Too-Whul III

8 Years After the Battle of Yavin

. . .

The target was now in sight.

Torill had been sitting at one of the spaceport's quieter cafés for almost half an hour, just long enough to make it look like he'd been stopping by for a casual cup of caf and to take in the latest holonews.

Clad in a traveller's cloak, he kept his appearance simple: his greying hair was of short-to-mid length and swept back while his well-trimmed facial hair complimented his rugged features. He had the eyes of a younger man, a piercing jade green with flecks of amber. He was also in great shape – he couldn't afford to be anything less.

He looked perfectly casual. More importantly, he looked perfect for blending in. To anyone he looked like any other traveller – little did they know he was a well-trained bounty hunter armed to the teeth with various blades and blasters he could use in numerous ways to neutralise any species he could possibly encounter.

The terminal was a reasonably small spaceport on Too-Whul III, though even on a slow day it was easy enough to blend in. Torill had already counted several dozen civilians going about their daily lives, civilians representing numerous different species from all corners of the Galaxy.

Too-Whul III was the third and smallest moon in the Too-Whul system, a quiet collection of planets on the edge of the Outer Rim where people came to escape their old lives and start again. It was a place to disappear. It was a safe place – most of the time.

He watched his target descend down the passenger boarding bridge from the interplanetary Star Commuter transport that had shuttled passengers from Too-Whul Prime. The target was trying to blend in with the new arrivals as a picture-perfect refugee; he wasn't carrying anything in the way of luggage other than a small sack in his hand and he was draped in a long brown cloak similar to those being worn by other passengers. It was almost a professional look for someone trying to hide; the only problem was that even with the hood up he hadn't hidden his face well enough.

Torill waited until his target had moved further through the spaceport, taking another sip of his caf as he mentally ran through what little notes he had.

The target's name was Duine Zyrich. A human male standing at one-point-eight metres tall sporting dark brown hair that just barely reached down to the point where his head met his neck. His skin was slightly tanned and his eyes were dark – or at least that was his appearance in the holoimage Torill had been given. From his position just over twenty metres away, Torill could see that Zyrich's appearance hadn't been altered in any way.

Sloppy, he thought.

According to the bounty puck, Zyrich was wanted for bail jumping on Milvayne and had skipped over a dozen planets to evade law enforcement. None of it was of particular importance anymore – Torill had tracked his target well and had learnt where his next intended move was. He had beaten Zyrich to the system and had more than enough time to get into a position to continue tracking his target.

Things were about to be put into motion. It was time for Torill to change gears. He sat as casually as he had done for the past half hour.

Zyrich briskly walked past the café without so much as glancing around and looking like a tourist; he looked more like someone who was impatient and had somewhere they needed to be.

Torill waited until Zyrich was a good twenty metres past before he finished his caf and tucked away his holonews reader. He didn't quite match Zyrich's pace but he also didn't let himself fall too far behind, all while trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He doubted Zyrich would have noticed anyway.

He followed Zyrich out into the somewhat busy street where he was greeted by the hot and harsh mid-afternoon sunlight reflecting off the dry, hard sandstone beneath their feet. Torill had to pull his hood up over his head to try and shield his eyes from the glare.

The buildings that lined the streets were quite reminiscent of Tatooine, Torill thought. He had only been to the planet a handful of times following trails on other jobs he was working. He hadn't much enjoyed his time there. Too-Whul III was an improvement, but only slightly; the buildings were a little less crude and general quality of life was better thanks to the planet's abundant natural resources. There was also a distinct lack of a "community junkyard" as the locals referred to it, the exclusion of which definitely aided the aesthetics by comparison.

After walking consistently for almost forty metres, Zyrich took a sharp right turn and crossed the street. It appeared as if he was going to walk into one of the buildings on the other side but he continued straight instead, occasionally half turning his head as if he was trying to look over his shoulder without making it look like he was looking over his shoulder.

He might think someone is tailing him, Torill thought. Maybe he's gotten paranoid after skipping so many planets. The sudden behaviour didn't even get a reaction from Torill; he simply continued at his own pace among the other citizens around him. He was confident that even the most trained eyes wouldn't have been able to pick him.

Zyrich's evasion technique carried on for several minutes before he made a more drastic move; he veered around a sharp corner into an alleyway that separated two buildings.

Torill had known this would happen sooner or later. While he didn't make any sudden movements, he casually made his way to the other side of the street and walked past the alleyway. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw that Zyrich was attempting to climb to the roof since the alley lead to a dead end. Torill knew that if Zyrich made it to the roof, it would make things slightly more complicated. Following Zyrich up to the roofs would expose Torill and give away that he was tailing the man that was already paranoid that someone was behind him. Chasing him up to the roof would only cause Zyrich to panic and that was something Torill couldn't afford.

Before he could even find a stopping point, Torill heard some sort of crashing sound coming from the alleyway. The sound caused him to stop and turn; thankfully, many other civilians had the same reaction. He turned around just in time to see a panicked Zyrich emerge onto the streets, cradling his left arm and rapidly glancing around.

Several people approached Zyrich to see if he was okay. He very quickly pushed them aside and began racing through the street.

Torill cursed sharply under his breath. His mind quickly proposed two options: to give chase or to continue taking the slow approach. While the slow, safe approach would be ideal, he knew there was going to be a chance that he would lose his target after having tracked him for so long.

Luckily for Torill, Zyrich sprinted off into another small passageway on the opposite side of the street. This gave Torill the perfect chance to speed up his pursuit while remaining out of sight. He jogged his way up to the alley and peered around the corner in time to see Zyrich stop and glance around when he had reached the opposite end. Obviously satisfied, Zyrich checked his hood and ducked into the next street.

Torill stepped quickly to get to the other end of the alley and peaked around the corner slowly on account of being not entirely certain of what would greet him. Zyrich was already halfway up the street but he had slowed his pace, now nothing more than a brisk walk, no doubt running out of steam after injuring himself. If Torill knew anything about tracking prey, Zyrich would find somewhere to hunker down and recuperate – and soon.

Sure enough, Zyrich slowed his brisk pace. He was a little ways out from a small sand coloured building sporting a shade that protruded over two crude round tables each with a pair of matching – for lack of a better term – stools. As he approached, he turned his head to quickly scan the surroundings. Seemingly satisfied once more, he lowered the hood of his cloak and ducked into the small café.

With Zyrich taking a rest, it gave Torill an opportunity to do the same. He knew he needed to stay close without getting too close. For the moment, the alley would have to do.

Torill hid in the shadows and sat against the wall, Zyrich's hiding place still in view. He didn't feel the need to keep himself busy while watching his target. He was used to sitting in one spot for an extended period of time. Torill searched around beneath his cloak for a ration bar. Chewing on the small bar, he continued to watch Zyrich, his mind working hard and fast formulating and altering plans for every possible situation that could occur from this point.

He had a feeling he wouldn't have to wait long, though. Zyrich's previous behaviour suggested he didn't like staying in one place for too long.

It only took one standard hour before there was any sign of movement inside the café.

Zyrich walked outside and replaced his hood, immediately breaking to his left to continue on down the street in the opposite direction from which he came.

The planet's sun was almost touching the horizon, casting long shadows on the ground. The streets were less populated. It was almost time for Torill to strike. He knew that Zyrich would eventually find a place to rest for the night. Torill could wait. He was patient. He was known for being patient.

With less people on the streets it was difficult to continue following Zyrich – difficult but certainly not impossible. Torill opted to remain even further back than he had previously.

He'd been following Zyrich for only a few minutes when, out of nowhere, Zyrich stopped. Torill kept walking, wary not to blow his cover. Zyrich turned his head slowly as if he was looking around, but something was different this time. He looked over his shoulder. Zyrich's eyes met Torill's. Torill was careful not to panic, but Zyrich's eyes didn't waver. Torill needed to look casual so he pulled out a datapad from under his cloak and tried to make himself look busy. Torill glanced up.

Zyrich was still looking directly at him.

Torill had been caught in situations where he thought he had been discovered before – it came with the territory – but this time felt different.

Zyrich refused to look away.

It threw Torill off.

He stole another glance up from under his hood.

It was difficult to see from this distance but it looked like Zyrich was… grinning.

No, Torill thought. It's not possible. I have been perfect. He was rattled.

At that moment, Zyrich broke into a sprint.

Torill spat a curse and chased after him, throwing caution to the wind. He was certain he had been spotted; there was no point being subtle any longer. He had trouble keeping up with the younger man, weighed down by the assortment of weapons and armaments strapped to his body underneath his cloak.

Zyrich pulled a tight turn, his foot slightly skidding in the loose sand.

Torill rounded the corner a few beats later. He got four long strides into the alleyway before he stopped dead in his tracks.

He'd vanished. Zyrich was gone.

It had to be some kind of trick. The passage was a dead end. There's nowhere he could have gone.

As he had those thoughts, he heard the sound of a blaster cocking.

Torill didn't even have time to turn around.

A single shot hit Torill in the back of his left shoulder, causing him to stumble forward. He drew his blaster pistol and swung around in time to see Zyrich descending from his hiding place; he had climbed up and spread his arms and legs to wedge himself in the space between the two buildings – evidently, the injury he had sustained was fake. Zyrich moved too fast. He kicked Torill square in the chest, knocking him to the floor with a thud.

Zyrich knocked the blaster from Torill's hand and crouched down over the injured hunter.

"Torill Solari," Zyrich said through an evil grin as he pulled back his hood. "The persistent killer. That's right, I know exactly who you are. And I know that you've been following me for quite some time now."

"And how exactly would you know that?" Torill grunted, wincing with the searing pain from the blaster wound to his shoulder.

There was a chuckle in Zyrich's voice. "Because I'm the one that commissioned the bounty so that you would come after me."

Torill's expression was one of visible confusion.

"You see," Zyrich continued, standing up again, "I'm somewhat of a bounty hunter myself. Nowhere near as renowned as the infamous Torill Solari, of course, but I'm slowly working my way there."

"Are you really doing this right now?" Torill interrupted.

"Doing what?"

"Monologuing. This isn't one of those holofilms where you can just-" He stifled a pained cry as Zyrich kicked Torill's wounded shoulder.

"The only reason I'm telling you is because I want you to be the first to know just how hard I worked to get you here to this very moment, laying on the ground helpless. The entire Galaxy will know that I'm the one that bested you. I faked the bounty and called in every favour I had to make sure you were the one who picked it up. I've been leading you around for weeks, dropping hints so that you would know where I was going and when I'd be there. Did you really think you were that good that you could find me?"

Zyrich was stalking around in the alleyway. He was making a show of himself. Torill knew this. He also knew that if he could keep Zyrich talking, he would find his opportunity. It was now just a matter of timing.

"Honestly," Torill said, "that explains a lot."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I was wondering why you were so easy to track."

The words struck Zyrich like a vibroblade to the chest. He turned towards Torill with a fire in his eyes.

"Easy? Easy?! You think I made those clues easy to find?!"

That's it, Torill thought.

Zyrich began walking back towards Torill, trying to make himself look bigger. At this point Torill wasn't even listening to the furious words Zyrich was spewing to try and recover his wounded pride; he was just waiting for Zyrich's lapse in judgement to bring just a few steps closer.

Three…

Two…

"Are you even listening to me, Solari?!" Zyrich took a final step closer, one of his feet planted on either side of Torill's torso as he reached down and grabbed him by the cloak, pulling him up until their faces met.

One.

Torill put his hand on the barrel of Zyrich's blaster and drove his knee up hard between Zyrich's legs. He connected with a piece of armour but the impact still caused the younger man to lose his grip on the blaster and stumble back a few steps, just far enough for Torill to prop himself up on one knee as he whipped the blaster around and aimed it back at its owner.

Zyrich had recovered, running and kicking Torill's hand and knocking the blaster to the ground. He threw another kick in Torill's direction who masterfully blocked with his forearms. A third kick came, a well-executed roundhouse aimed at Torill's head. He seized the opportunity and rolled out of the way, using the momentum to jump to his feet. Zyrich didn't let up. He came at the older man with flying fists.

It was quite obvious to Torill that the younger Zyrich was well trained in melee combat – he was almost impressed. Torill was sitting back playing defensive as he watched and analysed the way Zyrich moved. While the younger man had speed and power, he lacked accuracy and precision, some of his punches and strikes going wild. Playing defensive kept Torill on the back foot, slowly edging his way back to the end of the alley. He needed to create some space to be able to pull out a weapon. Torill knew his patience would pay off; he just needed to wait for an opening.

And the opening came.

Zyrich pulled back his right arm, cocking his fist and throwing it hard at Torill but the swing went wild over Torill's head as he ducked underneath and combat rolled out of the way. He reached up under his cloak and pulled a vibroblade from a sheath strapped to his back. Torill activated the sword, the forearm length blade humming to life in his hand.

It seemed that Zyrich had a similar idea. Seeing the sword in Torill's hand, he reached down and pulled a hidden dagger-like blade from his boot.

Zyrich charged again. His fury and determination was relentless. The two blades clashed as Zyrich slashed at Torill, the sound of metal striking metal bouncing off the stone walls and ringing out down the alley. He was slashing and thrusting but none of the attacks landed, Torill dodging and deflecting with the ease of a lifetime worth of training.

It was instinct. Second nature.

But his body was ageing. His stamina wasn't what it used to be.

Zyrich let out a roar, slashing hard. He almost knocked the vibroblade from Torill's hand, but the veteran held on – barely. Zyrich raised his foot, his knee at his chest, and kicked with all his might.

The sole of the boot connected with the middle of Torill's torso, sending him back several metres before he landed hard on the ground. His chest piece did almost nothing to protect his body from the impact, knocking the air from his lungs. He rolled to his side, gasping for breath.

"You're getting old, Solari." Zyrich was grandstanding again. He slowly walked to the wounded warrior, gloating again. "How the mighty have fallen."

Torill had rolled onto his front, one of his arms propping him up. He heard Zyrich standing over him, the dagger vibrating in his hand.

Zyrich raised his hands over his head, blade firmly in his grasp. His voice was quieter, spoken through gritted teeth. "Enjoy retirement."

Btchoo!

A single shot rang out.

Zyrich faltered backwards with a few unsteady steps, his eyes wide, his expression pained. He dropped his vibroblade and fell to his knees, his head hanging slightly and his breathing heavy. In his abdomen was the smouldering wound of a blaster shot.

Torill was on his back. In his hands was the blaster he had relieved Zyrich of minutes earlier, the sand still falling off the weapon's barrel as he slowly got to his feet. He was almost certain that Zyrich didn't have the energy to use the blade at his side, but he kicked it a little further away – just in case. He knelt down in front of the wounded man. "It's a shame that it came to this, but you had to know when you made that fake bounty that one of two things was going to happen," Torill said with a soft voice. "You're skilled, but your ego got the better of you."

He didn't speak. He didn't move. His eyes were bloodshot. Zyrich was taking his last laboured breaths.

Torill stood. "Such a waste," he said as he turned and walked away, collecting his effects. Sheathing his sword and holstering his blaster, he stood at the opening of the alleyway and looked back. He watched as Zyrich's now lifeless body slumped and fell forward.

He held Zyrich's blaster in his hands. It was an X-8 Night Sniper, one of the rarer BlasTech weapons, with an off-white handle, the main body a meticulously cleaned gun-metal grey and the muzzle a slightly scuffed silver. Torill turned the blaster over; he couldn't bring himself to throw away such a finely crafted weapon. He tucked it away in one of the pockets in his cloak.

The streets were darker and empty, the sun barely visible beyond the horizon. The stalls were closed, the residents were home.

He began the trek to the spaceport where his ship waited. His sturdy boots crunched on the sandy ground of the quiet streets, lit by the last fading rays of sunlight as the lamps on the street, few and far between as they were, began to illuminate.

Within the hour, Torill had returned to his ship, lowering the boarding ramp and climbing inside, slumping into the pilot's seat. The veteran hunter was exhausted. The encounter with the younger Duine Zyrich was more draining than he had expected.

He pulled out the blaster he had acquired from the young hunter, delicately handling the weapon with care as he admired the quality of the craftsmanship.

Torill had owned one of these blasters when he had first begun his own bounty hunting career. In fact, it was the first blaster he had ever owned. They weren't nearly as rare back then. As he gazed over the exquisite detail, he remembered the young man he used to be, all the adventures he had experienced.

Every fibre of his being was telling him that it was time to hang up the blades and the blasters and to retire.

But where was the fun in that?

The challenge has begun!

I gave myself a challenge that began March 1st, 2020 - and that challenge was to write and post one short story a month for the next 12 months.

The challenge itself was inspired by the book "From a Certain Point of View" with the sense that not every story in the Star Wars universe is an epic tale filled with heroes and villains; it's a vast universe filled with characters from all walks of life who have their own stories to tell.

On another note, this is meant to be a challenge to test myself in the sense that I hope that no two stories will be the same. I want to push my own boundaries and see what sort of styles I can write and what stories I can tell and how I can tell them.

With all that said, I sincerely hope you'll enjoy at least some of the stories I have to tell. You may like all of them, or you may only like one of them, but my hope is simply that at least one of them speaks with you enough to follow this journey and see what comes next because this is going to be an interesting ride, and it will no doubt be eye-opening to see where I've started to where I end up in a year's time.

~ Alex