Matt James Logan

“Excuse me, folks - I’m looking for Talon Karrde.”

It was a genial voice, affable even, but there was steel under it and I felt my shoulders lock up in response to the inherent threat.

Who was this and what was he doing on Karrde’s ship?

Chin’s expression from across the console mirrored mine as I got to my feet to greet the intruder.

“Captain Karrde isn’t here right now.” I replied as I scrutinized the burly human in the bridge doorway. There was nothing familiar about him but his attitude, “how did you get in here?”

The vague unease grew as  the stranger declared that Dankin had let him in and that he and Karrde went way back. He wondered when he was going to return. My eyes darted to Chin who shrugged almost imperceptibly. Chin had no idea who this guy was either. 

“If you’d like, you can leave a message.” I offered, coating my voice with a geniality I doubt fooled the intruder. Who was this? He was too young to be the elusive Car’das.

“No, I’m afraid that won’t do.” He continued as he casually waved a hand at the viewport as though he was about to start a speech. 

The vague unease sharpened into a flash of my danger sense and I reached for my blaster – too late. The man’s hand had split down the middle revealing it to be a prosthetic hiding a blaster of his own: a stingbeam if I had it right, and we were certainly in range for the deadly weapon.

Fierfek.

“My employer would like a word with you all.” Our attacker declared. Of course he was working for someone else. That hidden blaster trick screamed hired gun, “he’d prefer you arrive undamaged but he’d understand if that’s not possible.”

My lip twisted of its own accord. That threat was not for me. Alone, I could take this guy and make him regret ever setting foot on the Wild Karrde. But I wasn’t alone and his weapon was pointed at Chin. And since Dankin and the local crew hadn’t burst in yet, our attacker wasn’t alone either. 

There were no good choices.

“I would hate to disappoint him.” I responded cooly. I held my hands away from my body in surrender. Three days. I’d been home for three days!

Trick Blaster’s employer turned out to be Ja Bardrin, the industrialist who had most of Uoti sewed up in his pocket. And he’d heard of me. I supposed I should be flattered, but one of the most disconcerting follow ups to that sort of recognition by that sort of man is the phrase “you’ll do nicely.” And that’s what he said.

Do nicely for what?

Tired of any sort of games, I repeated  myself, “what do you want?”

I didn’t know it at the time, but the task he blackmailed me into would change my fortune and my future in ways I could never have predicted.