I was awakened with a jolt as the ship dropped out of hyperspace. My head connected with the glass panel above me, and a stabbing pain ripped across my forehead. The inertial dampers must have been damaged in the battle, I realized. It's a good thing they held up as well as they did, or I would have been crushed in the sudden stop. I felt my head to look for signs of blood, but found none. Pushing open the chamber panel above me, I stepped out.

Closer examination in the mirror showed there to be a large purple welt across the right side of my forehead. Running my fingers across it, I winced at the sudden pain. This might have been from the metal beam I dove into on Palshife, or I may have connected with the bulkhead during the fight. There was no telling. I had been given my share of pain over the last few days, and then some. My thoughts soon traveled from my battered head to the fleet. I walked over to the radar screen to find two destroyers and a few stray fighters. Five or six surviving ships, from a fleet of more than thirty. That was not a very promising ratio. I hailed Clotho Prime landing control.

"This is Lieutenant Riprock of the Sabre Test Fighter, requesting permission to land."

"Permission granted. Proceed to your assigned landing pad."

Initiating the landing sequence, I pulled closer to the planet at the lowest possible throttle. I didn't want to push the dampers any farther than they had to go. Crawling closer, bit by bit, I finally felt the planet's gravitational pull, and I braced myself against the chair. Slowly growing faster and faster, I wondered if the computer would finally take hold. Finally, the auto-pilot took control, jerking the ship and nearly tossing me to the ground. The vessel smoothly glided to the ground and landed with a slight jolt.

I climbed out of my seat and exited through the sliding door. Once on solid ground, I proceeded towards what the sign indicated to be the Operations and Military Tactics hall. Walking up the concrete path, I pushed open the metal entrance and looked around inside. Straight ahead of me was a wide reception desk, with a woman behind it in civillian clothing, reading a magazine. I cleared my throat and she jumped slightly, startled.

"May I help you?" She asked, half paying attention to me, half engulfed in the article she was reading.

"Yes, I'm here to see whoever is now in charge of operations."

"Do you have an appointment?" She inquired half-heartedly, as if she had said it a thousand times.

"Not exactly. I am returning from Palshife."

She looked up immediately as I said this and pointed towards a glass door to my left. "That way, sir."

I pushed the door aside and walked through to find yet another door, this one wooden. A small brown sign declared it to be the office of General Browning, a name completely unfamilliar to me. He must be the deceased General's replacement. I stepped inside to see a young man sitting in a chair that seemed much too old for him. He couldn't have been more than thirty, which was most uncommon for one of such high rank. He looked up at me when I closed the door.

"Lieutenant Riprock, Rebellion Navy, sir" I announced, saluting him. He waved his hand to show that such was not neccisary.

Looking down at a slip of paper tacked to his message board, he nodded and looked back up at me. "I've been expecting you." He motioned for me to sit down in a chair across from him. "We've been studying the communication logs from the surviving warships. We seem to have come across something you declared during the battle, an order to retreat. Is that correct?"

"It is."

"I assume you are aware that you were not the commanding officer at the time. Captain Donaldson held that position."

"He did not seem to be taking any action. There was no way the ships could have survived that fight. The odds were completely stacked against us."

"I admit that you are right, but you were out of line. Commanding troops during wartime is best left to those who have been trained to do it. You are no strategist, Lieutenant. Of course, we must take into account that you saved the hundreds of lives aboard those warships." He smiled grimly. "You're still lucky that you're not under court martial right now, lives or no lives."

A sudden wave of relief fell over me upon hearing that I was not going to be detained. I didn't think it was very likely that I would be, but that never stopped me from worrying about it.

"I see you have an injury," he said, looking at the dark bruise on my head. "Do you need medical assistance?"

I pressed against the area gently with two fingers, wincing a bit. "No, of course not. I'll be fine."

"Okay. It's your head. For now, you are supposed to start work on another mission. I'm afraid it's a bit different from what you're used to, but I think you should be fine." He flipped through a stack of files. "Ah, here it is. You are going on something of an undercover mission. You must assassinate the leader of a group that has been terrorizing many Rebel supply convoys, taking them captive, then selling them to us... or the highest bidder. We don't like the idea of having to buy what is ours. It just isn't very profitable. The only way we can gather our forces enough to take back Palshife will be to have a steady trade route through the nearby areas."

"So all I have to do is destroy his ship? Sounds easy enough."

"Not at all. You must understand that someone this powerfull is not exactly poor, nor is he a fool. Anyone with that kind of a reputation who just wanders about the galaxy doesn't live very long. He attempts to keep his location unknown to his enemies, and he does a pretty good job of it. We don't think he could be on any of the pirate worlds, as he is quite wealthy by now, and chances are he won't be on any Rebel or Confederate worlds. This leaves independant planets, for the most part. This makes it incredibly tough for us to locate him, and even if we could, interstellar law prevents us from forcing the world to turn him over to us. This is exactly why we have to kill him. We have to prevent him from holding any more of his 'auctions'. Are you up for it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"What do you think?"

"I think not."

"You're absolutely right. But before you go, there's something you may need." He pulled a folder out of a pile, wrapped in plastic. "Your target." He handed me the folder, which had various warnings printed on all sides. "All right, the time has come. I will see you as soon as your objective has been completed."

"That's it? I don't even know where to start."

"That's not our problem, Lieutenant. That is why you are here." He laughed aloud at his wit, and I feigned laughter so as not to be rude. There was much work to be done...

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