I, Sky Clone
His designation was KC-4.
He stood on the flight deck of the Republic cruiser Liberator III, mulling over the epiphany that had come to him during the long flight to his destination. He was not the same as the other clones, and he knew it.
All the other clones were obedient and servile beings, pre-programmed to know no fear and follow orders to the letter. They had no real sense of self, no understanding of individuality, and were unaware of the complete finality of death. They were the perfect biological - and to a degree, sentient - weapons, but Kaycee thought differently from them. He was profoundly aware of his own identity, and though he was conditioned to the same level as the other clones, he understood death and feared it.
He was the leader of Alpha-zed, an experimental squadron of Republic clone troopers, known to most as the Sky Clones. They had been devised to penetrate areas where gunships could not break through the thick flak from the planetary defences. Once landed from their atmospheric free-fall, they would destroy the planetary defences, thus allowing Republic gunships to enter.
To Kaycee, the very nature of their existence - highly expendable troops, cutting through the enemies lines to allow less expendable troops to land - provided him some thought for concern. They were the bottom of the chain in the assault forces, yet the most highly trained. They were at the top of the list for dangerous missions, yet held the least probability for survival.
At that moment Kaycee made the decision that he was going to survive his first command. He was not expendable. He was unique.
The Liberator III dropped out of hyper-space outwith the sensor range of their target: Nyxsis. A small barren moon, circling the gas giant Sirala, a ringed behemoth near Yag'Dhul. From this distance it appeared as a small grey sphere, dwarfed by its neighbour.
To both sides in the conflict it was an important sector of the inner rim, where the Corellian trade spine and the Rimma trade route intersected. Recently the Republic had discovered one of the many production facilities the Separatist forces had spread throughout the galaxy, conceived, constructed, and supervised by Count Dooku. It was capable of manufacturing heavy ground attack vehicles and an apparently endless supply of easy-to-construct and cheap droids. The whole moon was a massive war machine.
Kaycee pushed is fear aside and focused on the task ahead. He was to lead Alpha-zed to the pre-designated coordinates, among the thickest concentration of planetary guns, and destroy the control centre, thus disrupting their ability to coordinate an effective defence.
He thumbed the comm on the console before him. "Alpha-zed, prepare to debark, t-minus three minutes."
He pulled on his helmet and left the flight deck, heading for the ship's drop-banks.
The helmet and suit were designed to minimise air resistance, each contour smoothed and pocked to increase the aerodynamic function of the armour, thus increasing their descent speed. Once strapped into the drop-banks and hooked into the vertical-drop-thrusters (VDT's), the Sky Clones could reach seven hundred kilometres an hour. A drop to a planetary surface, even from the very edges of the atmosphere, would take seconds, and the Clones would be grounded and carrying out their assault before the enemy had , theoretically, time to respond.
Kaycee entered the long drop-bank corridor. It consisted of two walls, back-to-back, each capable of holding forty troopers, totalling to eighty in a single drop. Each berth contained the VDT that hooked onto the armour of each individual Sky Clone, which was in turn latched to the primary release coupling in readiness for the drop. Each bank reset after fourteen seconds, pushing the capability to four drops - 320 troops - per minute. They were devastatingly fast and efficient.
The Sky Clones were in position when Kaycee got to his own berth. He turned and pressed his back onto the activating switch of his VDT, which promptly latched its four hold pads onto the chest and abdomen plate of his armour.
"Control, this is Kaycee-four. We are in position." He said over his helmet's internal comm.
"Roger, Kaycee-four. Prepare for drop." Came the response from the drop crew.
The walls of the drop-banks lifted a few centimetres from the floor, which slid away from beneath them, revealing the vacuum of space.
"Stage one complete." Said the voice of the drop-crewman. "Commencing stage two."
Kaycee unconsciously balled his hands into fists. This was the part that always made him a little nervous.
Each drop-bank revolved through ninety degrees, pushing the Sky Clones through the floor and sealing off the compartment above where more Clones would be hooking in. Now the whole of Alpha-zed squadron were exposed, hanging in space from the belly of the Liberator III.
Kaycee turned his head to look at the other clones strapped in. Each seemed relaxed and ready. Exactly what he had expected.
"We're going to skip the atmosphere in t-minus thirty seconds." Crackled the voice over the comm.
Kaycee now turned to face moon, ever increasing in size as the ship drew closer.
Even from this distance he could see the vast sprawling industrial complexes, churning out killing machines for the Separatist forces. And something else…
"Hold tight Alpha-zed!" cried the voice over the comm "They've spotted us!"
Kaycee watched in horror as millions of ion shards erupted from the surface of the moon, closing in on the Liberator III fast. They had indeed been spotted, and the planetary defences had activated.
This is what I…we, are trained for. He reminded himself, trying to control his escalating fear
The ion blasts careened by the ship, green lances of death. Some hit the ship's shields, rocking the ship so hard that Kaycee though he might shake free from his VDT and float into the void.
He watched helplessly as the rear flanks took multiple hits, weakening and penetrating the shields, vaporising four clones in an instant. Even still, the others remained calm.
Green flashed before his eyes as a blast hit the shield just feet before him. He hoped no more would find the same mark.
The moon below now loomed large, encompassing all of Kaycee's vision.
"Alpha-zed, this is drop control. Prepare for drop in Ten. Nine. Eight."
Kaycee took a deep calming breath as the drop controller counted down the last few seconds.
"Two. One. Drop!"
In an instant the VDT's unhooked from their couplings and fired, propelling the Sky Clones at high velocity straight for the surface of the moon.
For one unfortunate clone - Kaycee recognised him as his second lieutenant - the assignment was already over. His thruster misfired, sending him in an out-of-control spiral to the surface. It reminded Kaycee of an inflated polyskin balloon, left untied and whizzing around as the air emptied from it.
Kaycee fought for breath as the crushing G-force from hundreds of pounds of thrust behind him pushed all the air from his lungs and refused to let him inhale a satisfying breath.
Ion bolts came dangerously close, vaporising two other clones.
Though he couldn't turn his head to see, he knew that the Liberator III was moving out of range of the defences and commencing to the next drop.
The hard ground raced to meet him.
Ninety metres - fifty - thirty - fifteen. . .
Each Sky Clone flipped their body into crouching positions as their thrusters shut down at ten metres and the ankle-mounted repulsors activated, softening their landing.
Metres away, Kaycee saw the pulped and broken body of his second lieutenant where he had hit the ground at nearly seven-hundred kilometres an hour. Blood oozed from the gaps in his armour. Kaycee reasoned that he wouldn't like to see what remained in there.
As each clone landed the VDT's fell away, releasing them from the burden of carrying the extra weight of unburned fuel, and each clone pressed the pressure pad on the thigh plates of their armour which dropped away revealing the two separate components that, when combined, formed high powered blaster rifles.
Kaycee observed the area around. The moon was a grey desert of pestilance, diseased by the pollution of the technological complexes. Rivers of boiling tarry sludge oozed between the cracks and chasms beneath the yellow sky. To Kaycee, it was one of the most inhospitable places imaginable. He was glad to have a re-breather built into his helmet. The thundering sound of the planetary cannons was almost deafening.
"Assemble on me. Attack pattern echo-five" Said Kaycee over the comm.
The assembled clones formed an offensive wedge. Others formed an attacking line ahead of them.
"Wait for secondary armament."
All the clones turned their heads to the sky and watched as three pods, as tall as a man, fell from the sky onto their position. Each pod hit the ground only metres away from the assembled squadron before self-righting themselves. The sides fell away, forming bracing supports for the contents of the pods - heavy assault cannons. Instant heavy firepower was at their disposal, without the effort of emplacement.
"El-nine, alpha-one, beta-one, take your positions. Cover us." Kaycee ordered.
Two clones instantly took the controls of the cannons, but one still sat empty.
"Alpha-one, where are you?" said Kaycee.
Nobody replied.
"Alpha-one, respond!"
Silence.
After a pause, Omega-two, Kaycee's first lieutenant, spoke up. "Over there, sir." He said, pointing to a tar lake twenty metres to their left.
Kaycee followed Omega-two's gesture.
Alpha-one wasn't going to be manning the cannon after all. He had made it through the flak intact, but his repulsors had not registered theboiling tar pit he had vectored over in his descent. Only a lifeless hand was visible on the surface of the blistering black mire of sludge.
Kaycee sighed in tribute and resignation. "Delta-one. Assume Alpha-one's post."
"Yes, Commander!" came the curt response as Delta-one briskly took the controls of the third cannon.
"The rest of you follow your objectives when we get to sector three and remember; a great trooper always follows his orders to the letter."
"To the letter!" they replied as if it were a war cry.
The clones began marching to the nearest complex, over the barren grey dust of Nyxsis. Violent storms raged on the horizon, throwing forks of spectacular lightning onto the peaks of the mountains. Kaycee hoped they would stay there but spared a thought for the other contingent of Sky Clones that would inevitably be going there.
They came to a cliff edge which dropped away a hundred metres to a river of the same sludge that had cost the squadron Alpha-one. A small brittle land bridge was the only thing that connected their side of the land with their objective. Kaycee had no choice but to take it and cautiously led the squadron over the bottleneck.
The droid foundry ahead rumbled.
The clones instantly dropped to their knees, taking aim.
The huge sliding doors of the foundry parted, revealing an army of droids who opened fire upon the squadron. The clones opened fire, loosing rapid bolts at the encroaching droids, dropping many.
"Concentrate all your fire on the first ranks! " Commanded Kaycee, "Make them crawl over the shells of the fallen ones!"
The clones did as ordered, dropping droids by the dozens and stopping the progress of the others, but still more came.
"Support! See what you can do about bringing the entrance down on top of them!" cried Kaycee over the comm to the clones on the cannons.
"Yes sir!" They answered in unison.
Kaycee looked to the rooftop of the structure. His first objective was mounted there, its barrel spouting ion blasts into the sky. Beside him a Sky Clone fell, a smoking hole punched through his armour.
Three thunderous blasts echoed from behind him. Three massively powerful bolts hit the superstructure above the entrance where the droids were pouring out. It sagged a little, but remained intact.
"Again, support! Again!" Ordered Kaycee.
The blasts found their mark again, causing the durasteel girders of the superstructure to buckle in. The entrance gave way, showering the marching droids with huge chunks of synthplas wall.
"Mop up what's left! Detatchment three, follow me! The rest of you cover us!" Said Kaycee, already jogging towards the confusion of droids.
Six clones dropped from the ranks and followed Kaycee over the rubble and into the ruin of the foundry, picking off stragglers as they went. Once inside they found the place virtually empty except for the hum and crackle of the machines around and the ethereal orange glow of molten metal. Kaycee walked to an assembly belt, pulled a small white package from his belt and placed it on the control box. Its magnetised surface stuck. His party of clones began pulling their own white packages from their belts and began attaching them to the supporting pillars of the foundry's superstructure.
"All thermal charges in place?" Asked Kaycee.
His group replied positively.
"Back out to the rest of the squadron!"
When he had put enough distance between his group and the foundry, Kaycee pressed a small button on the centre of his belt.
Explosions rocked the foundry, bringing it crumbling down complete with its rooftop surface-to-air cannon.
Objective one complete. Thought Kaycee, relieved that it had gone so smoothly. He knew he still had his primary target to reach though, and that would be a struggle. "Split up and head for your objectives." He ordered.
"To the letter!" they cried in unison.
Omega-two led his own small force away from Kaycee's remaining force. They were to destroy the core brain that controlled the droids in the area, thus ensuring a safer passage through the already dangerous terrain.
Kaycee's mission was more complicated. He was to lead his squad in a Search & Destroy mission to find the control centre for the planetary defences. If he failed that he was to destroy the broadcast towers, disrupting the communication network. If he failed both, he was to manually blow up each planetary cannon in the area – a long, tiresome and extremely dangerous tertiary objective, and one to avoid if possible.
He dialled commands into a wrist-mounted nava-com, searching for the easiest route to his primary target. It lay to the north, four kilometres away.
"We're going north, four clicks."
His squad began the double time push for the control centre across the steadily descending plane to a natural basin full of war machine factories.
The yellow hue in the sky to the west was changing into an off shade of green as night began to fall on the moon. It made no difference to Kaycee and his squad, cover of darkness was not going to hide them from the sensor arrays dotted throughout the landscape, and by all accounts the forces here were surely alerted to the attack by now.
When they entered the basin and drew close enough to the maze of structures around, Kaycee spotted something peculiar. All the buildings were pocked by small indentations, varying in size from as small as a pebble to bigger ones the size of a man's fist. Even the land underfoot was speckled with small craters. The area had seen recent, and judging from the sheer number of dents and craters around, regular meteorological activity.
In a central hub among the confusion of buildings and thick pipes rising from the ground – which Kaycee guessed were harnessing power from thermal pockets far below – stood the antennae and spires of the communication centre. Its entire perimeter was heavily defended by quad cannons and more planetary guns, making it impenetrable by aerial attack. High up on the sides of the basin, stretching into the distance, rose the broadcast towers. The installation had no satellites in space, nor vulnerable droid control ships in orbit. Instead it had the vast network of towers, patterned like a web so that even if many of the towers were destroyed, the control signal would still travel.
It was ingenious and dangerous.
The only sure way of disrupting the signal for the quadrant was to destroy the source.
Something gnawed at Kaycee's confidence. He knew fear, yet this was different, it came from somewhere deeper. It was from the deep place that fear surfaced, an emotional symptom of a far more fundamental sense - his sense of self-preservation, the instinctive desire to stay alive written into the psyche of almost every living creature in the galaxy, except, as it seemed, bio-engineered, heavily trained, and psychologically conditioned Clone Troopers. He wished he couldn't feel fear and doubt but knew that they were inherently what made him the person he was.
Although he was a perfect genetic clone like the rest, he thought differently, he acted differently and questioned both himself and the galaxy around him. He had an identity.
He shook off the philosophical meanderings that had clouded his thoughts and fixed his mind on the task ahead.
The fight through to the hub would be a hard one and he knew it.
I will survive this.
His squad began their push for the hub and the primary target, blasting through the small groups of droids that offered resistance, albeit minimal. He was becoming uneasy about just how little defence they had faced so far, for surely a massively important base such as this would warrant a massive defence force.
"Sir, we're picking up multiple units closing on our position." Offered Delta-one over the comm. He and the other two clones managing the heavy cannons at the landing site had the advantage of long range radar to spot troop movements and, if necessary, guide the ground forces.
"What kind of units?" commed Kaycee.
"Aerial, with some limited ground support pulling up the rear." Came the response.
"See if you can slow the ground forces with your long range guns. We're going to proceed to the primary target."
Kaycee turned to the rest of his squad. "We're in for an aerial attack. Stay close to the structures and keep out of sight. They can only try to pin-point us out in the open. They can't risk bombardment in case they destroy the control centre themselves. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir!" they answered in unison.
When Kaycee led them through the first series of structures, closer to the outer perimeter of the control centre, he saw the incoming Trade Federation droid starfighters swarming the sky to the north, followed by mobile artillery and spider tanks. The problem facing him now was the hundred metre dash across open ground to the foot of the basin which would leave his squad open to attack from the swarming droid starfighters. He turned to the east, looking for any timely explosion from the core brain facility which his first lieutenant had been sent to destroy, but instead saw the small squad struggling up the treacherous mountainous territory in the distance.
He switched frequency on his comm, trying to make contact with the leader of the squad. "Omega-two, this is Kaycee-four. Our position has been compromised by aerial units, we need that brain destroyed now!"
The comm buzzed with loud static before Omega-two replied. "Roger Kaycee-four. We will destroy the target as soon as possible, however, the terrain is extremely difficult. Estimated time 'til objective; seven minutes."
Kaycee cut off the comm. Could he risk waiting seven minutes, allowing the ground forces more time to advance?
No. He was going to have to risk the open dash to the target.
He took a deep breath and ran.
The swarm of droid starfighters dived instantly, firing upon Kaycee's squad. They ran through the tempestuous rain of laser fire which kicked up the loose grey dust into a thick blinding curtain. They kept running even after they had cleared the dust, but found that they had gone off-course.
Filling with fear and quaking with adrenaline, Kaycee looked to the sky, waiting for the next barrage from the starfighters, only to be surprised that they were gone. His surprise quickly changed to dread as he spotted them heading east, straight towards Omega-two's squad who were closing in on the droid's core brain.
Helplessly, he watched from afar as the starfighters decimated the small squad, still struggling up the mountainside. The whole plan had been thrown into chaos. The core brain, coordinating the droid attacks, was left intact and Kaycee's own squadron had suffered badly too in the brief attack over the open ground. A quick count indicated that he had lost twelve of his troopers.
He wanted to run and hide from the horror of it. The cold precision of the machines seemed to be an overwhelming barrier, impossible to break or traverse.
The droid starfighters turned south, heading towards Kaycee's heavy cannon emplacements. He knew they could not survive. With the core intact and his back-up gone, he knew the situation had become desperate. He was going to have to fight a pitched battle against the ground forces that were closing in, out-numbered and out-gunned.
He led his group in another dash across the open ground as the droid starfighters turned on them after finishing off the three cannons. The quad guns, mounted atop the communication centre opened fire, taking down another three of his squad, until at last they reached the walls, staying close to avoid the hail of laser fire.
"Give it everything you've got!" He cried over he comm as they placed and detonated charges, breaching the walls.
The remainders of his squad poured into the breach, into the comm centre and into an eerie silence. The dust settled to reveal hundreds of banks of super computers coordinating the planetary guns all over the large moon.
"Split into three groups. I want a charge placed at four metre intervals on the computers. My group will place charges on every strut, beam and support in this building. We have to ensure none of this survives."
The squad split into their groups, pre-determined by their designations and began placing their charges until nearly every surface was primed for detonation.
Kaycee considered detonating the charges while still inside the building, thinking that it would be better to die here by his own hand than face the barrage of certain death outside, however, another attack, this time from droid units mounted on STAP's, quickly made him re-assess his stance. The single troop attack platforms buzzed around the breach like a hive of insects.
"Defence pattern Six! Focus on the breach!" He roared over the growing cacophony of STAP engines.
His squad fell into double lined ranks, the first kneeling to allow the rear a clear shot, and opened fire on the infiltrating droids. The exchange was furious. Bolts of energy and shrapnel flew, but Kaycee was losing his troopers fast, one clone to two STAP's, and knew he couldn't hold out much longer.
The Control centre had to come down now.
He drew up his courage in a final desperate move. "Push out!" he cried. "Charge them!"
The squad rose to their feet and charged at the breach where the STAP's were buzzing, firing as one and taking down many. When they reached the exterior of the building the STAP's disbanded into the darkness before coming together at the rear, cutting off any chance of a retreat back to the control centre and leaving the squad at the mercy of the Starfighters overhead and the flanking ground forces.
Kaycee sneered, understanding hate through fear and pushed the detonator on his belt. Dozen of explosions tore the communication centre down in a cloud of billowing dust, concealing the squad in the haze.
The starfighters and the ground forces opened fire blindly, their sensors unable to penetrate the falling debris and thick dust, loosing everything they had into the cloud where Kaycee's squad stood, then. . .
Kaycee hear strange sounds, like rainfall on metal, no. . . different. like hailstones on metal. Small pangs and dings resounded in the dusty air around, patting noises when it hit the loose grey soil. The sound grew in intensity and speed before Kaycee realised he and his group were being struck by small stones falling from the sky. Nyxsis' nightly foray into the rings of the gas giant Sirala was bringing a meteor shower down on them.
Kaycee saw a Starfighter above explode through the settling dust and realised that he was in a more precarious position than ever. Rocks the size of fruit began to hit the ground hard, striking clones and droids alike.
"Find cover!" he barked over the comm as the meteor shower rained down bigger and bigger rocks over the land. Starfighters weaved and dodged as they tried to escape but were exploding in mid-air as the meteors tore through their shields and armour as surely as a high powered cannon. Many crashed into the mountains as the meteor shower confused their sensors like chaff decoys. The ground forces tried to beat a quick retreat but were also torn apart by the torrent of rock and ice.
Kaycee and the four surviving members of his squad watched the spectacular light show above in silence from below an over-hanging section of wall inside the ruin of the control centre. Streaks of light shot through the sky as the meteors hit the atmosphere.
For the first time in his life, Kaycee laughed.
"Kaycee-four, this is Liberator three. Sensors have indicated that the planetary gun control centre has been destroyed. We're sending in aerial support. Well done" crackled in his ear.
The crouching clones waited for the meteor shower to dissipate before coming out from beneath their shelter. The sky above was alive with landing craft, Republic starfighters and bombers, quickly descending onto the moon. In the distance the sound of battle began to rage. The conflict here would be short lived now that a considerable Republic force was bearing down onto the moon. Nyxsis offered the guarantee of something that was becoming rarer and rarer to the Republic forces: an all out victory.
Kaycee pulled off his helmet, allowing himself to take a deep breath of the stale smelling air. He reached down behind the chest plate of his armour and pulled free the cardio-monitor, watching as the vital signs on his wrist mounted data-pad, stopped. He could imagine the reactions of the crews on the Liberator III as they thought they had lost him forever. That made him smile. He had done what he had set out to do. He had survived his first command. His only command. He had no intention of being a pawn in this politicians war. Let them lament his death along with over seventy percent of his squadron.
"I am issuing my last order as commander of Alpha-zed." he said, speaking freely, knowing that his communication with Liberator III was cut off since he had removed his helmet. "When you're debriefed, you will tell the commanders and generals that I was killed in the control centre explosion. Do you understand?"
"Yes Sir!" came the response from the four survivors of Alpha-zed.
Always follow their orders to the letter. Thought Kaycee, dialling commands into his Nava-com. Seven clicks to the north-west was a dock for dignitaries. He was sure he would be able to steal a ship there to escape this rock.
"To the letter!" he shouted back at the survivors of Alpha-zed, smiling as he walked away from his old life, into a new one.
Now all I need is a name, not a number. He thought.
The former Sky Clone once designated KC-4 was alive. Now he intended to live.
EPILOGUE
Brock cowered in the corner of the dingy cantina as the sounds of blaster fire rang throughout the building. He had been discovered. He closed his eyes and began praying silently to his god, apologising profusely for leading a life of crime and depravity, begging for mercy. The faces and voices of the many people he had killed in his lifetime filled his mind, sneering at him. Laughing at him.
The sounds were close now. Too close. Brock watched in horror as one of his henchmen was blasted into view from behind the small alcove where he was lying in wait for the attacker. The henchman's dead eyes fell on Brock accusingly.
Brock's quaking hand searched in the darkness for his blaster pistol. He felt the cold steel of the handle and gripped it.
"Bad idea." Spoke a gruff voice in the gloom.
Quivering with terror, Brock turned to face the doorway. Silhouetted against the doorway by the dim glow-lamps in the corridor behind, stood the man that had come for him. Brock froze, the blaster still in his cold sweaty hands.
"Who - who are you?" he stuttered.
"The last person in the galaxy you want to aim that blaster at." Answered his assailant.
His attire was familiar to Brock. He knew Mandilorian armour well. The armour of the man before him was a testament to the ingenuity if the Mandilorians. Every surface of it seemed made for war. Brock mused that it would take a rocket to penetrate it. The expressionless helmet perused the small room. Brock turned cold when he looked at the gauntlets. Almost every weapon possibly conceived was built into them. Flamethrowers, net guns, dart gun and many more that Brock dreaded. Even a miniaturised rocket launcher was built into the gauntlets, not to mention the devastating rockets mounted upon the stranger's jetpack. In his hands nestled a powerful disruptor, a weapon dreaded by most beings in the galaxy. It could literally vaporise its victim.
"The contract says dead or alive. Are you going to come quietly?" asked the stranger.
Brock bubbled a little then nodded. He let go of the blaster in his hand. "Who put the contract out?" he asked.
The stranger pulled a set of binders from his belt and secured Brock's wrists. "You'll find that out when I deliver you to them." He answered.
Brock recognised something in the accent. A strange lilt he had known years ago, back when he was a Separatist spy. . .
A Clone!
"You're a clone, aren't you?" he asked, confident that he had remembered information he might be able to use to bargain for his life.
The stranger stiffened.
"You all spoke the same, I remember that!" said Brock. "Where did you fight?"
The stranger stayed silent.
"I fought in the clone wars, too." Said Brock, knowing that the statement was only a half truth. "What was your designation?"
The expressionless helmet turned to regard Brock. To his surprise the stranger answered.
"I fought on Nyxsis."
"Nyxsis!" exclaimed Brock, feigning delight. "I remember that! Boy, you guys sure kicked some butt there!" he added, thinking a little flattery would soften the stranger. He was wrong.
The stranger hauled Brock to his feet. "Come on. Let's go."
Fear peaked in Brock. "I. . I need to know your name." He stammered.
The stranger halted, remembering the process of finding his identity, remembering when he investigated his history and the discovery of "the source" as he had come to call it. He had discovered that he was a clone of a bounty hunter called Jango Fett. That had become the first step in finding his identity.
"Please. I just want to know your name." Begged Brock.
The stranger let go of Brock and walked to the doorway, coming to rest three metres away from his quivering bounty.
"My name is Beta Fett." He answered. It was a name he was proud of. He thought it fitting to name himself after the source. "Unfortunately, I can't let people know my history. It's bad for business." he added, levelling the disruptor at Brock.
Brock became pallid. A dark patch bloomed at his groin.
"And after all . . " Said Beta Fett, ". . the contract said dead or alive."
Throughout the cantina, reverberating in the small passageways littered with the corpses of his henchmen, the scream of Brock Mist, the pretender gangster, was silenced by the blast of a powerful disruptor charge.
THE END