Saga An Unlikely Crime Lord- OC Fic Chapter Seven Up

Truz looked down on his hands. The small suction cups at the end of each finger tapped on his knees frantically. It was one of those things he often thought about, but a moment later realized he didn?t want to think about. His shoulders were pushed in by larger Rodians to each of his sides. The steel bench of the shuttle was colder than he expected it to be, and the ride was as turbulent as riding a speeder bike. He just wanted to lose thought for a moment, or fall asleep, and then in a moment be on Coruscant.

But it wasn?t working. He had become to observant of the surroundings to forget them all together. The two, long rows of Rodians on the shuttle faced eachother like a military dropship. The ship was packed with travelers, and Truz could tell by the look of them that they were all mercenaries or smugglers. Despite is desire to be one of them, and in time have the same bulky frame and prominent scars, like battle trophies, Truz felt quite intimidated in this moment.

He was afraid to turn and look at those in his row, as he would not want to risk starting a brawl in the middle of a very long shuttle flight. So he slowly skimmed down the opposite row, seeing the lined thugs all as possible visions of himself in the future. The row displayed the full biological range of Rodians, skin from turquoise to olive to emerald. Each had their wounds of battle, some even with eye patches. They all held some form of weapon, mostly rifles with countless strange alterations and customizations. One of the ones across from him had a force pike and a vibroblade.

Truz didn?t bring much. He had a blaster, but it had 3 shots in the energy cartridge and he wanted to save them for life risking moments. He had a bag of belongings; filled with a journal and some rations, letters from home and a book on learning common. He hoped he could get more stuff once he got to Coruscant. He sold mot of his things to get the credits to fly there and to secure a place to live. He had no clue someone could live on Coruscant for a hundred credits a month, it just didn?t make sense. It was cheaper than most housing on Rodia.

Luckily for Truz, finally that moment of security came and e fell into sleep. Rodian slumber was always awkward, their black, bulbous eyes staying exactly the same. But the simple nod of the head was enough for the other Rodians to know he was sleeping. They didn?t care much about it.

He didn?t dream on that flight. It was the first time that Truz could remember where he slept but did not dream. The first thing he missed about home already was dreaming up vivid fantasies about the future. Truz just imagined blackness for a few hours and woke up.

Truz was a bit bony, and tall for a Rodian. Most called him gangly. His skin tone was a dark forest green, like the majority of Rodians. He always admired the aqua and turquoise skin tones, but alas he was who he was. He was wearing clothes of a beggar, or farmer, or losing gladiator on Rodia, but as he would soon find, most people saw it as rags. His bag was a mere sack. His blaster was nothing special, the usual Blastech DL-18.

Finally, an abrupt clank and a juggling bounce of all the passengers came and those that were sleeping, like Truz, woke up. One by one, in no specific order, they started taking off their seatbelts and grabbing their weapons, forming a mass at the tail end of the shuttle. A large door, like the door of a hangar, opened from the bottom to the top like a garage. The width of the opening was the width of the shuttle, essentially, so the pace was large enough for the hardened thugs to leave without calamity. Truz was the last off the shuttle, naturally.

As he left the characteristically gray innards of the shuttle, Truz walked into the characteristically gray innards of the hangar. Most of the other docked ships were cargo ships. Truz was glad to see Rodians were well appreciated. His sack slung over his shoulder, he followed the trail of passengers, past two large doorways, until they formed a line. The line was long enough for Truz to not see wher

 

Chapter 2

The Gand lowered the weapon with short lived patience, and then continued running through the slowly walking mass of pedestrians on the street. Truz took his time getting up, rubbing the bulges on the back of his head with his hand. He was puzzled about the Gand, and he was puzzled as to why he was in such a hurry. But foremost, he was tired and hungry and would soon forget the incident.

He continued walking left, the crowd shifting about him. The brushing and closeness of the bodies around him made Truz feel awkward, it was nothing like Rodia. He flung his sack over his right shoulder again, and looked at the ground as he walked to avoid eye contact with the pedestrians.

Eventually, there was a turn street. And as Truz lifted his head to see the street, he noticed it was a dead end. He would have to get used to this sight, because it had become home. At the end of the street was a dark cylindrical building, perhaps twenty levels high, the dim blurry reflections of the many neon lights painted its sides. To its sides, lesser buildings stood, clad in their own neon advertisements and slogans.

After standing for a moment in observation, Truz began to slowly approach the dreadfully average edifice. His Rodian eyes couldn?t properly portray the suspicion in his glancing observations. He stopped for a moment, removed his blaster from his sack, put it at his wait and returned his sack over his shoulder. He knew he only had three shots left, but he began to believe he might be using all three soon. He started to panic inside, but kept telling himself ?I?m going to have to get used to this place.?

He reached the door without being shot, maimed, mugged, or otherwise harmed. To Truz, it was a miracle. He entered the front door into a circular room. The elevator was in the center of the room, and around it, like a ring, were doors. The panels were a light blue sheen, however the corners where the walls met the ceiling or the floor were outlined with rust and crud. It was the beginning of the end for the aesthetic sense of the building.

There was nobody in the corridor, except for a hunched over Skrilling with a large cleaning device. He was stout, his skin a grayish blue tone. His many snouts were somewhat swollen, but this was common for Skrillings. His bald head and small, beady black eyes gave the illusion that he was anatomically spherical. Below the neck, this illusion was disproved by his stocky frame and bulky figure. He was wearing an aging olive colored suit with a sickly orange lining. The device he was carrying was a primitive scrubbing and polishing device, designed to be operated by a life form and not a droid. It was an archaic machine.

The apparatus was making a screaming mechanical noise, which was tearing into Truz? ears. When the Skrilling noticed Truz? presence, however, he turned the machine off and a calming silence fell onto Truz like a refreshing splash of water after a hunt on Rodia. The Skrilling asking in a bubbly, raspy voice ?Traz, right??

?Yes, I?m Truz. From Rodia, I am sorry I came late, you see I had to catch this shuttle and??

?Fine, fine, Traz, whatever you say. You should talk to the boss. Go ahead and take the elevator up to the top floor. I?m sure he?s prepared to have you. No worries?

Truz had met his new understanding of hospitality. It wasn?t home yet, but he knew in time he would be able to appreciate such greetings. Truz approached the circular elevator, and before entering it, turned back for a moment, and looked back at the Skrilling. ?Oh, and then who are you??

?Pilt Tropskun,? he said with a light grin. ?Nice to meet you.?

His tone and accent of basic made Truz? seem like another language. Perhaps the lingual bringger of unity of the galaxy wasn?t such a great idea. It was audible, though, and he seemed to understand Truz fine.

Truz turned back and entered the elevator. It was a tight space, surely unable to carry more than three average sized bodies in it. The elevator was archaic, it could easily pass for twice the age of the buildi

 

Chapter Three

Truz immediately threw his arms up vertically into the air, gesturing forfeit. ?I didn?t mean anything by it, I swear!? he exclaimed.

?Well, watch it,? the Quarren said coldly. ?You must be the new guy. We?ve heard of you?

?Oh, really, well?? Truz was curtailed.

?What are you wearing, washing rags? Ugh, kid, you?re not going to make it anywhere in those. I?ll lend you one set of clothes, but don?t think it makes us friends. If the day comes where the price is on you, I won?t hesitate to blast your green behind into the outer rim. I don?t joke around!?

?Well, thank you,? Truz replied, ?I appreciate your help, but you don?t have to give me clothes. I think I?ll be?? he was stopped again.

?This isn?t Rodia, kid! Look, don?t make all of look bad by running around in a washcloth! Just here, come with me?

The Quarren returned his blaster into its holster on his waist, and went to the door of the adjacent apartment and put in his keycard. Truz finally was able to calm down a moment and recollect. He looked at the Quarren, with a grey suit and jacket, worn by age and fit for a smuggler. His face was characterized by the four tentacles around his mouth. His sandy skin color was complemented by the deep, azure color of his sapphire eyes. His head was nearly triangular, its sides curling like gills. All together, his face appeared like a squid.

As the door opened, the Quarren didn?t even glance at Truz, simply looking into his apartment. Truz asked, under his breath almost, ?Who are you??

?I am your new neighbor, and the name?s Vecker. Vecker Sllus, to be exact. Down in 901 is a Zabrak pilot named Sayla Aador. Next over is me, then you, then in 904 is a Bith droid programmer gone AWOL named Tisilan Cor?chil. He lives with some Verpine guy who never seems to leave their place, I don?t know his name. Next over is a Kreevaki old geezer named Visto, and next to him in 906 is an Ithorian beast tamer. He makes a mess of the place. Before you, there was this Xexto bounty hunter in your spot, but he got fried on a kill job going after some Empire regional thug. It happens, we?ll all go at the hands of those empire sleezebags in a matter of time.?

Vecker stepped into his apartment, which seemed as grimy as Truz? except it had a bed and a plastisteel case at the end of the bed, which Vecker opened, to pull out a blue jacket and black clothes, which he tossed at Truz. ?There you have it. Consider it a gift, but remember, this doesn?t mean we?re friends, or brthers, or anything like that. I?m just giving you a start because I don?t need anymore blaster fire in the hallway, that?s all?

?Understood,? said Truz. He thought of Vecker as a friend anyways. Truz had just noticed, beyond Vecker?s case, was a pile of blaster rifles.

They both stepped out, and Vecker proceeded into the elevator and down the building. Truz began to look around at the doors of the ninth floor, and thinking up vivid illustrations about what the people inside might look like. He failed to realize he was in a Coruscant slum, and not the central hub, where the humans were.

 

I really like this so far . . . I'm surprised at how easily I can identify with Truz, since Rodians generally seem so . . . alien. He reminds me a bit of a young Luke Skywalker, really, only without the great secret destiny (as far as we know, anyway). Truz is just a poor schmuck from nowhere with dreams of adventure and significance . . . and he's three seconds "off the boat" before he watches someone get mugged. And he's insulted by the customs guy. And he lives on the floor with no elevator button. And his neighbor is armed and insane. The poor yahoo doesn't even realize he's living in a slum.

For some reason, all this reminds me that you're a Manhattan kid. (Hey, no offense! I lived there myself back at the dawn of time.) Actually, it's the *almost* Earthly details that make this story fun . . . the janitor with the hideous suit, the leak in the corner of his ceiling . . . (looks at bucket under leak in the corner of my ceiling--hey!)

That was what I liked so much about the original Han Solo trilogy--Brian Daley did a nice job of working in a wry look at Earth society while creating a believably alien world.

You have a charming, if hapless, OC here, and I'm interested in seeing what becomes of him. It's almost too bad the Emperor doesn't like putting non-humans in his armed forces--poor old Truz could use a job and a non-mold-covered apartment. I suspect he's not much of a marksman, but when did that ever stop a stormtrooper before? Life in the Rebel Alliance wouldn't be much of an improvement, unfortunately . . . although I suppose the ceilings on Hoth don't leak if you don't turn up your heater.

Nice work here.

 

Chapter 4

After a moment of thought, a glance into imagination, Truz shook his head as if here awakening from falling asleep during a battle. Or at least his nervousness made him feel that way. It wasn?t much of a battle; he was simply standing in an empty circular hallway. But in his mind, Truz had a sense of needless urgency about him since he arrived on Coruscant. No, perhaps since he was born.

He decided he would go out and venture a bit. He might as well, he had new clothes and it was somewhat of an occasion. So he stepped back into his room, dropped his sack and changed into the clothes that Vecker had given him. They fit strangely well, except for the jacket, which had sleeves that were a bit too short for him.

He stepped back out, into the elevator and down into the lobby. He passed by Pilt, the attendant from before, who seemed to be still cleaning the exact same spot on the floor. Truz said ?Goodbye? on his way out. Pilt nodded.

Stepping back into the alleyway, he was still a bit afraid to go back into the busy street ahead. He told himself not to venture too far on his first night. He made it to the corner, and then saw a fading neon sign, vertically stating ?Cheap Drinks: 2 for 5 Credits. Ladies drink free.? Truz had no desire to drink, whether the beverage was cheap or not, nor did he want to watch ladies drink free beverages. He went inside anyways.

His reasoning was that if he were to ever become a real bounty hunter or mercenary, he would have to be familiar with bars and such. He couldn?t back out now. He had to be tough, and drink hard things, to kick-start his reputation. Then perhaps someone would hire him.

The bar was packed, as busy as the street outside. The room was filled with beings from across the galaxy, every sector Truz could think of, and then some. The odor of all the different pheromones made the air almost soupy, making one noxious aroma of the various beings and their various, bubbling, mucky drinks. Tables dominated most of the room, with many patrons walking around, serving drinks, and chatting between them. All the way to one side, was a long bar along a wall. At the end of it was an empty stool, and Truz approached it.

Sitting down, he noticed a Gand sitting on the adjacent stool. As Truz watched the bartender shuffle behind the counter, he waited for the right moment to ask for a drink. Before that moment came, the Gand turned to him, and spouted ?You?re that punk kid who bumped into me when I was on a job, aren?t you!?

Truz was so frightened, he hopped off of the stool and put his arms up in forfeit, yet again, ?It was an accident, I really am sorry?

?You?re lucky it didn?t cost me the job. I still blasted the guy I was after, and got my two thousand credits. So, sit down kid, I?ve got the money today. I?ll spot you a drink?

Truz was confused by the strange hospitality. He began to think he might be poisoned, or knifed, or blasted under the table. But then again, what did he have to lose? He had something to gain, which was a free beverage to fill him up.

He sat back down, with a lax air about him for once. He was still twitching on the inside. The Gand struck up a conversation:

?So, I?m Ussar, the findsman. Heard of me??

?No I am afraid I haven?t.?

?Really? How long have you been in this area??

?Three hours.?

?Oh, well that explains it. Basically, I?m a Gand Findsman. We?re very famous for our tracking abilities.?

?Oh, is that so??

Ussar looked directly into Truz? eyes. It was almost hypnotic. His large, silvery black faceted eyes sat in his round head, which sported a thick, brown exoskeleton. His stature was much shorter than Truz?, and in his mouth he had a Gand respirator. The circular machine covered his mouth, and it had tubes that lead down into a cylindrical canister that was hanging near his long, thin tendrils. He was wearing a ruffled, tan colored robe that matched his skin color with all sorts of markings written over it in fading color.

?Kid, you?re so green, I feel like I?d be killing you if I didn?t giv

 

Well, at least it's not a *dead* body . . . When Sayla said, "I'm on your floor," I thought, "I bet he wishes she was." The idea of having her helmet specially fitted to accommodate her horns is a cool idea . . . I bet that would look neat.

I liked the details about Truz thinking that having new clothes was a "special occasion" that warranted going out, and of the fact that he'd experienced a sense of needless urgency since he was born. He's not related to the Skywalkers, is he? "So, you have a twin . . . Rodian?! Who the **** was your mother two-timing me with when I was off blowing things up?!"

Truz's dream about getting a little foothold in the underworld seems to be coming true, although it sounds like he has no idea whatsoever about what being a bounty hunter is really like. The poor yahoo . . . I wonder if he's in for a rude awakening?

Again, you have an interesting set-up going. I'm curious about where poor old Truz will find himself next.

 

Chapter 5

The figure on the floor was the most awkward being Truz had ever seen. He was covered in layers of black robes, one after another, and had a black cloak with a black hood over all of it. His dark, grayish snout protruded from his face down onto his chest, and over his eyes he wore thick goggles. On the rubbery skin of his scalp, sharp hairs stood out like grass. He was making snoring wheezes through his proboscis.

?Who are you? What do you want?? Truz was growing tired of Coruscant already, and needed no more drama before his chance to rest. There was nothing he would do about it now, though.

Waking, the black robed figure shook his head with a sequence of jerks of the neck. Then, when he focused his goggle-covered eyes forward, he realized he had been found out. He planted his hands urgently on the ground and propelled himself to his feet. Standing, he put his arms up, ?Look, I thought the guy who lived here was dead,? he protested. His voice was high pitched and nasal, as he spoke through his large snout.

?Who are you? What are you doing here? I live here?? Truz was confused. He didn?t realize if he had encountered a murderer or a homeless person. He put his hand over his blaster, with a motive to intimidate more than to defend.

The figure was gesturing both timidness and slyness in his posture and hand motions. He said, ?Look, I have no place to go. I was hiding out in here since the room became vacant. I knew somebody would eventually come, and you did, but I don?t have enough time tonight to find a new room. I?m tired and hungry, and you look tired too. How about we just sleep this night in here, and I?ll leave you be tomorrow.?

Truz almost agreed, but then caught himself. In his mind his voice chimed, ?No bounty hunter helps those in need!? He pulled out his blaster, and comfortably pointed it at waist level towards the figure. ?Get out, or I will fry you! I?m not a charity!?

?Pal, look, everybody has blasters. You fry me, then the next guy comes in, before you know it the alley downstairs has bodies laying around and stormtroopers are walking over them. You can avoid a big ordeal by just letting me sleep in the corner tonight, and before you wake up I?ll be gone and you won?t see me again. I?m not asking for your credits, or your help. Just a little space to sleep, alright? I didn?t mean anything by coming in here.?

Truz was tired and didn?t want to argue, so he agreed. ?Good idea,? the person said, and walked over to the opposite corner from Truz?. Truz laid down against the wall, as if sitting up, and faced the corner so that he could try to sleep, but fear from the day?s occurrences kept him up. Meanwhile, the man in the other corner was already halfway asleep.
his breath, testing if the person was awake. He got an answer in a strange, tired wheezy voice, ?I?m Shivron. A Kubaz fro
?Who are you?? Truz asked under m Kubindi. Came here as an art smuggler; but it took one run-in with the bucketheads to put my entire business down. Now I scavenge vacant apartments and alleys to survive. It?s what this planet does to you, I swear. Look, thanks for the night. I appreciate it. Its not like I?m human and can go get sympathy from the government offices. This is about the best stuff that happens to me: indoor sleeping.?

Truz began looking at Shivron from the corner of his eye, and thinking about what Sayla had told him, about the state of non-humans on Coruscant, about the revolts on Iridonia, about the Empire. He began to think of what they would do to him. He never thought he had anything that could be taken, until he saw Shuzz. Now he knew what could happen if he played his Sabacc cards wrongly.

Truz eventually woke up. Shivron was gone, as he had promised. Truz hoped he would see him again. The night was a strange encounter.

 

So the thing on the floor has a name . . .

It sounds like Truz needs to work on his menacing act if he can't even scare a homeless person by going for his blaster. It's a good thing that there aren't entrance exams on the path to becoming a bounty hunter, since at the moment I think he'd flunk.

I'm intrigued by your underscoring of the poor treatment non-humans get by Palpatine's government and the human population in general. We don't hear much about that aspect of the Empire . . . really, the only atrocity we see them commit in the films is blowing up Alderaan. Well, freezing Han in carbonite wasn't very nice either, but that seemed to be more a Vader/Emperor thing than a crime committed by the Imperial forces in general. The plight of the poor aliens on Coruscant puts the evil of the Empire into perspective . . . no wonder all those beings were celebrating at the end of the digital version of Return of the Jedi.

As always, I'm interested in seeing what happens to poor old Truz next.

 

Chapter 6

So now it was time to be downstairs. The last twenty-four hours had been strange, dangerous, and extremely tiring. Truz had too much whizzing around in his mind to keep any one thought. It was all so new, and it encroached on his life like an invasion. Coruscant refused to leave him alone. That is the way it was for everyone, and the way it would always be.

Leaving his damp, cubic apartment, Truz entered the elevator. Simultaneously entering, his neighbor Vecker greeted him: ?Morning. Working??

?Yeah, I got a job. Don?t know what it is though?.?

?Good for you, kid. I bet it won?t be much, but its something. Not bad for a first day?

?I?m not working alone, though. I?m being paid by the guy with the job. His name is Ussar.?

?You?re working with Ussar?? Vecker yelled in disbelief. ?He doesn?t work with anyone, much less kids on their first day here!?

?Well, he offered me 100 credits to assist him. I?m meeting him downstairs.?

?You lucked out. Try not to screw it up for him, he?s big time.?

The elevator doors shifted open, and there was Ussar, his stocky body clad in brown robes, leaning against the lobby wall. Pilt was still cleaning the floor, and he seemed to be in the same spot as the night before. Truz wondered, ?Surely he couldn?t have been there all night.?

Vecker left with haste, nodding to Ussar as he left. Truz could not determine whether his fleet of foot was caused by intimidation or avoidance. Once Vecker had left the main door, Ussar gestured with a nod. ?Ready??

?I guess. You never told me what we are doing.? Truz replied.

?I?ll explain on the way, we don?t have much time.?

Ussar walked out the door with determination, his stubby legs marching forth with purpose. They passed the bar where they met, and as Ussar was marching Truz walked with sporadic spurts of running to keep up. As they passed through crows on the main streets, Truz began to find it difficult to keep his eyes on the back of Ussar?s short body. Each moment of nervousness, trying to track Ussar, was worse and worse. Eventually, the bodies thinned out and they came to a clearing. Another short alley, like the one Truz lived on, except the end of this one was a drop. A speeder was sitting atop a small landing platform at the end. The gray speeder had the imperial insignia upon its side. Ussar began walking towards it.

?What are you doing? Aren?t they in there?? Truz asked in a panic.

?On the way to your place a slipped a timed gas device in there. They choked on it about 2 minutes ago. It?s cleared out?

Something struck Truz in his spine. He is working with a man who indirectly killed a crew of stormtroopers in seconds. He really was getting into crime. It was surreal, this realization of that dream he always had.

They boarded the enclosed, blockish vessel from an open hatch. Ussar quickly hopped into the pilot?s seat, and Truz sat beside him. As Ussar took the speeder up off the platform, Truz looked into the main shaft of the shuttle only to see a mound of limp stormtrooper bodies laying on top of each other.

?Wow?.that?s very unnerving, I mean, on my first day.?

?Get used to it. That stuff?s easy, later today you might see some action yourself.?

Deep within his thin, flat snout, Truz gulped.

?So here?s your quick briefing,? Ussar began to explain while concentrating on maneuvering the shuttle so that it goes unnoticed. He didn?t turn to see Truz, but Truz still concentrated greatly on Ussar?s words. ?We will go into this facility, a diplomatic office, if you will. Our target is this Duros diplomat that was the first kissing the emperor?s feet back after the reformation. His people scraped together the money for petty vengeance. I?m their tool, and you?re my markerlight.?

?Markerlight??

?That?s right, kid. You?re gonna line up my assassination shot. He?s got the whole place manned by armored, human guards. A force the two of us can?t take head on. You?re going into a vent, lighting the guys head while I get to him to take the shot?

?Why do you need the markerli

 

Truz and Ussar stepped out of the ship and onto the hangar, stepping slowly as if waiting for something to happen. The tall, tower-like building in front of them looked nothing like Truz? part of Coruscant. They were in the Coco section: a bustling area filled with clubs and high-end living quarters. The building peaked into the sky like a needle, and its tall, thin gates stood ahead in a shining silver sheen. Ussar slowly turned his head to Truz.

?Okay, here?s the drill. There should be two cameras in the first room. We?re going to hide next to that door, I?m going to hit the open button, and blast the two of them before they pick us up. Security should be on their way in about a minute later, so I will go through the corridors to this chump?s office. You are going into a ventilation shaft from the fist room, and making your way into the diplomat?s office, hopefully before I do. Then, when I get there, you line up the shot and we head out the way we came in. Should be no more than two minutes.?

They stepped forward, aligning their backs with the wall. Cautiously, Ussar slapped a panel near the door and with a swift spin stepped in front of the hallway, firing off two blaster shots into the corners of the room?s roof, and blowing up to cameras. A moment later, he fired a third round into the chrome 3PO unit standing behind the front desk, causing it fall to the floor with a loud clank.

Truz stepped next to Ussar, when they both heard large thuds. The guards were coming. ?Get into the vent, I?ll handle this!? Ussar said while pointing at square ventilation entrance in the corner of the wall.

With a clumsy fall, Truz leapt at the grated ventilation panel, slamming his knees on the steel floor. He squirmed on the ground to it, removing the entrance panel and crawling inside. Seconds later, he heard the massive guards? armor pounding against the floor, and blaster fire being exchanged between Ussar and the guards.

Truz began frantically shifting his elbows, propelling himself forward through the vent. His knees were still sore from his unnecessary dive into the ground. As he went through the vent, he shifted his head from side to side, looking through the grating into each room. He then saw some of the guards.

They were nothing like a stormtrooper. In huge, bulking metallic blue powered armor, these beastlike figures stood over seven feet tall. The only proof that humans were inside these powered suits was the cavity for the head, revealing a human face covered from the nose down by a mask. The arms of the suit were repeating blasters or flamethrowers, and a huge energy pack on the pack powered the entire suit. When they ran, the stomping of their weighty suits made severely loud noises.

Truz was shaking looking at them. He wanted to move down the shaft, to minimize his chance of being seen, but he couldn?t help himself from staring at the pair of guards in one of the rooms in fright. He watched as they shuffled about on high alert, and hoped he would not be detected.

The two guards used hand signals to communicate. Their furrowed brows indicated that they were both listening for disturbances. They walked in a circle around a table in the room. Truz knew he had to continue down the shaft to find the diplomat?s room, but he was fixated on the guards. How menacing their armor looked, how powerful their weapons were. He wondered how Ussar manages to combat them with such confidence.

Suddenly, there was blaster fire. With a jerk, the guards shifted their torso?s clumsily to face the door, their blocky armor barely moving. One opened the door, and the two stepped into the hallway. They began frantically giving each other hand signals, their eyes wide in astonishment. It was as if they were seeing an army. Truz was impressed by Ussar?s intimidation.

Strangely, the two guards peddled back. Pouring in came three squads of stormtroopers, rapidly firing into the armor of the hoards as they let off blasts of scattering laser and torching flames from their arms. Team after team of stormtroopers were bl

 

Pilt was still cleaning the floor, and he seemed to be in the same spot as the night before. Truz wondered, ?Surely he couldn?t have been there all night.?

I got a kick out of this . . . especially the guy's name. "Pilt" reminded me of "Piltdown Man" . . . maybe the guy's just kind of semi-evolved. Or glued together out of random animal parts. Whichever.

He is working with a man who indirectly killed a crew of stormtroopers in seconds. He really was getting into crime. It was surreal, this realization of that dream he always had.

Well, every boy's got to have a dream . . . But dang, Ussar sounds brutal. I almost feel bad for the stormtroopers.

Deep within his thin, flat snout, Truz gulped.

Nice detail . . . I have a hard time imagining what it would feel like to be a Rodian, but this helped to sort of place me in Truz's skin.

back after the reformation.

I like that euphemism for "Imperial takeover." Seems very Palpatine. I liked the word "markerlight," too . . . it has a businesslike sound to it that makes it seem like it could be a real underworld-professional term.

In huge, bulking metallic blue powered armor, these beastlike figures stood over seven feet tall. The only proof that humans were inside these powered suits was the cavity for the head, revealing a human face covered from the nose down by a mask. The arms of the suit were repeating blasters or flamethrowers, and a huge energy pack on the pack powered the entire suit. When they ran, the stomping of their weighty suits made severely loud noises.

Damn! We haven't seen anything like that in the SW universe before. The closest thing would be the super battle droids in RotS, and those were bad enough. Those cyborgy-things are messed. Up. Seven feet tall with a guy inside? Did they all start out seven feet tall, or did somebody kind of . . . stretch them, the way they apparently stretched Vader during the Custom Jedi-To-Sith Conversion? (One of the mechanic droids suggested a little diamond-shaped window and an airbrushed mural on the side of Vader's helmet, but Palpy said no.)

?I suppose we won?t get our pay?? Truz asked, with disappointment.

?No, we won?t. But that should be the least of your worries.

All that, and they don't get paid either? Man, I'm never going to be a bounty hunter. It's bad enough working for 2 years on a novel I'll never get paid for.

Truz's destiny is certainly evolving in unexpected directions . . . I can't help wondering what he'll do when he has to face off against a platoon of stormtroopers or one of those giant cyborg things himself.

Do let me know when you update.