Star Wars - Love is a Warm Blaster - Unpublished

by Paul Danner

  The clean-cut young man stepped out of Loose Cannon Arms, carrying a small package tucked under his arm. His nondescript face blended seamlessly in the crowd of people wandering one of Coruscant’s nearly endless shopping districts. No one even spared a second glance when he ducked into a small service alley and began speaking to the shadows. “He’s in there. You good to go?”

  A quick check of the hold-out tucked away in her waistband told her the small blaster was fully charged. She knew the feeling well. Daniera Karmony took a calming breath, letting the tension slip from her body. She smiled brilliantly at Cabe. “Good to go.”

  “The General’s counting on you.” Cabe paused and touched Daniera’s shoulder. “We all are. Just be careful. He used to be one of us, but nobody knows why the man left. Maybe not even Cracken. His service records are sealed at the highest levels.”

  She nodded gravely and prepared to go shopping…

  “Can I help you?”

  Daniera looked up from the display of blaster carbines that stretched across the back wall of Loose Cannon Arms. The young woman’s gaze casually traversed rack after rack of glistening black weaponry and finally came to rest on the older man sitting behind the counter. The proprietor of the Cannon studied Daniera with a bemused little grin as he casually sipped from a steaming mug.

  “Actually, I’m just looking around,” she said with a shrug. “Thanks anyway.” She studied him with a peripheral glance. On second thought, he didn’t seem advanced in age so much as spirit. His were eyes that had seen more than a lifetime’s worth. But there was also something else there… a glimmer even the heavy weight of time could not diminish.

  The man nodded serenely. “Well, you just let me know if you

  need anything, hon.” The grin contorted into something more akin to a smirk as he took another drink. “I proudly offer a 20 percent discount to nerfs.”

  Daniera was staring at him now. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh. Sorry. Nerfs… my preferred acronym for operatives of the New Republic Security Force.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “No offense intended, of course.”

  “I have no idea what—” Daniera paused, then shook her head. “How did you know?”

  “Don’t feel bad, sweets. It isn’t that obvious, unless you know what to look for.”

  “Such as?”

  “It’s bad business to give away trade secrets.” He put the mug down. “That’s why I sell customized weapons… and not the blueprints.”

  Daniera leaned on the transparisteel counter. “Humor me.”

  The man sighed with feigned reluctance for a moment. “Well, I don’t get many female browsers in here and the few who do come by usually get caught up with the junk in those cases,” he said, indicating the one she was leaning on. “Cutesy little palm blasters, hold-outs with pearl lacquer finish that fit comfortably in the handbag, that sort of thing.”

  Daniera started to protest, but he cut her off before she could get out a single syllable. “That’s all fact by the way, free of sexist opinion. Anyway, you were eyeing the good stuff on the back wall, appreciating some of my better work, and that means you’re not a casual enthusiast. Then there’s that bulge in your jacket that,” he flashed the grin again, “assuming no odd physical abnormalities, looks to me just like a BlasTech CMP 489 pistol—flavor of the moment for New Republic Security.”

  Daniera folded her arms across her chest. “You’re pretty good, but—”

  He held up a hand. “You didn’t let me finish… however, you’re a bit too much of a looker for standard Security or even SpecForce, so my guess would be NR1. I know how that old bantha Cracken loves to throw folks a curve by utilizing attractive women…” After a final, triumphant sip from his mug, he added, “Well, at least when their mouths aren’t dangling open like that. Kind of subtracts from the enchantress equation.” He sat back in the chair and beamed. “So, any questions?”

  After taking a moment to regain her composure she nodded. “Just one… what in the galaxy possessed the great M’Kyas Love to let his considerable talents go to waste appraising customers in a back-end weapon shop on Coruscant?”

  “For your information, I only sell high-quality merchandise, and—” his eyes narrowed dangerously “—my custom creations sell for more credits than you’ve probably seen in your lifetime, girl.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Well, now I know who you are and you know who I am.” He picked up his empty mug and started walking to the back of the store. “I dislike playing games with no wagering involved, so why don’t you just save us both some lifetime and tell me what you want.”

  “Grandyl Grieve.”

  To her credit, Daniera didn’t flinch as the mug hit the floor and shattered.

  M’Kyas Love slowly turned back around to face her. With the touch of a button, the lumasign on his front door flashed from “open” to “closed.”

  He slowly held out a hand, gesturing Daniera toward a back room.

  “Let’s talk.”

  “Grandyl Grieve. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a long time.” Love slid a steaming mug in front of Daniera and sat down beside her. “A fellow Latarzian and one of the deadliest assassins ever spawned by the Empire. Erroneously believed to be deceased many times over, he has the annoying habit of surviving certain doom. As I recall, he hasn’t been heard from since the Battle of Endor. That was quite a few years ago.”

  Daniera cautiously took a sip of the proffered drink, decided she liked it and let the hot liquid warm her up. “Well, he’s back. Hired by an unknown Imperial party to assassinate key officials of the New Republic.” She returned the mug to its coaster with a resounding thump. “And so far he’s doing a marvelous job.”

  Love leaned back in his chair. “Back after all this time, huh?” He shrugged. “I thought he’d retired.”

  Daniera cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t seem too concerned by the news of his return.”

  “Should I be?”

  “As the story goes, it was your relentless pursuit that finally drove him underground. And since Grieve is apparently taking up old hobbies, don’t you think he’d love to take a shot at his arch-nemesis?”

  “I think you’ve been watching too many holos, girl.”

  “The reality is people are dying. Another senator was found murdered this morning. That makes four in less than two weeks. Each one more important than the last.”

  “I thought the New Republic espoused equality,” he said with a chuckle.

  “You know what I mean,” Daniera snapped, growing more irritated. “So far we’re snapping at shadows. No one even knows what the Sithspawn looks like.”

  “I do.” He paused. “And that’s why you’re here.”

  “There has only been one break so far. Our agents have uncovered the identity of Grieve’s next target: Chief of State Leia Organa Solo.” Daniera took a deep breath before continuing. “You got closer to this monster than anyone else. We need your help.”

  He shook his head. “Grieve may not be retired, but I am. I’ve done more than my share of skip tracing, bounty hunting, private investigating, and sector rangering. I served my time in the nerfs and played superspy for General Cracken.” Love stood up, his eyes locked onto Daniera. “So you can go back and tell Cracken that my remaining years are going to be spent doing things that don’t involve being shot, tortured, or otherwise mauled.”

  Daniera was silent for a long moment, then abruptly got to her feet. She was at the door in a few short strides, but paused briefly to regain eye contact with Love. “General Cracken thought you might refuse. He told me to give you this.” She slipped
something into his hand and then walked toward the front door without another word.

  Love reluctantly glanced down at the data chip, carefully running his fingers along the gleaming ridged surface. It had been erased. Cracken did love his irony, after all… “Wait.”

  One hand on the door, Daniera looked at him over her shoulder.

  He touched a finger to the wall and a secret panel slid away to reveal a recessed compartment. From inside Love removed a large replihide shoulder holster that cradled what was quite possibly the nastiest-Iooking heavy blaster pistol Daniera had ever seen. Surprisingly, its bulk slipped easily into place under Love’s left arm. He shrugged on a worn but expensive overcoat that easily concealed the huge weapon.

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  It was Danlera’s turn to smirk. “For what?”

  “I don’t know, hon,” he said, patting the bulge under his coat, “but with the mood I’m in right now it had better involve shooting a lot of people.”

  The New Republic Security detail at the door watched quietly as Daniera and Love exited the turbolift and made their way down the hall. The pair of heavily armed troopers shifted their weight slightly, greeting the newcomers with the business end of two blaster carbines.

  Daniera flashed her identification and the guards immediately stood at ease, allowing them passage into the hotel room. She stepped in first, pulling on a pair of Duraguard examination gloves.

  Love paused, glancing back down the hall at the teams of NRI agents electronically sweeping the area for the tiniest clues. He shrugged as he followed Daniera into the room, closing the door behind them.

  She was already moving methodically through the living area. “The entire floor has been shut down by New Republic Security. As we speak, NRI agents are interviewing the entire staff, conducting molecular-level scans, and reviewing guest records for the past month.”

  Love nodded. “That’s good. A waste of time and money, but hey, a bureaucracy is still a bureaucracy no matter how high-minded its morals may be.”

  Daniera stared at him, her mouth struggling to catch up to her thoughts.

  He held up a hand. “Sorry. Just give me the specs, okay? Say, do you mind if I call you Dani?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Go ahead. Dani…”

  Daniera sighed. “Victim number four is Senator Luralon Odaay, near-human Turian from the Limbala sector. He was 47 standard years of age, married, with one child. Senator Odaay frequently returns to his homeworld when the Senate-in-whole is adjourned, so when it is in session, he only keeps a hotel room in lieu of permanent Coruscant residence.” She gestured at the well-kept room. “The Kaerlia Queen has been his favorite the last few years. In fact, he requested this same room last year.”

  Love absorbed the information. “No sign of forced entry and the murder took place…” His eyes searched out the entrance to the bedroom. “In there?”

  Daniera nodded her head slowly, apparently unenthused about revisiting the crime scene.

  He walked past her, slipping on a pair of Duraguard gloves. “How do you know it’s Grieve?”

  “Bloody and violent death.”

  “Most homicides fall into that category.”

  “And the Sithspawn left his calling card. Grieve,” she hissed through clenched teeth, “What kind of name is that, anyway?”

  “Latarzian. At birth we’re only given our first names. Our surnames are earned from our actions.”

  “But ‘Grieve’?”

  His voice became distant. “His parents probably lamented the fact that they gave birth to him.”

  Daniera gave him a look. “Then I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “What?”

  “About your surname… Love?”

  He offered only a leering smile and a wink. “Ask me again sometime.”

  Love flashed her a morbid smile of amusement, then entered the bedroom.

  Senator Odaay’s corpse was strewn face down across the emperor-sized bed. The thick sheets had absorbed most of the dark blue blood; the plush Tapani carpet had soaked up the rest. A gold-handled vibroknife was jutting out from the small of the victim’s back. Certainly not the killing blow, probably inflicted post-mortem. Grandyl Grieve’s personalized calling card, derived from his name; Grandyl was the Latarzian word for gold.

  Love paused at the entrance, surveying the scene for a full minute before approaching the victim’s body.

  Daniera quietly slid into the room behind him. For her tough demeanor and experience, she was still a young agent—new to many horrors of the business.

  He glanced back at her and smiled reassuringly. “You know what the problem is with beings today?” She shook her head, eyes focused on the grisly sight.

  “Well, I’ll tell you. Nobody can ever keep their snouts out of everybody else’s business. The galaxy would be a nicer place if we all just minded our own affairs.” Love crouched down over the body, conducting a careful examination. The man had flopped over the bed, one six-fingered hand draped across a pillow. The other was hanging over the far side of the bed. Love circled around to get a better look. It was clenched in a tight fist. “Fact is, 45 percent of homicide customers are stiff ’cause they followed their sense of smell to the great beyond.”

  He had her attention now. Daniera folded her arms and just stared at him. “Is that so?”

  “Yup,” Love said through gritted teeth as he tried to pry open the dead man’s fist. “That reminds me… you know what the least used sense is?”

  She watched him struggle with the corpse, and shrugged noncommittally.

  “Common sense,” Love grunted as he accidentally snapped off two fingers. Senator Odaay had been clenching a tiny figurine.

  Shocked, Daniera quickly stepped forward.

  Love used his arm to wipe the sweat beading at his forehead. “The other 45 percent are your typical crimes of passion,” he said with a salacious wink. “Nothing sours as badly as love. Well, except maybe lum.”

  “Do you ever shut up?” she said as she stepped next to him.

  “The last 10 percent are your basic poor shlubs who just get caught in the crossfire.” He turned the statuette over and over in his hands. It was a rather stunning likeness of Darth Vader. “Funny thing is, folks are the most worried about being plugged in the last category. They ask me how they can avoid getting hit. I tell ’em all the same thing…” He twisted the little Lord of the Sith’s head with an audible click.

  “Duck.” Daniera watched in amazement as a miniature lightsaber hologram emitted from the tiny gloved hand. Love handed her the Vader replica and she carefully touched the small saber. It sparked slightly, giving her a minute shock.

  Love carefully turned the corpse over onto its back and studied the carnage. The dead Senator sported a massive hole in the center of his chest, ringed with obvious blaster scoring. Love studied the mortal wound for a moment, giving a low whistle through his teeth.

  He started to move back, then paused. He abruptly leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the dead Senator’s neck and sniffed. “Hmmm….”

  Daniera turned Vader’s head, disengaging the lightsaber with a tiny whoosh. “So what do we have?”

  “I got a corpse that took what looks like a blaster artillery hit at point-blank range.” Love turned back to Daniera. “I got no witnesses, no point of entry, and no defensive wounds.”

  “Just like the other three crime scenes.” Daniera couldn’t resist a self-satisfied smile. “You haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know.”

  Love continued as if she hadn’t even spoken. “The only thing I do have is a good hunch that our boy here was a member of the Dark Vortex Club.”

  Daniera’s smug smile suddenly vanished.

  Love unceremoniously walked to the door, tossing the used Duraguard gloves over his shoulder. “And all you got, sweets, is a big mess to clean up. My work here is done.”

  She trailed him outside the hotel room. “That’s it?”


  “I just gave you all you needed to solve this case,” he said. Indicating the statuette in her hands. “That’s a membership key to the club. But I’m sure you probably already knew that, too.”

  Daniera stopped for a moment, but Love continued on down the hall. “Well, I would have found this myself…” Then she added under her breath, “Sooner or later.”

  “Good luck,” he called over his shoulder as he entered the turbolift. “If you succeed, I’ll send you a beautiful bouquet. If not, I guess I’ll send ’em to Organa Solo’s funeral.”

  Love winked at her just before the doors shut and he vanished.

  General Cracken turned the small figurine of Darth Vader over and over in his hands. “Not so intimidating at 1/1000 scale, is he?”

  Cabe was pacing the office, irritated. “We don’t need Love, General.”

  A ghost of a smile played on Cracken’s lips. “Come now. We all need love,” the General said softly.

  Cabe was too busy ranting to catch the joke. “This is a waste of time and manpower at an inopportune moment.”

  Cracken raised his eyebrows, studying the Major. “So you feel I am making a mistake, Cabe?”

  The NRI agent stopped his pacing for a moment. “With all due respect, General…”

  Cracken held up a hand and grinned. “You can stop there. No good news ever begins with that statement.” He glanced over at Daniera, who was mercifully seated and up to this point, silent. “What do you think?”

  “Love is annoying, egotistical, and utterly devoid of honor.” Cabe smirked at her confirmation, but then Daniera thought for a moment. “But he is also intelligent, perceptive, and very experienced.”

  That wiped away Cabe’s smile and brought one to Cracken’s lips.

  “We could use his help,” she contlnued, “however we can’t count on it. This may fall squarely on our shoulders alone.”

  Cracken absorbed her statement, leaning back in the chair as his eyes returned to Cabe. “How are the Masquerade preparations proceeding?”