Star Wars:

The Face of the Enemy

Excerpted from The Tales of Brn'th Stayker

Written by: Brian M. Wilson

Based upon the characters and situations created by George Lucas.

First serial rights reserved. 1995

"Sir, we are reading a priority, coded transmission", stated the young communications officer aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Raptor.

The officer to whom he spoke stepped up and observed the readout screen over his shoulder. "Begin decrypt", he stated.  His eyes darted quickly through the message. Finishing, Captain Wilmon Trellor straightened up and rapidly addressed his bridge crew.

"Alert all commands! Navigation, stand by with the best course to the Omex system! All hands, prepare for immediate departure!"

Striding forward along the catwalk between the two main crew pits, he observed the flurry of activity on either side. Stopping at one station, he spoke to the officer there.

"Lieutenant, what is our estimated time of arrival at our destination at maximum speed?" he asked.

"Thirteen standard hours, Captain," replied the navigator.

"Excellent! Prepare to make the jump into hyperspace on my mark!" Trellor ordered.

The sleek A-wing starfighter hurtled through the mottled sky of hyperspace. The lone occupant of the interceptor sat staring out at the void beyond the cockpit glass. He shifted his gaze once to look at his own reflection in the transparisteel. The lights of the control console illuminated his young face with soft green light.

Major Brn'th Stayker of New Republic Intelligence glanced at the ship's chronometer and exhaled slowly. Five minutes until exiting hyperspace, he thought. He would be exiting on the fringe of the Omex system. Then the hunt would begin.

His quarry was a scout ship piloted by an Imperial spy. This particular courier had received transmissions from a contact within a New Republic supply depot and then fled with New Republic starfighters in pursuit. Though damaged, the scout ship had managed to make the jump to hyperspace. By a stroke of luck, a New Republic probe droid observing stellar anomalies within the binary star of the Omex system had observed the scout emerge from hyperspace a day ago. According to its report, the scout ship had landed upon the desolate world of Omex II and begun transmitting a homing beacon. Intelligence estimated that Stayker would arrive there approximately two to eight hours before any Imperial rescue mission could reach the courier.

"By intelligence estimates", thought Stayker sardonically. He knew he would be cutting this one close. His chronometer signaled and he eased the hyperdrive lever forward. Starline streaks resolved into the brilliance of the twin stars of the Omex system.

With a final hiss of the landing thrusters, the A-wing settled down on the barren surface of Omex II. After checking lifeform sensors, Stayker shut down all power to his ship. Satisfied that he was alone for now, he unsealed the hatch of the compact fighter and prepared to leave its relatively sheltered confines.

No wind disturbed the sands as Stayker surveyed the harsh landscape. Arid, craggy and inhospitable, the world could be described as hellish by any of a plethora of galactic species. Stayker, however, found it reminding him of Morturia; his home.

Morturia was another such inhospitable planet over 100 light years away from Omex II. To the hardy tribes of human nomads who survived in it's rugged deserts, Morturia was viewed much as a metalworker's forge. A place where beings were honed and tempered in order to be found worthy by the spirits of ancestors who had generations earlier been the first humans to survive the hellstorms which swept it's surface at seasonal intervals. Those who failed to survive the planet's trials were said to be reincarnated to try yet again until they succeeded and were admitted into the temperate halls of the afterlife. Stayker's clan had survived all the worst Morturia could throw at them for generations. But wisdom and instincts shaped by centuries of survival had not been enough to prepare his clansmen for the treachery of the Empire.

Brn'th had been off-world acting as a scout for a mercenary company when his clan crossed paths with the Empire. When asked to yield to the Empire's might and serve the war machine by mining industrial ores, Stayker's clan had refused by launching a night assault upon the Imperial ground force commander's headquarters and slitting his throat while he slept. Retribution came in the form of turbolaser fire from the orbiting Star Destroyer. The morning breezes of the following dawn swept away the ashes of the clan. Morturia forgot that they had ever even existed.

But Brn'th had not forgotten them. The faces of his clan brothers and sisters were indelibly etched into his memory. They were the reason he had sought the fledgling Rebel Alliance all those years ago. It was an unquenchable thirst to avenge their deaths which drove him ever onward. How many Imperials would he have to kill to lay their spirits to rest? Only when he knew their spirits were satisfied would he begin the Mah Ak'ari; the ritual chant to lay the dead to rest.

Stayker did a final check of his personal gear. He had his emergency rations, a water canister, a medpac and extra power packs for his blasters. Satisfied, he removed a light repeating blaster from the storage compartment behind his pilot's seat and climbed up out of the cockpit, walked across the port wing of his fighter and dropped the short distance to the sand below. Hastily, he checked the locator emplaced in the left forearm of his light armor to get his bearings to the courier's ship. Hefting the large blaster rifle into a combat ready carrying position across his chest, he set out across the sands to find his target.

Another blaster bolt struck one of the rocks which Stayker crouched beside. Bits of molten rock fragments pelted the molded plasteel of his armor like micrometeorites against a starship's hull. Stayker remained low and ventured a quick peek around his cover in an effort to locate the sniper. For his efforts, he was rewarded with yet another crimson beam of light energy which sizzled the sand where he would have been had he not jerked back under cover. Cursing, he lay down his cumbersome repeating blaster and drew his woefully short-ranged heavy blaster pistol.

Stayker had followed his locator to a half kilometer long furrow in the sand which marked the resting place of the courier's damaged ship. The ship had been a personal shuttlecraft, small and unobtrusive with no armaments. However, it appeared to have had extensive engine modifications as well as fighter-class maneuvering thrusters. It had definitely been designed to run and avoid damage if necessary.

Stayker had examined the craft, disarmed one boobytrap and entered its cramped confines. Inside, the only functioning piece of equipment he had found had been a distress beacon hooked to a powerful transmitter. The New Republic agent had disabled the beacon and searched for anything of value within the craft. Finding nothing, he had searched outside for a short while before finding a trail and moving off on an easterly course toward rocky badlands.

After following the trail through a cave system which was probably the long dormant remains of a once active geyser, Stayker had ended up in his current predicament. He was pinned down in a canyon by an unseen enemy who was taking advantage of the terrain to hold off pursuers until rescue could arrive. Stayker checked his chronometer and swore an oath. It had been just over two hours since he had landed. Imperial ships could arrive at anytime now. It was time for action.

Taking a concussion grenade off of his battle harness, Stayker primed the fuse and lobbed it in the general direction where he believed the Imperial to be. As soon as it left his hand, he moved out of cover to his right, dodging a pair of quick blaster shots as he sought better cover and concealment.

The grenade detonated with a flash of light and a deafening bang which echoed through the canyon. From his new position, Stayker saw movement above and to his right along a cliff. The Imperial was also seeking a new position. Stayker aimed with his pistol and fired at the moving target, just missing the man. He observed that the courier was wearing what appeared to be stormtrooper armor of some type covered by a desert camouflage pattern cloak. The figure reached a large boulder and dove behind the cover.

Stayker used the macrobinocular viewplate of his helmet to quickly scan the area below the cliff in hopes of finding a covered route for ascending to the Imperial's vantage point. Almost too late he noticed the figure reemerge from a small cave below the cliff and on his flank! The crimson beam of the Imperial's blaster rifle stuck Stayker in his right hip knocking him to the ground!

The burning pain which Stayker had initially felt swiftly numbed as the odor of melted plasteel and charred flesh struck his nostrils. He was aware that he was in danger of going into shock and slipping into unconsciousness. Then he noticed the faint hum of microservos and felt the pinprick in his left thigh which meant that the diagnostic sensors of his automed injector had begun injecting him with painkillers and stimulants to keep him functioning. Stayker was also aware of the jets of a thruster pack and the crunch of gravel underfoot as the Imperial landed near him to finish him off. Slowly, Stayker edged his left hand to his belt and palmed a smooth metal disk.

Without moving his head, Stayker looked up through his visor and saw the Imperial approaching. He wore a suit of modified scout trooper armor and held an E-11 blaster rifle at the ready. By his stance, though, Stayker could tell that the Imperial thought him to be unconscious. When the trooper stood at his feet, Stayker struck!

With his left hand, Stayker flung the activated Morturian throwing disk at the trooper. It struck the trooper's breastplate with a flash as its stored energy discharged. The trooper was knocked off of his feet to crash to the ground. With reduced mobility, but surprisingly little discomfort, Stayker got to his feet, retrieved his own pistol and kicked away the trooper's blaster.

Stayker covered the prone figure who groaned in pain as he removed a shoulder bag from him. Opening the bag, Stayker found a datapad and several datacards. This had to be the information he had been sent to retrieve. It also appeared he had all of the copies too. All except one.

Stayker removed the wounded Imperial's helmet. He saw beneath the helmet an ashen face, jaws clenched against the pain he felt. In the open eyes was a burning defiance. Sweat soaked the young man's hair and was beaded upon his forehead. A malicious grin replaced the grimace upon his face. "Have you really won today, Rebel?" he croaked.

Brn'th Stayker knew now for certain that the Imperial had committed the data to memory. Stayker could take the copies, but the Empire would still get the information if they picked up the courier. The courier's ship could hold a passenger, but there was no way Stayker could make the repairs necessary to get it running before rescue ships arrived. And Stayker's A-wing was definitely a one-man affair.

Stayker removed his helmet. Sweat also soaked his hair and ran off into his armor to soak the neck of his bodyglove. He gazed down at the Imperial who lay prone at his feet. The eyes of the two men locked. The Imperial maintained a look of defiance and closed his eyes.

The report of a single blaster shot echoed off of the walls of the canyon.

Aboard his A-wing fighter, Brn'th Stayker noted the arrival of an Imperial Star Destroyer just before he reached his jump point. The Imperial warship launched a wing of fighters, but they had gotten to the Omex system too late. The A-wing accelerated into hyperspace long before the TIE fighters could have ever hoped to intercept it.

For the long journey back to Coruscant, Major Brn'th Stayker did not sleep. He also did not think about his lost clan members as he was often wont to do in the lonely depths of hyperspace. He reflected upon the day's events. He did not look upon it as a job well done even though he had successfully completed his mission. Who can count any event as a victory which costs him a portion of his soul? True, he had killed many Imperials in the course of the long war, but never had he killed any of them in such a personal, face-to-face manner. He heaved a sigh and realized that the vengeance due his clan had been paid in full. It was time for the fires of hatred to burn themselves out; time to look forward to the ending of conflict; time to begin the Mah Ak'ari.

Stayker looked out through the clear cockpit canopy at the mottled colors of hyperspace. He saw a face reflected there, illuminated by soft green lighting. He looked directly into the eyes which were looking back at him and he began chanting. Throughout the long journey home he continued the Mah Ak'ari as he gazed upon the face of the enemy.