Sally Oakridge, the woman who had supplied the party with horses and equipment, had supplied long dusters for everyone to wear on their horseback adventure. And all but Sidda had readily agreed when they looked upon the arid landscape south of Landing. Sidda however had insisted on just her leather jacket and was, as the temperature was starting to drop a bit as the sun dropped low on the horizon, regretting her decision. But the image she had built up made demands of her and she’d decided to keep to it.

It had taken hours for R’tin and Trid to finish up with Pete and during that time Orelia had gone back up to the Vondem Rose, returning with some proper camping equipment and a promise that she’d come up with a better plan than what had been discussed in the saloon earlier in the day. Which had left horse trading to Trid and herself. And all the mental preparation for the task she’d undertaken had been for nought when Sally Oakridge had proven to not only be a reasonable woman but actually downright helpful.

She’d rented them horses for their trip and all the gear to go along with – saddles, bags, spare blankets for camping, feed for the horses. Everything an aspiring cowperson would need for a trek across semi-arid plains. Sally had even given them one of the few pieces of technology that everyone on Ayer’s Rock insisted on – an inertial mapper. “Keep going this way,” Sally had said while demonstrating the device, “and you’ll find the Maze Valley soon enough. Then when you’re ready to come back, just push this button and it’ll lead you back the way you came.”

And so with lunch behind them and a good portion of the afternoon as well, they’d set off, fully prepared to camp in the wilderness of Ayer’s Rock. Local dangers had been warned about, but one of the pieces of gear Orelia had returned from the ship with would help with that issue. And the ration packs she’d brought down too would keep them fed.

“These are actually good,” R’tin commented as he was digging into his dinner around the fire they’d built prior to sunset. It had gotten very dark very fast and with it cold too. While the fire granted warmth and light, it also worked to deepen the dark around them as their vision adapted to the orange-yellow flames.

“Certainly better than anything I’ve eaten in the field,” Deidrick agreed before he reached for the outer wrapper he’d discarded, giving it a quick read. “Well, there we go. These aren’t emergency rations at all. They’re quality camping meals.”

“So civilian emergency rations,” Trid added to the conversation. “Starfleet needs something they can load into an escape pod and forget about for years. Most mercenary groups too. These are good for what, a few months?”

“Says two years,” Deidrick answered as he handed over his wrapper for inspection. “But the packaging does say camping meals. Glamourous, over the top and decidedly agreeable. Thanks, boss.” He nodded once to Sidda in thanks.

“Product of Kyban,” Trid read aloud. “Made from purely local ingredients.”

“Which means,” a voice from the dark spoke up, loud enough to be heard from a distance but clearly approaching as it continued, “also inspired by local cuisine.” The voice was deep, gravelly and had an obvious drawl to it that lent a lazy air to the speaker. As they approached close enough to be more than just a silhouette in the dark, hands to either side and palms open for all to see, recognition dawned on all gathered.

A rustling commotion ensued as everyone save Sidda started to move. R’tin rolled backwards over the rock he’d made into a seat, throwing himself to the ground and the paltry cover the rock provided. Trid, Orelia and Deidrick all jumped to their feet, weapons drawn in quick succession and pointed straight at the surprisingly well-dressed figure of Aloysius Manfred, who merely nodded with a slight smirk at the greeting.

“Manfred,” Sidda said, after letting the stand-off stretch on for a few seconds. In truth, it was to finish what she was eating. Never, her grandmother’s tutors had beaten into her, talk with your mouth full. “Was wondering when you would show up.”

Manfred was, aside from his dress, decidedly bland. Average height, brown hair and eyes. Perhaps on the downward slope of middle-aged for humans. No real distinguishing marks about his person. If one was asked to describe a late middle-aged average human male of northern descent, Manfred would fit the bill pretty damn well.

Where he stood out at the moment was his dress which was decidedly locally inspired at present. A nice, but hard-wearing black suit, matching boots, duster and hat all capped off by the brown leather gun holster on his right side, though it wasn’t styled for one of the local pistols, but something else which was decidedly absent at present. It could have easily fit in amongst the people of Landing, especially with those who consider themselves better than their fellow settlers.

“Well I did have to make my way down from my camp after all,” he said, again playing up the drawl. An affectation he’d picked up between their last meeting years ago and likely relatively recent. To better blend in with the people of Ayer’s Rock, despite his only having been in Landing for a day according to Sheriff Jacobs. “Be mighty kind of you all to lower your weapons if you don’t mind.”

While his words sounded civil enough, maybe even fool the casual listener, those that looked at Manfred could see it was just an act. His eyes had no emotion to them, no feelings. Just a void where that spark of being could normally be seen. There was something truly unsettling about the way he just looked at people.

“Give me one good reason,” Orelia growled at the man.

“I am but a humble unarmed man,” Manfred answered, moving slowly to hold his duster and suit jacket away from his body and demonstrate he had no other weapons hidden on his person. “And parlay is a wonderful tradition is it not?”

“Fuck that,” Orelia spat back.

“Lower your weapons,” Sidda ordered. “But keep them ready.”

“Sidda -” Orelia started.

“Now,” Sidda said, cutting her cousin off. Then she looked up at Manfred and nodded her head to indicate he could come closer. “You’ve got your parlay, now speak your piece, Manfred.”

“I know you’re a woman of action Sidda, so I’ll get right to it,” Manfred said as he stepped closer, slipping one hand into a pocket, keeping his right free. “Our patron has tasked you with dealing with Mr Gavalore and at the same time hired me to stop you. And then clean everything up once his imposed time limit has passed. Best I can tell he was looking to solve two out of three outstanding problems by pitting us all against each other.”

“I say we kill him now and be done with it,” Orelia growled again.

“Best be keeping your hired hands from doing anything stupid Sidda,” Manfred warned, giving Orelia a brief look over and a nod. “What I’m doing here is a kindness.”

“A kindness?” Sidda asked as she slowly got to her feet after setting her own dinner down.

“Certainly,” Manfred answered. “You turn around and head back to town in the morning. You spend the next two weeks getting your affairs in order. Or running as far and as fast as you can. I’ll deal with Mr Gavalore and then I’ll come after you. Even promise to make it quick and clean.”

“Some kindness,” Deidrick spoke up, his tone cool and calm compared to Orelia’s obvious temper.

“I have a reputation to maintain young man. And Sidda’s flight for whatever bolthole she’s got set up will be good advertisement,” Manfred replied. “When I take a job, I see it through to the end, but there’s no reason I can’t be civil to those I have some respect for.” Manfred’s eyes however betrayed the lie in that. He held no respect for anyone. “I could just kill you all here and now after all but your boss still has two weeks on her deadline. She can use it to her benefit, or charge into my guns in the morning. Quick and clean in two weeks, or a bloody shoot out with no promises.”

Silence settled over the camp as Sidda nodded her head a few times in consideration. “Just wondering something Manfred,” she said before picking up a small stone off the ground and gently lobbing it at the man, who didn’t flinch or dodge, letting it hit his shoulder and drop to the ground. “Half expected a hologram. You really are here aren’t you?”

“In the flesh young lady,” he answered.

“What if I said I wanted to speak with Gavalore before I make up my mind?”

“I can’t be allowing that,” he answered. “You’re just as likely to kill him as talk to him. With some clever trick too that I just can’t be having.”

“Unarmed,” she added. “Promise to keep my distance too.”

“The answer is still no.”

“I give my word no harm will come to him,” she said after a moment’s thought.

“And I know you’re a creature of your word. Normally I’d accept that and let it happen, but not this time Sidda,” he replied, managing to actually sound a little sad at not accepting her word.

“Well that’s disappointing,” she said, a few more nods of her head. “I’ll give your offer some thought.”

“You do that,” Manfred said. He was halfway through turning around when he stopped and removed his hat, dusting the brim off before putting it back on. “It’s nice to see the rules of civil society still apply, even out here in the desert. Be seeing you around Sidda.”

“Manfred,” Sidda called out after he’d taken two steps. As he turned to face her, a questioning look on his face, she drew her disruptor in a single fluid action and fired from the hip with no warning. The bolt took him square in the chest, ravenous green energies crackling over and through him as it started to devour him.

“But…parlay…” he croaked out as he dropped to his knees, staring at her in utter disbelief before it changed to a faint smile. “Your reputation, a con?” he asked before falling to his left, his hat falling off and into the dirt, still looking at her as the disruptor’s energies consumed him.

“Just so I can do shit like this,” she answered the dying man.

“There’s hope for this gener -” he tried to say before the last vestiges of the vaporising energy cut him off. He was now just wafting away on the wind, a cloud of disassociated atoms.

“Did…did you just kill Manfred?” R’tin blurted out after a few heartbeats. “Like actually kill-kill?” He was scrambling to his feet, having not moved at all from where he’d hidden at the onset. “Great bird…”

“You broke your word,” Orelia added. No condemnation in her voice, just an observation.

“You don’t give your word to pirates, slavers and psychotic killers,” Deidrick said. “Boss just made the galaxy a better place.”

It was Trid who had recovered Manfred’s fallen hat, peering inside it before walking over and holding it up for everyone to look inside, her actions drawing the desired response. Inside was an envelope tucked into the band, the seal of the Vondem Rose on the outside of it.

Orelia had it opened in short order, glancing over it quickly before reading it aloud. “If you are reading this, then you’ve chosen to kill me. It isn’t that easy to kill me, Sidda. That you tried, I respect. You can have this round. Be seeing you around someday Sidda.”

“What’s that mean?” R’tin asked.

“It means,” Trid spoke up, “that Manfred is still a threat. Guess rumours of his miraculous survivals might have some merit to them.”

“Someday,” Sidda said, taking the hat off of Trid, inspecting it, turning it around, and then putting it on her head. It was too large for her, sitting low and flopping slightly to the left, offering a rakish look in contrast to Manfred’s gentlemanly villain look. “But that’s a future problem.”