[INDENT]There is no truth on Anzat more agreed upon then this; there is no privacy more secure then death. It is a planet watching and listening, locked in a perpetual cycle of continuance. On Anzat there is no final end and the dead speak with silent voices. None were swifter to learn the truth then those perilous few who dared to venture upon her surface.

Anzat is home to the enigmatic Anzati, a species of untold longevity who feed upon the luck of others, and it is built upon a tradition of silence that has allowed the predatory species to survive the constant turn of the galaxy. Their culture is the culmination of a species rumored among the first to evolve sentience, and toiling endlessly to cultivate an intimate understanding of their place in the galaxy, they have existed uninterrupted for eons.

Anzati, to the universe beyond their planet, are little more then trained assassins. Only the highest (some may argue lowest) echelons of industry, seen and unseen, have even heard of their existence and fewer still know them to be anything more then a loose affiliation of skilled killers. This illusion of an image suits the Anzati and if in fact the result of a carefully studied understanding of the galaxy.

In truth the Anzat are unparalleled masters of stealth. Penultimate in their ability to track and trap prey, they were swift to see the threat their existence would present to the governments of planets among their stars and swifter to take advantage of this evolutionary oxymoron. Thus surmounting the pitch and sway of time the Anzati demonstrated a potential that would extend far beyond the simply obvious.

The youngest of the Anzati are ancient. The ages of the eldest can be measured in eons. So long as sustained an Anzat can live, seemingly, forever and despite their pursuit of endless subjects they truly value only those skills which apply to the hunt... and the kill. Stealth and the kill are all that matter to the Anzati and the only truths of Anzat.[/INDENT]


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Jagged peaks thrust up towards a verdant sky surrounding him in all directions. Like talons of the dead the rocks rose up high above him, dwarfing them beneath their ominous tips. Searching as if to rend the rain-scarred sky from its lofty perch the formations of stone seemed to close around him further obscuring the cloudy atmosphere above. In the beating rain silent voices moved between the drops but inside his head their words rang infuriatingly clear.

"You have left us," they sang. "You have forgotten yourself. You are yourself first and last."

Lost among the downpour his tears went unseen though his wailing cries did not. "I lied to myself. I used myself as an excuse! Forgive me! Voices, forgive me!"

Singing in reply his accusers offered him no peace and the rain fell harder, battering the man to his knees. His fists thumped the murk and the mud valiantly. Screaming to put his voice above the storm he protested his guilt to the abyss. He collapsed father, broken and overtaken by his own prayers.

Face down in a puddle that seemed to surround him to the edges of the mountains the man wept and resigned himself to death. Lost and utterly alone he was prepared to accept the end. Somewhere in the thundering blackness the man lost his breath.

I regret nothing, thought the man. I have lived according to my own will and I have lived well. My only mistake, though not to be regretted, is that I forgot myself in the end. I only wish...

"It did not have to end like this?" The rain ceased.

"Yes," he said, "like this."

"But you are at home." The voices went on questioningly, "Is that enough?"

Inundated by the sudden silence of the abated rain and the curious tone of the voices without sound the man said nothing for a long while. Mud caked his knees and elbows as the man rose wearily to his knees. Kneeling in reverence he turned his face towards a hazy sky.

"No, it is not enough. Not now that I have seen all of this," he said while waving a hand at nothing in particular. "It is not enough for me. Nothing else matters."

"Nothing else matters," repeated the voices inside of his mind. "Not for you."

"I must return," declared the man boldly. "I have things to share."

"You have teachings."

"I have teachings."

"What have you learned?" Their curiosity was clear to the man now, the voices speaking with something akin to urgency. Their trust inflated the man.

"I am not Mandalorian. I am not a Bounty Hunter. These things were fleeting."

"What have you learned?"

“I am Anzati and I am Anzat."

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He watched from the mountain with a look of disapproval upon his lips while, in high orbit above his vantage, the familiar wedge-shaped hull of a Star Destroyer made its way lazily across the starry sky. Even without macro binoculars, even from this vast distance, he could distinguish the lines of the vessel. It made him sick to his stomach.

"Nakui Seii," he spoke to the man on his left, "how could this happen?"

Silhouetted against the night sky the aged Anzati stood with hands clasped neatly behind his back and said nothing in response to the mans inquiry but his silence spoke volumes.

Without saying a word Seii allowed the question to be its own answer. The man knew that there was no blame for the situation but his own. Everything that had transpired, everything that had been violated, had happened because the man had not been around to oppose it. It was his task to prevent such atrocities or, at least, it had been.

"I left," uttered the man.

"You left your duty," nodded Seii solemnly. "You chose it yourself. It was your choice and there can be no blame."

Seii understood the man’s plight as none of his kinsmen could, he could see the honesty behind the man’s elusive wording. At no point had the man asked, in so many words, who was to blame for the attack yet Seii had known the real question the man sought. He knew the man as a teacher knows his apprentice. He knew the man as a father knows a son.

"I don't make excuses Seii. No regrets."

"But you are here," observed Seii, the teacher.

His attention fixed on the movements of the starship the man failed to react to Seii's words. Time passed unnoticed before he spoke again.

"I bring a lesson," he said simply.

Seii smiled. The display reflected more emotion then the ancient Anzati had shown in over one thousand years. Whether the man noticed or not, he made no visible or audible response.

"You are the teacher now," said Seii approvingly. "What wisdom do you bring then? What enlightenment?"

Hidden behind a sheet of midnight shadows the man’s menacing grin went unnoticed as he replied, "I am Anzat and I am Anzati. I am Beff Pike"

"And I am home."


~continued in Amoralus Conflictus: Home Again

Then...

Then? Then When?

Before the telling is started...

That's not very percise.

Nothing ever is. Then...



The display rotated in open space mapped out in green lines and flashing lights. Raised sections of the hologram detailed areas of particular interest. Like moons to a planet the magnified locations orbited the larger whole at a distance.

Three men, humanoids all, stood at various points around the hologram projector which in itself comprised most of the small room they inhabited. Intense darkness masked their features and only the spare glow of the hologram shed any illumination upon their features. While indistinct, certain lines could be better established then others.

"I don't like it," spoke the one who most looked human. He was tall, easily topping six feet plus, lanky, and clad in a well pressed naval uniform. Badges of rank upon his collar marked the man as a Captain. "I don't like it one bit. Those are people. Innocent people"

This earned a scoff from the figure to the humans immediate left. Speaking in metal tones from behind a dome-shaped helmet he jeered, "The Death Watch doesn’t care about people."

Embraced by the shadows the latter voice came from an armored figure who kept one hand upon the butt of his sidearm. "Your people," added the voice from within its all-encompassing suit of battle-armor.

"It will work," said the last. "It has to work."

A disapproving frown passed across the features of the human officer. He was the odd-man-out here, consorting with a Mandalorian and his sponsor and he knew it. Coming here had been his choice, he had only himself to blame for what happened here. The gamble was clear but he had no other options, anything to fall back on. He had given them the maps and could not take them back; he was in too deep.

Heaving a sigh of defeat the Captain went on, "The generators are located at these five points. They are the only systems that keep his platform from falling into the planets gravity well."

"Security will be posted at these points here," he waved his finger through the hologram, "and they will do whatever they can to stop you. They are loyal to the last and just as paranoid as the mark."

"You are on board then, Captain?" Apparently the third man, little more then an elusive shadow in the darkness, wanted to attend to more pressing business. Throughout the entire conversation, from the Captains arrival, he had not been given a chance to get any sort of clear view of the Mandalorians sponsor. In fact, during his two days aboard the mercenary vessel, he had been kept in almost total seclusion with only a single bounty hunter as his escort and he couldn't even be sure it had been the same one from the start.

The Mandalorians had played a clever game of cat and mouse with the Captain, his extensive knowledge of ship design failing him utterly aboard this alien vessel. It was as if everything had been set to keep the officer from gaining his footing while at the same time allowing him the same accommodations of his own ship, save for the freedom to explore. His quarters, while somewhat cramped, offered the comfort of luxury furniture and an extensive 'fresher with a lie-down tub.

"I am," nodded the Captain and only upon saying those words did the weight of his defection become clear. Up until now he had managed to convince himself that what he was doing was right, that he was doing the best thing for his people by removing a tyrannical warlord. None of it was true though; no matter how he looked at it he was a defector, he had betrayed his oath. Even if everything went smoothly he would never be able to return to the life he knew, he could grasp that now and the girth of it sagged at him.

"Excellent," came the shadows reply and somehow, the officer imagined, the voice smiled. "I will leave you two now to iron out the plan. Good day Captain and good bye."

As the lights came back on, bathing the quarters in brilliant white, the officer found he was alone in the conference room with the armor-clad Mandalorian. All pretense of security faded from between them with only the last portion of payment pending. In a moment of clarity the officer came to see the one thing that was keeping him alive were credits owed.

"I suggest," started the human desperately hoping to change the topic of his internal monologue, "that your men hit from here..."

"Sir," interjected the Mandalorian cutting him off quickly, "that can all be discussed after the issue of payment is clarified."

He had not expected them to approach the subject so soon, the terms of their contract stated that final payment would be made upon completion of the hit. Though dealing with those who lived beyond the law, mercenaries bound to their own code, he had hoped they would be civil enough to honor their contract. Afterwards anything would be fair game.

"Payment upon completion," continued the warrior "is no longer an option."

A cold sweat broke along the officer’s forehead and he found himself inadvertently fingering the device in his pocket.

"He promised me," begged the Captain fruitlessly. "He promised me my life."

His pleading seemed to amuse the imposing figure causing the Mandalorian to laugh aloud. The laughter stung him in a way he had not expected. It seemed to declare; silly human, you know nothing!

"He," queried the Mandalorian between laughing and pointing, "he who?"

Smoke and shadows, thought the Captain, I never saw him. Not once. I made a contract with a shadow, sponsor of the most dangerous mercenary force possible. I have been played for a fool. I never hired them... they hired me.

And those were the naval officer’s last thoughts; he never even noticed the hum of the vibro blade that, in one swift motion, cleaved his head from his shoulders.





In the corridors beyond the holoprojector the Mandalorian paused and slumped against a bulkhead. His body sagged visably while his fingers clasped at the rims of his helmet and slowly pulled the bucket from his head. A shock of golden brown locks tumbled down from within the confines of the helmet, laced with a layer of sticky sweat. The man sighed.

"Coordinates are laid in," came a tinny voice from behind the man, but he didn't budge.

"We're ready when you are," spoke another as it rested an armored hand upon his shoulder, but he didn't budge.

"Everyone is behind you. They always are," added a third voice, feminine and smoth. The man hardly noticed.

He only said, "I need to go home. One more, then... I need to go home."


~continued in Amoralus Conflictus: Mandalorian Issue