setnins borders and
level the playing field. Dressel was a
patient man with an eye on the long-term game plan, and this kept him in the
action. Meanwhile,
Ensonn was allowed to make his petty plans and stabs at the larger beast that
was Dressels empire, and Dressel would ignore it like a tick on the back of a
Bantha. Until now. “I’m not best pleased about this Petrol.”
Dressel said, his voice low and full of thoughts,
unsaid words. Merritch knew his boss
well; probably better than Dressel thought he did. He knew what was coming next, what request
would be laid at his door, couched in pleasantries and promises of
reward. Dressel knew Petrol would say
yes, as did Merritch. It was just the
simple the dance of routine that needed to be done. “I have a request to make of you Merritch,”
began Dressel, and Petrol narrowed his eyes.
“You’re position on Actua Dua has been compromised. You were to monitor the activities at the
container hub but Ensonn and his men intercepted you.” “That is correct,” answered Merritch. “In future, I would prefer to be made aware
of such threats. If I had known Ensonn
would be a problem I would have come better prepared.” Dressel
paused at the other end of the line.
Petrol was right of course, but it still stung to be reprimanded,
subtle as it may have been. He nodded
to himself and cleared his throat. “Of course. Speaking of which, I shall require the
removal of Ensonn.” “Permanently?” enquired Merritch, knowing
full well that there was no other way. “Permanently.” affirmed Dressel, and he
smiled to himself as Merritch closed the line, confident in the knowledge
that as useful as Ensonn may have been in the past he would be no such thing
in the future. Petrol
Merritch pondered his game plan in the darkness of his cockpit as below him,
the teeming masses of Actua Dua made their way to evening prayer. He steepled his fingers in a lattice of
thought and breathed deep through his flared nostrils. His original reason for being on Actua Dua,
watching the activity at the container hub and covertly keeping check on
certain characters, had now been abandoned.
Now his mission was both more straightforward and more
complicated. He was to eliminate
Ensonn and his cohorts, but where was Ensonn, and how many goons did he have
in his employ. Dressel had been more
than economical with detail, and Petrol felt like he was walking blindly into
another potentially lethal situation.
Ensonn, if he were as savvy as Petrol had been led to believe, would
know the way Dressel worked, and be prepared for retribution. With eleven billion people to choose from
he’d soon find people to protect him.
He could probably find people desperate enough to die for him, thought
Merritch. So I’ll have to think
outside of the box. Come up with an
alternate plan of attack. He
smiled to himself as an idea began to formulate in his mind. A possible answer to his problem. He stood, turned and left the cockpit that
led directly to the ramp. He exited, closed his vessel and made his way back
to the ferry that would return him to the surface, the short trip consumed
with thoughts and plans. For
thirty minutes every evening the streets of Actua Dua emptied as her citizens
gave prayer and thanks to the world’s gods.
Thanks for what Merritch didn’t know, but he was thankful, and the
only other faces he saw were other offworlders like himself
who made the most of the relatively empty streets and rushed their way
through the city to whatever destination or business they had. Merritch knew precisely where he was
headed, and knowing that that it would be largely empty he entered the
container hub, made his way up the short flight of metal steps and waited in
the office. Ensonn
was no Actua Duan, and as such didn’t associate
himself with their customs. Merritch
knew that a former Setnin operator like him would make the most of the
available free time and get some work done.
Check the books, or in Ensonns case cook
them. He would be exactly where he
knew he would be, and Petrol would be waiting for him. Merritch
heard footsteps on the stairs and prepared himself as the door opened. “Ensonn, it’s about time. Have a seat.” Merritch
kicked out a chair and Ensonn considered bolting for the door before he
spotted the concealed bulge of a blaster in Petrol’s pocket. He seated himself and frowned. “So, is this where you warn me not to get
above my station? Tell me that Dressel
is annoyed and ready to have me taken out of the picture?” He said it with an edge of bitterness in
his voice, and no small degree of uncertainly. Surely Merritch would have turned him to
cinder by now if that was his intent.
He wasn’t known for his conversation. But
Merritch shook his head and stood, closing the door shut and leaning against
it. “Why would Dressel want that? You’ve become quite a player out here, and
he wants in on that. Dressel wants to
arrange a meeting, discuss closer ties between your operation and ours.” Ensonn
couldn’t hide the eye bulging look of surprise, but it was swiftly replaced
by the gleam of avarice. “So, Dressels finally seen sense. Realised that I’m a player. Maybe he should be the one
travelling out here to meet up with me.”
Ensonn grinned widely and eased back into his seat. “After all, he’s
the one doing the chasing.” Merritch
nodded slowly in agreement. “He never said that he wouldn’t
come out here. Maybe he will, I don’t
know.” He leaned forward. “So, are you
in?” Petrol
had seen that face a thousand times. A
small-timer, puffing up his chest and punching far above his weight. Ensonn paused, pulled a non-committal face
and nodded. “I guess I can find the time. But no promises. If what Dressels offering isn’t worth my
time I’ll be back here quicker than you can say hydrospanner.” Petrol
eased away from the door and reached down to open it. “I’ll contact him on Cawbate. Expect to hear from me soon.” Ensonn
waved him away as he closed the door behind him, and Merritch could still
hear the laughter of surprise as he walked away from the building. “You did what?” Dressel yelled as
Merritch raised his eyebrows in the darkness of the Deciders cockpit. “Since when did the word `permanently’
and all the implied meaning therein suddenly become `let’s arrange a
meeting sometime?’” Petrol
blew out a long breath, just loud enough so that he made sure his employer
heard it. He paused before answering. “Actua Dua is an important world. Eleven billion people live here. As efficient as it might be to eliminate
Ensonn quietly, a strong message would be given out if he were to be
humiliated.” “A strong message would be given out to who, exactly?” “His men.
Other fools on the Outer Rim who wish to interfere with your
operations. You said it yourself,
there’s room for everybody out here, even with the Hutts claiming so much for
themselves. But an example like this will keep other
operators away from your piece of the pie.”
He paused as much for effect as for collecting his thoughts. “And it might also bring some agents over
to your side. It never hurts to have
eyes out here on the Rim.” Dressels
silence spoke a thousand words, and Merritch wondered for a second if even he
had overstepped the mark. As bold and
accomplished as he was, Dressel wasn’t a man to have
as an enemy. Mass graves could testify
to that. “I don’t appreciate my orders being
ignored. But I can see the wisdom of
your words.” Merritch could hear the
rustle of flims as Dressel shuffled through them. “Very well, do what you must. Contact Ensonn in the morning and tell him
I’m en route and that I’ll meet him noon tomorrow at the town meeting
hall. Tell him to come alone, and ask
him to wear the blue flower.
Don’t worry, he’ll know precisely what that
means.” Merritch
knew that every agent had a personal code, something relevant to them and
only them. He had his own, but what it
meant even he didn’t know. But he knew
that the day it was uttered to him he would answer it. And the same stood for Ensonn. “Consider it done.” “Yes Petrol, and this time make certain it
is.” “The blue flower?” “That’s what he said.” Petrol cocked his head to one side. “What exactly does that mean?” Ensonn
grinned widely and opened his arms wide. “It means that pretty soon you’ll be
calling me `sir’.” Merritch
had to force himself to smile at that comment as he followed Ensonn out of
the office and towards the nearest bar.
Ensonn insisted on a drink before meeting with Dressel, and despite
the fact that Merritch knew his employer would still be many light years away
in the Setnin Sector attending to matters infinitely more important than a
small-time crook like Ensonn, he decided to go along with the pretence and
indulge the man. Besides, he probably
only had a few hours left to live, and what harm would a drink do
anyway? They
entered the bar, a non-descript taverna with an
indecipherable name etched into the stonework above the door, and made their
way through the crowd to the bar.
Merritch ordered water while Ensonn ordered a round of drinks for
everyone in the taverna. Merritch was quietly impressed. A bar on Actua Dua regularly held anything
up to six or seven hundred people, even a small one like this. Clearly they don’t have a problem with
fire regulations, he thought to himself as his drink arrived with
surprising speed and he sipped at the beverage as Ensonn downed a tankard of
spice wine in a flash. Noon
approached and he nodded to Ensonn, the spice wine weakening the mans knees and loosening his tongue. Somehow he’d managed to tell everyone in
the bar of his impending partnership with the noted ganglord Dressel, and
knowing that news spread quickly around Actua Dua, in retrospect Merritch was
relieved that they had made a stop at the taverna. Inadvertently, Ensonn had achieved what
Petrol wasn’t sure he could – make the public humiliation of Ensonn a
certainty, and at the same time send out a message to all those who would
dare mess with Dressel. And with
Merritch. Ensonn
came along noisily, dragging his feet behind Merritch and bemoaning the fact
that he had left behind a particularly attractive Twi’lek dancer who’s name he couldn’t quite remember. If Dressel were really arriving on
planet, Petrol would have sobered the fool up and made his demise a
meaningful one, but since he was only taking him to the town meeting hall to
play out Dressels orders it made little difference. To
Petrol’s shock the hall was completely empty.
Outside was a throbbing mass of bodies and droids, but here the air
was cool and the large, oval room was deserted. I assume the people don’t have much to
talk about he mused to himself.
Ensonn followed him, slamming the door shut and stumbling into the
centre of the floor. “Okay Dressel, it’s past noon. Where are you? I’m a busy man, I
have Twi’leks to attend to.” He laughed raucously at his own weak humour
as Merritch walked down a few steps into the debating pen, turning in a
circle and pausing, his senses alerted to danger. He lowered his hand to his blaster, feeling
uncertainty and doubt as he wondered if Ensonn had somehow managed to trick
him into a trap. They were being
watched from behind the swathes of curtains that were draped around the
circular room, he knew it. He could
feel the prickly motion of unseen eyes follow him as he paced across the
floor, and the shallow breathing of the hidden. “Ensonn, so good to see you.” Merritch
and Ensonn spun around at the same time, but it was Merritch’s
face that held the look of surprise. You’re
not supposed to be here. It was a lie
to lure Ensonn away from his allies. He
felt a deep sting of disappointment as a realisation came to him. You don’t trust me to get the job
done. Meanwhile, Ensonn grinned
widely, swinging his arms by his side as he swaggered forward. “Dressel, glad you could make it,” he
slurred as he raised his arm to point at the white suited Setnin
gangster. “You’re about to strike the
best deal of your life.” “I don’t doubt it.” Dressel replied as he began walking down
the steps to join the two men. Dressel
glanced at Merritch, his initial surprise melted down into the emotionless
mask that usually rested there.
Dressel looked back at Ensonn and smiled. “How long has it been Ensonn? Five years, six?” “Try ten.
Ten long years of scratching a living out of a dump like this.” Ensonn frowned. “But I’ve managed to do it. No thanks to
you.” Dressel
raised an eyebrow, and from the shadows Ensonn and Merritch could see faces
and figures step forward from the darkness.
Petrol recognised a handful of the faces. Dressels brought back up. He completed his sweep and spotted some
familiar, albeit rather bruised faces from the container hub the day
before. And Ensonns
men too. I apologise Ensonn. I would have thought you’d prefer
banishment to death. Really Ensonn,
your death was the only other alternative.”
Dressel began to pace around the circle, his eyes never leaving
Merritch or Ensonn. “You were one of
the very first men I hired after my previous partnership had dissolved, and
so naturally I
felt a certain…loyalty towards you.”
Dressel was referring to his teaming with Glann Cipple, Dessio D’Staan
and Riger, a deal that had ended a decade before. “But you decided to defy me. Make a nuisance of yourself. Even way out here, far away from Setnin,
you knew that your actions could wound me.
And you did wound me, I’ll give you that.” Ensonn
gave Dressel an uneven, cocky grin and raised his eyebrows in a gloating
gesture. The ganglord continued. “But ultimately you were an
inconvenience.” He furrowed his
brow. “One I could remove at any
time.” Ensonn
faltered, his swagger stumbling like the shaky legs that began to betray
him. Merritch was all too aware that
while Dressel was directly addressing Ensonn he was also delivering his
warning to him. More faces emerged
from the shadows, of both affiliations, side-by-side, mixing together. But only one faction held blasters, those
of Dressel. “Now come on Dressel. You didn’t come all the way out here to
have me whacked when Merritch could have done it for you.” Ensonn tried to grin but his face failed
him. Dressel folded his arms, holding
his hand under his face and tapping his chin in thought. “You said it yourself Ensonn. You’re a player now, and as such I would be
remiss if I ignored that threat. After
all, I wouldn’t be much of a ganglord if I underestimated my enemies, would
I?” Ensonn
cleared his throat as he too noticed all the weapons pointing towards himself
and his men. “Enemies?
I’m not your enemy. We’re here
to make a deal!” Dressel
gave Ensonn a warm, almost fatherly look as he reached into his pocket and
withdrew a palm pistol, which he raised and aimed directly at Ensonns heart. “You’re a fool Ensonn.
You’ve been writing cheques you can’t cash, and now it’s time to
collect.” He depressed the trigger but
looked at Merritch as the flash of energy bore its way through Ensonns heart, killing him stone cold before he hit the
floor. His Actua Duan
men all froze, a sharp collective intake of breath
as they expected the same to happen to them, but instead Dressels men lowered
their weapons and turned to face the Setnin ganglord who calmly placed the
ornate pistol back into his pocket. “Never send a boy to do a
mans job.” He muttered almost inaudibly to himself as he addressed
those present. “I have a proposition
for you all that I insist you accept.
My interests out here in the Outer Rim grow by the minute, and Actua
Dua is a key location in that expansion.
Therefore, I’m offering you employment. Work for me, be my eyes and ears in this
sector and I shall make certain you are well compensated.” He lowered his voice a notch, making the
men lean forward to hear his words.
“I’m an ambitious man. The
Mid-Rim and her petty concerns aren’t enough for me. I intend to expand and grow, unlike some of
my competitors. This opportunity will
be good for all concerned. And so I
ask, will you join me? Those who wish
to accept my offer, remain seated” He paused. “Those who wish to decline, you may leave
at your convenience.” Of the
forty or so men present, three stood to leave, but barely made more than
three paces before being struck down by blaster fire. The remaining men hardly skipped a beat
before pledging their allegiance to Dressel and his operation. It was a wise but risky move. While they kept their lives and gained the
possibility of leaving Actua Dua, an opportunity afforded to precious few of
the population, they also stood a greater chance of dying in the employ of
Dressel. Dressel liked his gang wars,
and always made certain he had enough cannon fodder to impress the
opposition. And a world of eleven
billion would make excellent cannon fodder. The
room cleared of agents and bodies, leaving only Merritch and his
employer. Dressel dusted off a step
and sat, motioning for Petrol to do the same.
Dressel eyed the spot where Ensonn had finally fallen and then turned
to Merritch. “You didn’t expect me to come to Actua
Dua, did you?” Merritch
shook his head in agreement. “No.
I believed it was a ruse for Ensonn, so I could eliminate him. After his outspoken performance in the taverna, most of the city knows of his dealings with
you.” “And I like that just fine.” smiled
Dressel. “The more my name is
whispered in these parts, the more I can press my advantage. Cipple may own Setnin, but I intend to own
the front and back doors in.
Don’t get me wrong, I want the Setnin Sector for myself, and one day I
will have it. But for now, I’m
content making hay while the sun shines here on the Outer Rim.” Dressel looked forward in thought, back to
the circular floor of the meeting hall, and the pale puddle of blood that
dried where Ensonn and his men had died.
“You disobeyed my orders.” Merritch
nodded. “Yes I did.” “I understand the reasoning behind your
judgement call, but I didn’t send you all the way out here to be a loose cannon. You
can play that game in Setnin, where I can keep a close eye on you.” Merritch
almost involuntarily straightened his back at the comment, but remembered his
own brusqueness with Dressel only a day before. Petrol may have been brief and to the point
when it came to speaking, but even he had to bow down to Dressels
seniority. The man had carved out for
himself a slice of Setnin history, and was one of the all-time pre-eminent
ganglords. And that was a lineage that
held considerable weight in Setnin. “You sent me out here to be your
representative. In doing that, you
placed your trust in me.” Merritch
looked at his employer. “I can’t call
Cawbate every time I have a decision to make.” “And I don’t expect you to.” Agreed
Dressel. “But these orders were quite
explicit, and for good reason.” “What reason?” asked Petrol, but Dressel
gave him a stern glance. “If you have to ask, that means you don’t
need to know.” Dressel stared
forward. “I need to know I can trust
you to follow orders. You’re one of my
very best men, but you must learn not to second-guess me. Unlike other Setnin gangsters, I do
leave my headquarters. I prefer seeing
my operations at close hand, not through reports and flims. Your reaction at seeing me earlier,” he
smiled. “I liked that. It told me that
I haven’t lost the element of surprise.
I’m going to need that in the years ahead. And I know I’m going to need you.” Dressel
stood to his feet and dusted himself free of dust. Merritch remained seated, eyeing his
employer as he wiped his hands together. “I must return to Cawbate. There are certain dealings with the
Quarshannel Sector that require my immediate attention. But for the time being, think about what I
have said. You have a bright future
Merritch. You are one of my best assets.
Don’t spoil that.” Dressel
walked briskly out of the meeting hall, leaving Merritch to his
thoughts. Petrol didn’t ruminate on
those thoughts for long, and after only a brief time he left the hall to hit
the packed streets that led back to his ship. The D’Dash
Decider was as dark as ever; just how Merritch liked it,
and the blackness of his vessel matched the colour of his mind. He knew Dressel was right. That he could indeed have a promising
career in his chosen profession, if he stuck to the script. But Petrol wasn’t a man for following
orders like a tram on rails. He had a
manner, a style, and he had every intention of living his life and career
accordingly. Dressel
would learn that soon enough, and the days of correction would be a distant
memory. Petrol
Merritch gunned his engines and left Actua Dua, watching it until it was a
grain of dirt in his wake, and then hit hyperspace. Just Another Face in the Crowd
2002 short story by Mark Newbold Seven
years before Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – Another story in the life of smuggler and hit man Petrol Merritch as he carries out his duties for Dressel.
Already an agent of Dressels for five years, here we learn that Ensonn, Dressels troublesome former employee had
been with Dressel for a decade, and had caused many problems for him.
Cast of Characters
Petrol
Merritch Ensonn Dressel
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