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Two Edged Sword 2000 short story by Paul Squire Five
years after Episode IV – A New Hope The leering look she received
from the henchman was almost as repulsive as his stench, or was it an it? The
young slave-girl wasn’t too sure.
Alien species had never been of much interest to her, even in her line
of work, but she didn’t need to be an expert in xenocultural
habits to know what was going through the filth that whateveritwas
called its mind. A repulsive shiver
ran through her as she felt the thing’s multitude of eyes linger over her
hips and naked thigh, and wished for what must have been the thousandth time
that her clothing was even just a little bit more substantial. Straightening her shoulders, she
put on a purposeful stride to where the chariot of her owner was
parked, and with a timid half smile that showed just enough of her perfect
white teeth to the blank-faced stare of the chauffeur, pressed the button
that raised the rear door to the elongated vehicle. Even the usually stoic face of Hal Hallarn’s driver cracked open as she bent down to fiddle
with something on the carpeted floor of the speeder and even more of her
generously cut gown fell away to reveal legs that were as long as they were
smooth. After only the briefest of
seconds she withdrew from the depths of the back seat, struggling with both
her clothing and the chiller unit, which kept the bottle of Duaga at the exact temperature that Hal Hallarn demanded
for his most favorite of beverages. A quick shake of her hips brought
most of the folds to her skirt back into place, and she mouthed a silent
thank you from between her painted lips as the chauffeur stepped over to shut
the speeder’s door firmly behind her. The smile lingered on her lips as
she headed back to her master’s lounge, and she added an extra swish to her
hips, knowing that the eyes of the chauffeur and henchmen followed her every
move. There was something hypnotic
about the way she moved, almost glided towards the lifts that kept her admirers
looking after her long after the lift doors had closed and taken her away. Sushelyana ran a hand though her
long silky hair and let loose a heartfelt sigh of relief as the lift carried
her away from the VIP’s garage and her smile showed even more of her perfect
teeth. Even if the chauffeur noticed
the emerald bracelet on the back seat of his master’s chariot he wouldn’t
give it any thought. Especially now
that his head was filled with images of her. She’d completed Phase One as
planned. Phase Two would start
shortly. She just hoped that Centaur
could handle it.
“Need a hand?” asked the alien in guttural basic, its words snide and
condescending as it hauled the human up from where he had been bundled on the
skiff’s deck. “Here, allow me.” A savage grip held Solum by his
collar and thrust him savagely from the repulsor vehicle and into thin
air. There was barely a second for the
stocky man to fumble with his senses before the ground rose up to smash into
his face and send stars spinning in front of his eyes. Thick hands, their fingers stubby
and coarse made ripples in the sand as he tried to push himself upright, but
his strength had been knocked out of him by his fall and he slumped back down
onto the burning hot sands. A mixture of spit and blood
trickled slowly out of his open mouth, trapping the coarse grains of sand
like flies on sticky paper, and his green on green eyes stared
uncomprehendingly at the nightmare all around him. There was a sudden increase in
the pitch of the hum that Solum was only just becoming aware of, and then a
flurry of sand flayed across his skin and into his open mouth as the skiff
spun on its axis and headed back the way it’d come at full pelt. Slowly, deliberately, he climbed
to his feet and spat a goblet of mucus and blood onto the sand strewn floor and
watched as the grains of sand absorbed the bloody liquid just as they were
meant to. A thousand pair of eyes were on him, and his defiant eyes stared back across the
rippling haze of the arena, waiting with the patience of a condemned man. The box that Hal Hallarn reclined
in wasn’t the most prestigious of those available at the arena, but it still
boasted of the wealth he’d accumulated over the past seven years as the right
hand to Heggarra’s most insidious and successful
crime lord. The gangster dealt in only
the most profitable commodities; slavery, prostitution, extortion and
assassination. It was work with low
overheads with big credits and a simple policy for handling employee
problems. Any being working for Commebeb the Callous who stepped out of line was fired,
literally, unless they’d done something that had particularly irked their
master, in which case they wound up here. The arena wasn’t exclusively for
the ‘retirement’ of ex-employees, though many had bought their proverbial
farm on these hot sands. Professional
pit-fighters as well as the more desperate had chanced their blood at the
heart of this arena, but if ever there was a vocation for the damned, well,
this was it. Hallarn smirked at the
thought. Talk about a job for
life! In this corner of the Galactic
Empire there was never a shortage of the desperate or dispossessed, and
rarely a break in the nonstop entertainment that kept the bloodthirsty crowds
of Heggarra screaming for more. Still, today’s midday event
offered little to a connoisseur such as Hallarn. It was more of a public execution of one
who had dared to cross Commebeb, and been foolish
enough to have been captured alive.
Though more of an intermission to the day’s main action, it was in a
way the purpose for Hallarn’s visit to the arena
today. It was also a poignant message
to all those that would dare to oppose Commebeb,
and the lesson Hallarn was sure, would be both obvious and painful. It would also serve as an incentive to the
crime lord's henchmen not to fail their master, lest they too should find
themselves standing on those hot sands. Hallarn’s soft hands clapped
twice, and he gestured impatiently to his nearest slave. The young girl with the emerald green eyes
that matched her jewelry hurried over, a copy of the day’s program in her
gentle hands.
“Ah, my pretty,” he drooled, his fat hands tracing an invisible line
over his slave’s bare waist, “it would be a tedious morning if it weren’t for
your beauty here to lift my spirits.”
A shining smile matched Hallarn’s broad
grin, and he felt his mouth widen still further as he saw the faint tinge of
red on the checks of the young woman as she blushed under his stare. The day may be dull, he thought, but
he had plans to make sure that at least his night would be full of
excitement. The deep rumble of a desert horn
returned Hallarn’s attention to the arena floor,
and he sat up expectantly despite his prophest lack
of interest in the coming fight. The
human standing stock still at the middle of arena was known to him, though he
gave the matter little thought.
Indeed, he’d been the center of the man’s machinations, but he cared
little. This man, Solum, was already
dead in his eyes. No, it was the
Executioner that held his fascination, and like the five thousand strong
crowd, he looked on expectantly for the first sign of his arrival. His limbs ached from where they’d
been bound, and his muscles were stiff from inactivity, but Solum was as
ready as he’d ever be. His eyes had
quickly grown accustom to the bright light of the arena, and though his eyes
were still watering from the glare reflected off the bleached white sand, his
vision hadn’t been damaged by his weeklong confinement in a murky dungeon
cell. He’d heard of Commebeb’s
death rings, who hadn’t, but he was still surprised
at how large it was. The arena floor
was roughly circular, carved out as it had been from a natural bowl in the
desert scrubland. Three quarters of
the seating area had been chiseled out of the hillside, with only the
desert-facing wall truly fabricated, and much lower than the rock-hewn facade
that housed the boxes of the richest spectators. They might have brought him here
to die as entertainment, but he had no intention of just giving up and going
down without a fight. He might not
have the build of a Wookie, but he could more than take care of himself. He knew that his captors didn’t rate him,
but that was just as he wanted it. If
they underestimated his ability then they’d make mistakes. He didn’t kid himself. Out in the desert there was no chance of
escape, even if he could make it over the wall without getting shot
first. But he had other plans and they
had nothing at all to do with escape. His eyes narrowed further as he
tried to spy the box in which that parasite Hallarn would be sitting, gorging
his fat hide with food and drink and he felt his blood grow cold despite the
heat. But then he heard something else
that turned his blood to ice. The
rhythmic hum of the vibroblade couldn’t have been
more than a meter behind him, and he knew without looking exactly where his
Executioner stood. Hallarn clapped his hands in
surprise.
“Oh, but that was just superb work,” he said, a smile playing across
is lips. It seemed that Solum’s
opponent had just materialized out of thin air. One minute there was just that lowly human
all alone on the desert floor, and then appearing as if he’d stepped across
from another dimension, the Executioner had appeared. Hallarn knew it was a trick of the sun’s
heat, nothing more, but the look on Solum’s face was priceless. Now this,
thought Hallarn, was what real entertainment was all about. Solum hit the floor hard, sand
flying up all around him, coughing hard as the rough grains scratched his
throat and stung his eyes. He rolled
instinctively to his right, not seeing his opponent, but relying on pure
luck, and felt the vibroblade slice deep into the
arena’s floor just a hair’s breath from his
face. He knew that blade could slice
his head open like an overripe grabite seed and his
heart pounded as he heard the quiet hum as it sliced the air apart again. His vision was still blurred, and
the shadowy apparition that was to be his death danced on the periphery of
his sight, and so Solum kept his eyes tight shut listening to that terrible
hum, waiting in the eternity that were his last few seconds of life. Sushelyana gasped in shock at the
same time as Hallarn clapped his hands together again in delight. Without the aid of the macroscreen
the gangster used to watch the ‘entertainment’ she couldn’t see all the
detail of the fight, but it was obvious that Solum’s time had run out. He was on his back; arms flaying
and wide open to the slice of the vibroblade. What by the seven suns was
Centaur playing at? This wasn’t part
of the plan but then another gasp resounded around the arena and the crowd were on their feet.
The kick had been so sudden and
so fast, coming as it did from out of nowhere. The Executioner hit the arena floor hard in
a shower of golden sand. In an instant
he was on his feet, rolling away from his opponent,
and Solum was sure there was a look of surprise hidden behind that masked
face. Still, he didn’t give the
thought more than a passing smile as he leapt forward, his face cracking open
into a snarl. The snarl turned into a blood-curdling
cry as he plowed nonstop into his opponent, which sent the two men sprawling
again. Blow after blow rained down and
Solum’s fists were a blur as he punched and jabbed widely. The man below him was built as from stone,
but Solum felt the satisfaction of a rib popping beneath his torrent of
punches. The crowd were
on their feet, yelling and stamping their feet, and Solum felt their surprise
turn to adoration, and he knew it was directed at him. Everyone loved a winner, and that was what
he was going to be just as soon as... He didn’t see the Executioner’s
hand snake out, or hear the parting of the sand, as his enemy found and
gripped the vibroblade. He just heard the sudden silence as that
razor sharp blade sliced the air apart as it raced up towards his side. That final blow never came.
“What by the twelve pits-?” began Hallarn in horror as he stared at
the bloody scene, magnified in full gory detail by his macroscreen
before his wide-open eyes. It was as if the very gods had reached up
out of the sand to pluck at his fluttering heart, and he felt the empty chasm
of fear open wide, deep inside his stomach.
His mouth moved wordlessly, but there was nothing further he could
say. He saw Death, and Death stared
back at him. Not at anyone else, just
directly at him. With a terrified yell, Hallarn
turned from his view and his slaves and fled towards his private lift as
Solum stepped over the corpse of his opponent, picking up the vibroblade in his bloodied hands, and strode purposefully
towards Hal Hallarn’s box. No one noticed Sushelyana, as she
stepped into the shadows as Hal Hallarn’s slaves
fled after their terrified master.
Ryath Centaur quickly shifted his
aim and drew the next target into his sights.
He gently caressed the trigger of his rifle, and smiled inwardly as
another of the arena’s steward’s fell to the ground. He adjusted his posture again, lined up on
the next target, and dispatched another of Commebeb’s
henchmen. Three more shots and not
only was the arena rife with panic, but Solum’s path to Hal Halarn’s box had been cleared of obstacles. Sniping had never been his forte
and it felt strange to be so far removed from the action, but then, that was
what he was using Solum for even though the two men had never met. Solum, despite what his misconception might
have been, was the right man in the right place and at the right time as far
as Centaur was concerned. A quick glance back towards the
arena showed the last panicked dregs of the rout he and Solum had induced. Most of the vehicles fleeing the stadium
where heading out on the old caravan's track that led back to the main
settlement, though a few were heading in other directions. Only one was heading towards him. Sushelyana slowed the speeder
bike to a halt and smiled her perfect smile as Centaur rose up from the
desert floor, slinging the BP-43 sniper’s rifle across his shoulder as he did
so.
“Thought you’d left it too late,” she said by way of greeting, and
then flashed that seductive smile of hers again, gently moving the tangled
mess that was her long brown hair away from her face.
“So did I,” conceded Centaur, and then shook his head slightly as he
returned Sushelyana’s smile with a boyish grin of
his own. “Must have been distracted by
that,” he paused making a point of staring directly into her emerald green
eyes, avoiding the bare flesh that her slave-girl’s disguise flaunted
brazenly. Sushelyana’s eyes narrowed
menacingly, and her voice turned even the hot desert air cool.
“Yes?” she said. “Distracted
by?”
“By that Executioner,” replied Centaur innocently. “Must have fooled Solum as much as me. Thought he had him on the ropes till I saw
the flash of the blade.” He turned his
gaze back to the arena. Most of the
spectators had fled, but there were still the dark dots of figures moving
about. Without the rifle’s scope he
couldn’t make out who or what.
Probably more stewards or henchmen, he thought, and then frowned
suddenly.
“Did Solum make it out of there?” Sushelyana shrugged.
“Hallarn raced for his chariot, entourage in tow,” she said
matter-of-fact. “Solum was on his
trail faster than a mynock on a leaking power
converter, but I doubt he made it to the garage in time, if he made it there
at all.
“There were a lot of guards still around you know.”
“That was the point,”
Centaur reminded his partner. “If we
worked this out right, Hallarn should be well on his way to Commebeb’s nearest safe house.”
“If,” stressed Sushelyana. “I
still think this is a long shot.”
“Trust me,” smiled Centaur, heading over to where his own speeder bike
had been parked out of sight of the arena.
His contract had wanted Hallarn dead or alive,
and alive was too much of a risk.
Whatever his sins, the man’s paranoia had made him extremely security
conscious. A full-on assault was out
of the question, and a series of sophisticated shields and point defenses on
his vehicles and homes had ruled out a long ranged attack. Out of all his options, this one was by far
the most likely to succeed. “It’ll
work.” Hallarn’s chariot sped along
the rocky ground, it’s main passenger bouncing
around as even the repulsors failed to smooth out all the bumps in its
flight. The shields were on, and the
sensors kept sharp electronic eyes open for any weapon signature. They didn’t know about the innocent looking
emerald trinket in the vehicle’s boot, and couldn’t detect the explosives
buried under the road up ahead. Nor
did they know that when the two passed within an arms length of each other... Centaur and Sushelyana turned
abruptly as the explosion momentarily competed with the searing midday sun as
the brightest point in Heggarra’s clear blue
sky. The two mercenaries locked eyes
for a moment, till Sushelyana lowered her gaze in supplication. Centaur had been right, and their remote
triggered mine had worked, but something other than exultation at their
success burned in the ex-Imperial’s eyes.
There might have been a smile on his face, yet his eyes held a cold
hunger, and she knew why. They weren’t being paid in
credits, but in information. More
names for Centaur’s hit list. More
names to be sacrificed against the murder of his brother. More fuel to burn the fires of the hell
that was her friend’s soul and she looked away.
“Let’s go collect,” said the mercenary, his voice distant, and she
watched as his bike leapt forward only to disappear in a few seconds amid the
swirl of sand. She waited a few
seconds more, and then followed, as she always did. Two Edged Sword 2000 short story by Paul Squire Five
years after Episode IV – A New Hope Histories
– Written by Paul Squire, this story
influenced by the Ridley Scott film Gladiator shows Centaur as
he works his way through his list – the list containing all the names of
those that Centaur would bring vengeance top for the death of his brother Torath on Durathosin in Frayed at the Edge. Cast of Characters Solum Ryath Centaur Commebeb the
Callous Hal Hallarn Sushelyana |