Gates' feet were up on his desk, and he was tossing a grenade into the air and catching it. The proximity of explosives didn't really scare him, if by some freak accident the pin fell out, he'd have plenty of time to throw it into the closet. So nonchalant was he at this dangerous activity that he didn't realize that there was someone in the door way, until they knocked.

Garryll managed to drop the grenade into the trash bin. "And you are?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Gates?"

"No no no, that's me. I asked who you are," replied Gates, fishing the handheld explosive out of the garbage can. "Who are you?" he repeated in case the guy was slow or something.

"That's not important, follow me."

"I'd say it's important, Corporal, I'm a superior and I'm asking you a question," Gates repeated, carelessly tossing the grenade onto his bunk.

The non-com sighed explosively and drew a hand over his eyes. "My name, sir, is Corporal Sam Cintantus. Happy? Can we go now?"

Gates happily stood, cracking his sore back muscles and started chewing some gum. "Could you not do that, sir, chew gum?" The junior non-com squirmed uncomfortably.

"I could smoke," Gates chewed, pulling on his duty jacket and sidearm.

The shorter, older man started cursing under his breath before walking out the door. Gates followed him, quietly chewing cherry gum and blowing the occasional bubble.

The non-com led him to a small car, whose door he opened and waved Gates in. "What, you're not coming?" asked Gates, bending his tall frame into the vehicle.

"No, thank god," replied the noncom, fleeing.

Gates sat uncomfortably in the back of a small care, his buzz-cut hair scraping the underside of the roof everytime the vehicle's inadequate suspension hit a bump, and there were a lot of bumps. Add that to the fact that there was no air conditioning, and this car was a living hell. Gates carefully took his mind off of it by checking his DC-15s blaster pistol's ammo load and sights. It passed the time quickly enough.

Finally, the small, bumpy, crappy car shuddered to a halt. The mute chauffeur carefully climbed out and opened the door for the senior soldier. Gates, sore again, creaked out into hot, hot air, though barely hotter than in the car, and not as stuffy. He breathed in fresh air and a cool breeze whispered across his scalp. Only then did he look around.

The small car had taken him to a beach. "What the hell?" Gates muttered, spotting several other uncomfortable-looking men in duty uniforms carefully scraping sand off of their boots or gingerly making their way out onto the sand. Around the beach were urban- or sand-camo army troopers, carefully making themselves as invisible as possible while watching all around the beach for intruders or enemies. They carried A-280s and E-11s on thin straps gripped in bare hands and rolled up sleeves. What they were protecting was possibly even stranger.

Imperial officers dressed for the beach; men and women in light clothes, swim suits, flip-flops, their Imperial greys and blacks swapped for vibrant oranges and greens and blues. Their only marks to be Imperial Officers were the guards and the small Imperial crests and rank pins that had been attached to their belts. They socialized with one another, and some talked to the seemingly overdressed officers who had tentatively made their way onto the beach or to the guards or simply sipped at drinks as brightly colored as their clothing.

Gates looked around, then spat his gum out. It was losing its flavor, anyway. One of the guards had begun to approach him. "Are you Garryll Gates?" asked the trooper, a small bead and radio antennae growing from his ear into his uniform, no helmet, sleeves rolled up and in shorts and lighter boots than most normal for stormtroopers or army troopers.

The ASL of Blackjack nodded once, affirming the trooper's question. "Go to Carmen Fall - she's the woman who called you; she'll meet you at the edge, near that palm tree," the trooper continued, pointing out a woman and a tree.

Gates rolled his sleeves up to fight the heat, and quickly walked over to the designated tree, avoiding the sand as much as possible and walking on the hard asphalt so as not to get sand and rocks into his boots. At the tree, he waited for only a minute before a woman about his age or so walked up.

She extended a hand, "Carmen Fall," she introduced herself, and Gates quickly scanned her rank pins and her as he shook her hand. An Intel Operative, an agent, a field operative; tall, maybe 5'8"; dark hair, down to the shoulders, but put up to keep it out of her eyes, a  quick, intelligent expression on an attractive face and lean. They were on equal footing. Sort of. He relaxed marginally.

"Garryll Gates," he replied.

"Well, now that we know who we are," she said, grinning, "Let me tell you what we're going to do."

"Am I going to like it?" he asked, mouth on autopilot. "And I hope you haven't read my file, because then I'd have to kill you."

She laughed, "I'm sure you will like it, having read your file. We're going to kill a foreign scumbag."

He laughed as well - "You know me so well already."

"I thought I might; now listen. His name is Jose Esquervez; he's in charge of a Private Military Company, and he's made it a corporate policy to undermine the VE at any and all possible chances. We've had some contact with some of his underlings, and they don't like him or his idea of going against the VE. If we take him out, they'll be able to step in and take control. They'd do it themselves, but they don't like the idea of going against him; he inspires loyalty amongst many of his officers and soldiers, and will be well-protected. We'll go in and kill him."

"When do we leave?"

The impromptu team quickly finished packing their belongings into their bags, adjusting straps to rest more comfortably. The older man, Ivan, had trouble bending at the knees; Gates helped him pick his bag up, a small, stylish suitcase. The old agent nodded his thanks.

Carmen led them out, and they followed; she seemed almost surprised that they were actually following orders, but the three heavy treads behind her reassured her; they were all soldiers here, and it had been hammered into their minds to obey orders, even if they didn't like them. Fortunately, this mission had piqued Gates' interest, and was the last chance for the other two men, so none of them were going to screw this up.

The four-member team piled into the elevator uncomfortably; the small metal box was designed to carry three or four stormtroopers, not four people with bags. They turned and crashed into one another, cursing and swearing until all four were in. Kexie pressed the ground level button with one gnarled, stubby finger. The doors closed haltingly and the machine rose jerkily. Annoying music slid from an unseen speaker. Gates cursed it quietly. Quickly, though, the elevator opened, and the four people piled out, back into the heat of the tropical weather.

"Follow me," gasped Carmen, dragging a suitcase on wheels behind her. "The shuttle's over here. They have air conditioning, and water."

She was quickly outpaced by the quick-marching Kexie, desperate for water, sweating profusely. The older Ivan was limping behind, a cane having appeared from somewhere and aiding his slow progress. They reached the shuttle, a squat, ugly grey monster that sat ungracefully on the landing pad. Its pilot was a match for his ship - short and fat, a thick, sweaty mustache drooping on his upper lip, his grey Imperial Uniform showing half-crescents under the arms and clung to him.

The four-man team boarded quickly, escaping the oppressive heat. Carmen flopped onto a chair next to a small table. Gates carefully stowed his bag, but not his weapon-full briefcase. Kexie was clutching a small plastic cup full of water, and sat heavily on a chair as far from everyone as possible. Ivan took a small, blue pill, and then maneuvered his cane and himself into a chair.

"Cover IDs?" asked Ivan, massaging his thigh. "Insertion plan?"

Carmen wiped a sweaty lock of hair out of her eyes. "We'll be going in as a prospective client for Esquervez, get a private meeting with him, kill him and make it look like he had a heart attack. If we can't get a meeting, we either blow up his car, kill him in his home, or otherwise kill him."

"A client?" asked Gates. "Who's the boss of this false clientship?"

"Ivan, you have the most experience; you'll be the CEO of our company; we want to hire Jose's company to take down one of our rivals. I'll be an aide, a secretary. Gates, you'll be his security guard, and Kexie, you can be his driver and another aide. We'll go in under our own names; less complications that way."

They all agreed at the assessment, and went about doing what they did. Gates quickly wrote up a fake legal form, with some help from Ivan and Fall; it stated that he, as a security guard, had the right to carry deadly weapons in order to protect his employer. The SMG would fall under that security, but the others' weapons would have to be smuggled in.

Kexie was fast asleep for the trip, a quick hop from Tadeth to a nearby neutral planet from which they could get a transport to Dorumaa. In theory, they wouldn't even leave the spaceport of the first planet, so they wouldn't even have to go through customs. After all, they didn't care if you had weapons as long as they weren't used on their planet.

The shuttle hyperspaced quickly from Tadeth to the nearby planet, and was there within the hour; Gates' weapons had been legalized, and a set of sunglasses and an official-looking uniform complemented the appearance.

"Good job, Gates," said Carmen, waving at his suit and sunglasses. He screwed a small radio with antennae in to complete the effect.

"I aim to please, ma'am."

"Carmen, please."

"Garryll."

"Of course," she said, and the ship landed. They disembarked, carrying bags onto the nearby, much more luxerious transport that was heading for their destination: Dorumaa.

Two days later, the team landed on Dorumma. What was left of it, anyway. Kexie got drunk both nights, and it wasn't pretty. Gates had to drag his half-conscious body back to his room both times. Ivan only got sort of drunk, but not fall-down; he spent a fortune on the gambler's tables, however- but he won more than he lost, so he pocketed the difference. Carmen and Gates switched off watching the other two, making sure that they didn't get in over their heads.

Gates remarked on this. "Y'know, being the responsible one is actually a change of pace for me."

"Yeah, because usually it's your Squad Leader keeping you in line," Carmen replied, over a cup of coffee, early in the last morning.

"But I'm the ASL; it's my job to maintain discipline. No one's rioted yet, either. So I must be doing a good enough job."

She laughed, and finished her coffee, and then went to tail Ivan for the day.

Once they disembarked, they grew even less concentrated. The weather was tropical, beautiful. There was loads of entertainments. Customs slowed them. They passed through one at a time; Kexie first, Ivan second, Carmen and then Gates; if they didn't like his fake legal papers on the guns, he'd either have to bribe the guard or kill everyone. He'd discussed it with the rest of the team, and they were reluctant to lose their sniper if that happened. He assured them he was more than a match for a few guards. Fortunately, Gates passed through unmolested.

They regrouped and headed for the hotel they'd be staying at. Once there, they dropped their stuff off in one large room, firmly separated into four bedrooms, but luxurious and comfortable. The day was young, so they decided to try to get part of their mission done. They rented an armored speeder limousine, and Kexie drove. The other three got into the back area. Carmen produced some more documents pertaining to the fake company they were masquerading as. A construction company, their business on a far-off planet was being threatened by a smaller company that was producing cheaper houses, but lower quality. And they were using illegal labor.

The armored vehicle sliced through traffic, a black blade in an otherwise bright area. Light clothes were worn by the inhabitants, playing to the tropical weather of the world. Blues, yellows, reds and oranges were popular, and their black limo was in direct contrast of them.

After a few minutes, they pulled up in front of the 'Esquervez Public Relations Corporation' building, a handy euphenism for 'Private Military Company.' A pair of uniformed guards cradling KX-60 Blaster Rifles flanked the doors. They passed inside, the guards chatting unconcernedly to one another. Inside was a large lobby. There were five elevators; two on each wall, left and right, and one behind a thick desk, behind which were two secretaries. Beside the rear elevator were two armed guards, each with no rifle, but an obvious, holstered pistol. In the two far corners were staircases. Ivan approached the desk, Carmen and Garryll closely flanking him.

"Ahem, I'd like to schedule an appointment with Mr. Esquervez. I heard that his company is excellent at resolving disputes, and I have a corporate rival I'd like to consult with," Ivan said, his voice aristocratic and indulgent. The guards behind the desk stared at the three people; Gates, eyes shielded by sunglasses, started back. Little did they know he had a HUD on his glasses, and was scanning them for concealed weapons other than the pistols.

The Secretaries consulted quietly, pointing and writing on their datapads. "The first time we can get you in to meet Mr. Esquervez is in a month."

"Unacceptable," growled Ivan. "I need to have this company and mine to be at a resolution before we can start working. Until then, I have to pay my workers for no work!"

"I'm sorry, sir. His schedule is very full."

Ivan turned and stormed out. Gates turned immidietely to follow, while Carmen quietly excused his behavior- "Mr. Ivan's stress over this issue has increased as time has gone by; his temper has become very frayed."

She walked briskly to catch up to the limping 'CEO' and his security chief. "Shit," Gates muttered. "What's plan B?"

Before the raid on the building, preparations had to be made; transport was parked in a next-door parking garage, their stuff was packed up carefully, and they wiped their fingerprints from the hotel rooms. After that, they spent a lazy three hours on the balcony of Ivan's suite, checking weapons and ammo, and equipment that they had bought. Grappling hooks, handheld torches, Infrared goggles; they were well-equipped thanks to the deep VE budget and the criminal blackmarket.

Gates sighted his M66 and slipped a clip into the receiver, flipping the safety on as he went. He carefully placed it into his briefcase, wiped it down, and pulled on some heavy combat gloves- gloves designed to take a beating, but flexible enough to allow him to manipulate weapons and gear.

Kexie knocked on the screen door. Carmen, nearest, slid it open. The short drill instructor turned covert operative wheeled a cart out, loaded with food. Gates realized the sun was dipping and that he was really hungry. "Thanks, Kexie."

A short table was the only place to put anything, so the four members of the team crowded around it and the cart, choosing food basically at random.

"Mmmm," Gates said, munching on a slab of meat. "Fish."

"Here's some vegetables," Carmen remarked, pushing the food over.

"Don't eat that crap," Ivan joked, his plate a riot of colors, including several types of fruit. The rest of the team laughed, eating quickly.

"We'll leave at 11. That gives us another three hours to burn; we're done our preparations," Carmen said, her mouth full. "Sleep, eat, read a book. I don't care, just be ready to go. We'll go on foot, we're close enough. Myself and Kexie will carry the extra equipment, Gates, you'll be on point with the M66."

He tipped a salute to her, wiping up a dab of sauce with a thick piece of bread. "Silencers?"

"Obviously. We don't want half the city police on top of us," Carmen replied, stacking her dirty plate back onto the empty cart. Gates and Kexie followed suit, while Ivan slowly cut a thick piece of gristle off of his last bite.

"Old man," Kexie muttered, "You gonna keep up? I don't want to have to carry you."

Ivan's hand flashed into motion, stabbing the table a hair away from Kexie's spread fingers. He grinned. "You gonna keep up, sonny? I don't want to have to shoot you."

Kexie stared daggers at the older man. Gates stood up, suit case in one hand, and pushed the cart back into the room, leaving it in the hall for the hotel workers to get. He turned to go back out. Carmen was standing a few feet away; she gestured to follow her. Ivan and Kexie had stopped fighting and were talking quietly over smokes.

"What is it, Carmen?" asked Gates, setting his weapon down on the couch, before flopping down on it.

"What's your take on Kexie and Ivan?" she asked nervously, adjusting her jeans.

"They're good soldiers, but about as erratic as I am. And I know me," Gates replied, settling his bullet-proof vest more comfortably under his jacket. "Why?"

"Because I'm making you my second in charge for right now," Carmen replied, voice low. "I don't trust Ivan, and I don't think I can rely on Kexie. On top of that, you've got command experience."

"If you don't trust half your squad, you should have picked a different one," Gates replied.

She gulped. "Command didn't give me a very large selection; washouts, failures, headcases, and you."

"Me? I had a whole selection to myself?" Gates grinned, as if he was proud of some accomplishment.

"You didn't fit, I don't fit. Neither of us is as bad as those two, and those are some of the least in the barrel I had to choose from. Kexie? He put his CO in the hospital for weeks with a broken face. Ivan is suspected of taking bribes and making money on the side."

"Exactly how many ops have you commanded, Carmen?" asked Gates suddenly, his stomach sickening.

"Two. But only one was a failure, and that was Command's fault," she replied, again nervous.

"Shit. I can tell you why we were chosen; you, because Command doesn't like you, and me, because they don't like me either. I've mouthed off to too many officers who didn't like that, and so have you, but you're relatively new. This mission is really starting to suck," Gates muttered angrily.

Carmen chewed her lip nervously. "You mean this is a suicide mission?"

"Unlikely. I'm still an officer in the Stormtrooper Corps, and they like me for sure. This is just a risky, win-win situation for command," Gates replied.

She sighed. "We can worry about it later. Just back me up if things get FUBAR, okay?"

"You bet, Carmen," Gates said, standing. "I'll be in my room, sleeping. Wake me when we need to go."

She smiled, and nodded. Gates gave her a thumbs-up and closed his door behind him.

--A couple hours later--
Gates woke with a start. A knock had come at the door. He rose silently, hand gripping his Q99 and slid over to the door, opening it abruptly. Kexie stared balefully at the barrel of the gun at his nose. "Time to go, trigger-happy," he ground out.

Gates nodded, slipping his protective vest and jacket on and picking up the briefcase. He followed Kexie down a flight of stairs and onto the street. It was dark, and there were few people on the streets, but the few that were clustered in small groups like the strike team. "What about the lights, the comms?" he asked Carmen quietly.

"We've bribed the night manager to cut the power; he'll give them emergency power, but only enough for a short phone call and a few dim lights. He'll explain a fake problem and that's that."

A few brisk minutes of walking later, they came upon the still-lit building. A pair of guards were smoking next to the door. Gates stopped the rest of the team. "I'll take 'em."

"What about the guards inside?" asked Ivan smoothly.

"I'll take them, too," replied Gates. "Hold the case until I give the signal. Then cut the power."

"What's the signal?" asked Carmen calmly, holding the case.

"I'll come back outside and wave you over. Be sure to pick up the other dead body while you're coming."

He set off across the street quickly, his jacket zipped to hide the protective vest and give him the image of a harried, cold tourist. He approached the guards, a cigarette in hand.

"Damn, what a night," he said in greeting. The two guards looked up, and then relaxed. Just a tourist. They agreed, nodding. He continued. "Damn club kicked me out! Can you believe it?"

The taller of the guards shook his head. The shorter continued smoking, but said, "Got to be careful. Most of those clubs want you to really behave."

"Don't I know it now," Gates replied, lookng unhappy, before perking up. "Got a light? My lighter's dead."

"Sure, man," replied the taller, extending a thick hand clutching a cheap lighter.

Gates let the man light up the cigarette, inhaled. "Ahh, thanks, my friend," he said, before letting his Q99 slip from his sleeve into his hand and putting three rounds in the tall man's chest, and one between his eyes. The silenced shots were more like coughs. The shorter man's jaw dropped, his cigarette dropping from his lips, fingers scrambling for his sidearm- his rifle was set down next to the wall. Gates shot him twice in the head, and he crumpled slowly. Gates dropped the lit cigarette under his boot and ground it out before running into the building, and right up to the now-empty receptionist's desk. The two guards stared suspiciously at him.

Gates gasped, "Some psycho! He shot those two guys outside and now he's threatening my family!"

"No gunshots, bub," replied the left man, coming around the desk nevertheless.

"He had a really long barrel on the gun, a, uh, whatchimacallit, a silencer!" Gates replied, shaking.

The two men nodded and charged for the door. Gates shot them both in the back of the head, killing them instantly. He grinned. Mission was good so far.

He poked his head out the door and waved the rest of the team over, dragging the taller man's body inside as he did. The lights went out suddenly, and scattered, glowing green lights popped on, providing really insufficient light for the lobby. The rest of the team came inside, Kexie dragging the guard in behind him.

"Upstairs," Carmen said, gesturing. She held out Gates' case. He opened it, pulling his SMG from it, and started for the stairs.

The team followed Carmen's instructions to a large room, with a large window; the cleaners' scaffolding was sitting silently, awaiting the next day's work. Gates opened the window wide and climbed on. He turned and helped the others up. Once everyone was on he inspected the controls. Up, down, left and right were labeled in basic. He started for the up control, and the machine hummed and rose.

"I'll take us up to 18th floor, don't want the guards spotting our escape vehicle," Gates said to the rest of the team. Ivan sighed. "More stairs."

They quickly reached the 18th floor, and Gates stopped them. They looked at the window. "Shit, I didn't remember to think of the window," Gates muttered.

"I've got a plasma torch. Alarms are all dead; we'll just cut open some of it and open the window," replied Carmen. She dug around in her backpack, pulling out a small plasma torch. A few seconds' burning opened a small square in the window. A sharp blow knocked it out, landing silently on the carpeted floor inside. She fiddled around with the handle and managed to open it. They carefully climbed back into the building.

Gates got back on point, looking for the guards that were inevitably on this level. There were two behind a desk, a small flashlight lighting their game of cards. The other two sat on desk chairs they'd dragged from a cubicle. All were preoccupied. "Stairs are right over there," he breathed. "We can dodge around these. Fewer bodies that way, and this is close enough to the upstairs to be looked over every once in a while."

"Let's move, then." They silently crossed the hall; none of the guards ever even looked up. The door to the stairs was carefully opened, and they began up. On the 19th floor, they stopped. "What kind of enemy are we looking at?" Gates murmured to the team.

Carmen consulted the datapad. "10, plus two guards for the stairs to the penthouse. Penthouse itself has no guards."

"Easy. Communications are dead, right?" Gates asked, checking his SMG's clip.

"Dead as can be. No silent alarm, no cameras, no real lights, no comms," she replied, slipping the last of her equipment into her backpack and pulling out her pistol.

"Let's just go already," grumbled Kexie.

Gates opened the door; a guard was patrolling, and had just passed the door. Gates lept up, and fired three silenced shots at the man. He fell, twitching. A guard dashed around the corner, hearing the thump. He saw Gates and went for his pistol. Gates put two shots in his chest and a third in his throat.

The man's hand, resting on the pistol's grip, fell slack. Gates waved the rest of the team out. They dragged the bodies into a janitor's closet. "Center area has the staircase," muttered Carmen, directing them.

They advanced cautiously. They came upon a large lobby. A small stairwell was on the farside, and large offices sat on its flanks. 8 guards, including the two guarding the stairs, loitered, shotguns and small E-11s in their hands. A short man in a nicer uniform was talking rapidly to his men.

Gates pointed; Ivan and Kexie nodded, and snuck into one of the large, windowed offices. It would give them a commanding field of fire and cover behind a large desk. Carmen and Gates took cover behind a large piece of furniture. He readied his weapon, and rose from cover. He sighted carefully, and sent a short burst into the officer. The man collapsed. Several of the guards looked stupidly at the man that had been throwing orders. Carmen popped up as well and they opened fire, dropping anther couple.

A guard pointed, yelled. The rest scattered and dove for cover, some firing. The lounge became a shooting gallery. Gates dropped behind their cover, which was luckily made of a very sturdy materiel, likely metal or at least thick wood. He unscrewed the silencer; in a major firefight, power and accuracy took priority over stealth.

Ivan and Kexie chose that moment to start firing, blowing holes in the glass of their office, and taking another guard down. The guards yelled some more, some changing their aim to fire at the two in the office. Bullets flew left and right. Smoke cluttered the room, only broken by muzzle flashes.

Slowly, the VE soldiers got the better of the PMC guards, slotting all of them within a couple minutes. Gates waved them forward. Kexie and Ivan emerged from the office, Kexie sporting a burn across his left temple, hair burned away. Ivan was fine.

"Kexie, Ivan; guard the stairwell. Gates and I will go take out Esquervez!" ordered Carmen, starting up the stairs. Gates followed; Kexie started dragging furniture to form some cover.

They climbed the stairs quickly, aware of the counting clock. It wouldn't be long until someone on the 18th floor went to investigate the noises upstairs and found the bodies. They emerged into the penthouse. Inside, beautiful carpets and furniture were scattered artistically. Paintings were hung on the walls and busts and small statues sat regally on pedestals. In the middle of it all was a man with dark skin, clutching a pistol in his hand.

Gates shoved Carmen behind a chair and dove in the opposite direction. The man's pistol barked, spat red lasers rapidly at the two Imperials. "Blast it, kill him!" yelled Gates, firing blind from behind a couch with his SMG. He heard something shatter, and the blaster fire stopped for a second as the man dodged behind cover. Gates blind-fired again, and a scream came. Gates dropped the SMG. He was out of ammo. He drew his pistol instead.

The man had fallen behind a small chair, his legs bleeding badly and his right shoulder half gone. Gates kicked the pistol out of his hand.

"Wait, please! I am not the boss! You come her to kill him, ya? He is not here! Only I, his double!" the man babbled. "Don't kill me!"

"Where is Esquervez?" growled Gates.

"He sometimes goes out into the city! I substitute for him, his double!"

Carmen came behind him. "No, that's not Esquervez. But it's a decent double."

"All I need to know," Gates replied, shooting the man in the head. Carmen gasped. "What! I didn't want him to-"

Gates turned, and saw Carmen on the ground, gasping and holding a bad burn in her side. "Crap," he cursed, and dragged her upright. "We can't stay here, ma'am. We have to leave. I'm going to give you some morphine and a stim."

He dug around in her blood-soaked backpack and dug out the medpac. Unfortunately, there was no morphine, so he just stuck the stim into her and quickly covered the injury. She stood, tottering. Gates helped her; they moved quickly down the stairs and back out of the penthouse.

"Down. Now," Gates ordered, pistol in his right hand, supporting the team leader with his left, his SMG on its strap over his back.

They moved quickly down the stairs, emerging onto the 18th floor. The guards were still doing their little things, and the ones that weren't sleeping looked to have headphones on. He grinned. Their negligence would let them free. They snuck past again, and onto the window cleaners' machine. They dropped down as quickly as possible. On the ground again, they went directly to their parked car and got in. Gates hid their weapons underneath a chair, and their backpacks went into the trunk. He carried Carmen, as her drugs had worn off and she was bleeding again.

Doctors took her into the emergency room, and the three men were forced to sit in a waiting room.

A good night's sleep later, the team assembled in their suite's major room. The sun outside was warming the sleepy city, and the gentle tides washed the beach, a relaxing, repetitive swishing. Birds in the air twittered at the speeders and cars on the streets, people going about their business.

Gates swore. "So you mean the Command's cut us off of most of our funds?"

"That looks to be the gist of it. They got fed up with us and figured that cutting our funds would make us finish or quit faster."

"So how much do we have left?" Ivan asked, a small cup of tea resting in his hands. He stirred it carefully and sipped it.

"Several thousand credits," Carmen grumbled, shutting off the datapad fiercely. "Not enough to buy a speeder."

Gates toyed with his combat knife, the toughened steel dully reflecting the suite's parts. Its serrated edge interrupted the reflections, but made it much more deadly. "A silver lining..." he murmured. "Huh, this just gives us an opportunity."

"An oppurtunity?!" Kexie snarled, craggy face split by a scowl. "We have few funds! We can't even get to him at night! How the hell are we supposed to get him now?!"

"Plans B and C. The RPG and the sniper rifle," Gates replied. "We have enough cash for that. We complete the mission, and impress command with our ability of adaption. We all get out of the shit hole that they've thrown us in."

"Great," muttered Kexie, lighting a cigar. "I hate you and your damn plans."

Gates shook his head. "We find a black marketer, and buy these weapons off of him. Easy." He stood up. "And let's not waste time. I'd like to get the RPG into his penthouse before he leaves it today."

Ivan remained seated. "I'll watch over our stuff. I'm useless for this running about, and I'm sore from last night."

Gates shrugged, and the three remaining members of the team left the hotel. Out on the streets, they looked for a map. Once they found one, it was a simple task to find the dirty side of the city. "See," Carmen said, tracing a finger over a portion of the map. "There are no tourist attractions in this part, only one lowly-rated spaceport, and no big businesses."

"Alright, let's go," Gates replied, climbing into their small car they had used the night before. Kexie clambered into the driver's seat, and they puttered off into the dark side of the city. Quickly, they began to recognize changes; bright colors changed to dulled, dirtied reds and yellows, and even grays. The people had a hard look about them, and some blasters were showed blatantly. Shops had subtle guards and there were no tourists. Gates pointed. "There, see? A shop sporting the name, 'Guns'."

"Subtle," Carmen laughed. "I'll buy. Gates, back me up. Kexie, guard the car."

They pulled up in front of 'Guns'. Carmen walked boldly in, past a pair of heavily muscled men with large handguns at their hips. Gates slipped in as the guards warily looked at Carmen.

A graying man in his fifties with large glasses stood behind the counter, sitting on a stool and measuring rounds. Carmen cleared her throat. The man looked up.

"I'd like to buy two weapons," Carmen said clearly.

"What," the man said, voice hoarse and deep. "A little taser and pistol?" His guards chuckled.

"I'd like to buy an RPG and a sniper rifle," Carmen said sweetly. The guards choked on their laughter.

"Expensive," the owner said, pressing several keys on a dented datapad. He whistled, and then said, "Boy, I need an RPG and a sniper rifle!"

A tall, thin boy of about 16 emerged a few seconds later, dragging two cases, one long and thin, the other about twice as thick, but a few inches shorter. The owner patted them. "RPG and a sniper rifle. 7000 credits."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "That much? Can I see the weapons?"

"No," the owner said nastily. "Now pay up or not?"

"How about-"

"No bartering," the owner said, even nastier. "You'll get when you pay in full. And I guarantee you, I'm the only one with these weapons in the city."

Gates knew the dilemma. They didn't have 7000 credits. They had 5000 and change. Carmen bit her lip, and then relaxed. "Okay, okay. I get it," she replied. And pulled her pistol out to level it at the owner's forehead. The owner whistled, and his two muscle men moved forward, pulling their large pistols from their holsters. Gates, a few inches shorter than either of them, tapped the closer on the shoulder. The large man turned almost imperceptively, but it was enough. Gates punched him in the throat. The man fell, choking and gagging. The other guard spun, and Gates could see the two huge men were twins. "I think I mangled his throat pretty bad. He needs some medical attention. You'd better get him to some before he suffocates or something."

The other huge man leaned down and helped his brother to his feet, and they quickly left the building. Carmen gestured with her pistol. The gun shop owner placed the two cases on the counter. "Here's the new plan," Carmen hissed, her pistol unwavering. "You open the cases, we survey the merchandise. We'll pay you what it's worth."

The man stared daggers at Carmen, but complied, opening the case. The sniper rifle was a decent piece, a long-barreled Clone Wars-era relic, but in excellent shape. It looked to fire slugs. The RPG, on the other hand, was a mass-produced piece of rubbish. "5000 credits," Gates said. "The sniper might be worth what you wanted to charge us, but this RPG is a piece of shit. And how about ammo?"

"Reloads are extra," the shop owner growled. "But it's a moot point. I included the one RPG round I had in it, so that's your gain. But you'll have to buy sniper ammo."

"Why not give us the one bullet?" Gates replied, removing one of the larger slugs from the counter. "Say, this one?"

The three people managed to get back to the hotel without anymore problems. They parked the car and quickly climbed up to their rooms. As soon as they got in, Kexie peeled back the prosthetic's fake skin carefully, and dug around in a small box that had some tools and such. He started tinkering with the half-melted prosthetic and managed to get it into marginal working order, and then reapplied the skin and put some bandages on to stop the infections. Ivan nursed a glass of amber liquid through the whole process.

"Next step?" he asked when the grumpy instructor had finished.

Carmen answered easily. "Gates and I will take the RPG to a good shooting point and blow Esquervez's penthouse apart. Easy."

Ivan nodded, shrugging. "The simplest plans do usually work best."

Carmen nodded to Gates, and he pulled on some leather gloves to hide his fingerprints. They took a turbolift straight to the bottom floor and walked briskly out to their vehicle. Gates climbed in and started driving. He referenced a city map, and drove a few blocks over to a large parking garage. He quickly pressed the car up to the roof.

In the boiling hot sun, the tarmac was burning. Heat mirages rose from the over-baked concrete borders, and no one in their right mind would park up here. Gates pulled his sunglasses on, and rolled up his sleeves. Carmen climbed out the passenger's door, and looked around through the haze of heat.

"Shit is it hot," Gates murmured, opening the trunk, the metal already hot. He pulled out the RPG's case, and set it down on the ground. He flipped it open, and removed the rocket. He peered down the tube, and the rocket was there, just like 'Joe' had promised. Carmen was standing at the edge of the tarmac, peering through a scope at the far-off penthouse. Gates peered through the rudimentary iron sights.

"Okay," Carmen said, "Distance; 500 meters; height, 60 meters above us; wind, neglible."

Gates adjusted carefully; they only had one shot. "Is he in the window?"

"No, not - wait. He's looking out at the city. Fire for effect."

"My favorite words," me muttered, and pulled the trigger. There was a metallic tink, and nothing else.

"Fire, Gates," Carmen said.

"I'm trying," he snapped back. "Useless blasted object! What are you, a bazooka or a frickin' paperweight!?"

The rocket roared out of the tube, and smashed into the penthouse of the PMC. Fire roared from it, and window panes and glass and metal fell into the streets. Sirens began to howl and screaming rose in the streets.

"Job well done," Gates said proudly, replacing the RPG and climbing back into the car. Carmen nodded and smiled.