A Small Matter of Cargo - JH Decarat
Decarat grabbed his
new rugsack, with all his equipment attached. He tried to lift it, but he fell
forward as the weight of the rugsack was too much for him. The apprentices
around him laughed. Decarat glared at them, which shut them up quickly.
He rose to his
feet, and dusted his Epis robes off. He looked around, and frowned.
“None of you have
heard of Castor Havin, have you?” he said, his voice like a shadow of wind. The
apprentices looked among themselves, and then back to Decarat, shaking their
heads.
“Then I will tell
you. Sit down.” Decarat turned his rugsack over, and sat down. At least he
wouldn’t get hurt this time. He looked to his pupils, and took a deep breath.
“Castor was a
friend of mine from the Hammer’s Fist. We served together there for many years.
When I left the Hammer’s Fist to concentrate on my studies here, at Tarentum,
our friendship seemed to waver. Until one day…”
<flashback waves
– lame music – etc - etc>
“Decarat?!” came a
voice behind him, as he looked around the hanger bay that his shuttle had
landed in. Decarat grinned, and turned to face the voice, and it’s owner. A
average sized man, with jet black hair, and a carefully managed beard stood
before him with open arms. Decarat dashed forward, and embraced the man.
“Damn, it’s been a
while, Castor”
“What are you doin’
here, mate?” Castor replied, the grin across his face widening.
“Ive been sent on a
mission, to assist in the retreat from Haron IX. Have you heard?”
“Yes, I have, it wasn’t
pretty. I guess I will be with you” he replied with a smile.
“Maybe a drink
first” Decarat grinned, and let his friend lead him to the nearest pub.
“We will be landing
in a minute, get ready to help load survivors” shouted the pilot over the whine
of the massive engines of the landing craft Castor and Decarat were assigned
to.
They each put their
helmets on, and fastened their safe cables to the inside clips. They held
handles on the inside wall, and the release handles for the door. The craft slowed,
and touched down softly. The two men released the door, which floated down on hydrolic
pumps.
A horde of people
were already rushing towards them. Castor and Decarat jumped out, and moved to
the sides of the door, to allow access. They shouldered their rifles, and
searched for enemies.
The flow of people
barely slowed as they entered the craft. Suddenly, a few men fell, their backs smouldering
from laser blasts. A small detachment of Rebel troopers appeared on the
horizon, running straigh at the landing craft. Decarat swore, and opened fire.
The crowd moved faster, running from the rebel laser bolts. Castor moved
forward, and picked up a boy who had fallen, and carried him back under the
cover of Decarat’s skillful shots.
The last of the
crowd ran in, along with the boy Castor had helped, and Decarat. Castor
remained at the bottom of the ramp, still firing.
“Castor, get up
here!” Decarat shouted, his hand on the retraction lever of the door. Suddenly
Castor fell, a bolt of buring energy hitting him square in the chest. Decarat
screamed an inauidble sound, and jumped down, firing haphazardly at the
approaching Rebels.
He grabbed Castor’s
body, and started pulling him up the ramp, before someone grabbed him from
behind, and pulled him into the landing craft, leaving Castor’s body on the
ground. The craft lifted off, it’s lasers sending several shots at the
attacking Rebels.
Decarat looked
back, glaring at the man behind him. The man shrugged, “There is no room for
the dead, my friend. I am sorry”
Decarat rose, and
stood at the window, weeping…
<Nasty flash
back re-entry back to reality>
“But master Decarat,
what does this have to do with your bag being heavy, and making you fall?”
asked a small girl, with bornw pony tails in her hair.
“One must remember
what is important to them, and one must cherish them with utter resolve, and
love”
The apprentices
tried to figure out what Decarat meant. He just chuckled at his nasty little
bout of fun. Cant miss an opportunity to trick this lot, Decarat always said.
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