SHINZON: Dread and the Fugitive Mind
A Tee Bone Man Multiverse Story
If there was a bright centre of the universe, then Shinzon was certainly very far from it. In fact, the area he found himself on the edge of was now called the Shadow Sector for good measure.
This particular planet was called Stavros, and it was, to put it charitably, a cesspool. A large prison transport had crashed there many cycles ago and the local law enforcement had never bothered to recover the inmates. The planet itself wasn’t good for anything more than an open-air prison, they said. So to say the local population were a bit rough around the edges would be an understatement.
Shinzon had not planned to make a layover here, but an encounter with a bounty hunter over Stygia on the way to Mars had damaged his hyperdrive and forced him to take refuge on this slimy mudhole. He needed repairs, a ride or a new ship and he wasn’t particularly fussed how he got it.
In his downtime (which he now had a fair amount of), he skulked around the tavern, keeping his eye out for anyone who looked like they wouldn’t consider his presence an insult to their existence.
Not that he had the luxury of striking up a conversation with just anyone. Since he had abandoned his master, Lord Tyranus, and struck out on his own, he had been forced to keep a close eye over his shoulder. Tyranus had put a bounty on his head, and Shinzon wasn’t going to put money on Tyranus wanting him alive.
But what did Shinzon himself want now? It wasn’t a question he had asked himself before. His priorities had always been assigned to him in the past, and now he was free to choose his own targets. It was a bit overwhelming really. So many scores to settle, riches to claim and people to kill.
I just want to be myself.
Did he think that? It had to be him. Who else could it be? But where had it come from?
Be myself…be myself, the thought echoed.
He’d never really thought hard about who he was before. It was always easy, because it had all been predetermined for him, and he wasn’t even good enough for that apparently. So what was he good at? What did he want to do?
Lost in thought, Shinzon’s attention lapsed, and he failed to notice the entrance of the bounty hunter Los Dianos. Not that Shinzon would been able to name him anyway, but Dianos was quite legendary in this sector for his preference for never taking his targets in alive. His mechanical leg (a souvenir from a previous bounty) squeaked with every step as he searched the tavern for his quarry. Shinzon was unaware as he pondered his own existence, one which Dianos was ready to end presently.
Looking past the bar in the centre of the room, the hunter locked his eyes on Shinzon. Recognising his target, the hunter pulled a high-powered pistol from underneath his black coat and aimed it straight between Shinzon’s eyes.
But luck was on the young clone’s side today, as a drunk patron chose at that very moment to fall back off his chair. The blaster bolt “fated” for Shinzon instead struck an overweight Gliesian. The rotund, amphibious alien didn’t feel a thing, but the sound of the blaster summoned Shinzon from his stupor. He dove directly to his left, behind a bar counter, which took the brunt of a volley of laser blasts, shattering it to splinters.
Thinking quick, Shinzon’s eyes darted around the room. His focus was crystal clear now. He pulled a concealed blade from his boot and hurled it straight at his attacker’s face. It unfortunately struck him with the handle end, but this did stun Dianos enough for Shinzon to make his next move. His eyes darted to a nearby table. He grabbed a tankard of something foul smelling and hurled it onto Dianos’s cybernetic leg. The effect was immediate. The limb spasmed, sparking and smoking as it stuck out, locked at a very unnatural angle.
Shinzon bolted as Dianos fell to the floor, an angry shot flying well wide, and striking the wall by a particularly beefy Alpha Centauri male. Meanwhile, the creature who had had his drink liberated from him was too drunk to know who had taken his glass, but that wasn’t going to stop him from beating the snot out of the nearest unlucky patron. By the time the barfight was over, and Dianos had repaired and rebooted his limb, Shinzon was already in the upper atmosphere in his starship. But Dianos could tell from the trail of smoke that he wouldn’t make it far.
He tuned his radio frequency to that of his partner.
“He won’t be able to leave this star system. He’ll be coming your way. There’s nowhere else for him to go.”
Dianos was right. Shinzon found himself once again descending into the atmosphere of a moon he’d rather not be on. This time it was Frolix 9, the ninth moon of the gas giant Frolix in this system. On Stavros he’d heard stories of this place, and its heyday as a major trading port. But that was a long time ago and the trade routes had since moved, leaving Frolix 9 in poverty and decay.
Breaking through the smog of the lower atmosphere, Shinzon’s worst fears were confirmed. A wide vista of smoke and dilapidated buildings extended as far as the eye could see. There were a few billboards or other electronic lights still operating, but on a whole it looked like it had been an eternity since someone had last put effort into the upkeep of this place.
At least I won’t stand out, Shinzon thought to himself as he brought his Quadjumper down in for rough landing on a free pad. The ship had left more than a few skid marks by the time it came to a stop.
At least he hadn’t damaged the ship any further. The hyperdrive was still shot, but he was pretty sure he’d have a better chance of getting it fixed here. As he powered down the ship post-landing, he made sure to remove the ignition coil and stashed it in a hidden compartment under the seat. Can’t be too careful around here, he thought to himself. It wouldn’t stop a hoard of Tarkalean rats, but a least any would-be thieves would be unable to start the ship’s engines.
He cast his eyes out the cockpit at the miserable sight before him. While it was a stark contrast to the sterile white halls of Tyranus’ labs, it seemed more real than the city he “grew up” on.
He wasn’t here to lay low – or, at least he didn’t plan to. He needed a sturdy ship that was capable of more than just limping between planets in the same system. He wasn’t sure which black hole someone had pulled the old Quadjumper out of, but it was barely holding itself together. He wasn’t holding his breath that he’d get the chance to steal anything better, but if the opportunity came along, he wasn’t going to let it pass by.
Shinzon cracked the seal of the cockpit and exited, into a cloud of steam, only to find a green alien inspecting it.
“Looks like you’ve seen a bit of action,” it laughed.
“Yes,” Shinzon replied, not interested in retelling the story. “And I need some repairs done to the hyperdrive’s motivator, if you’re up to the task.”
The mechanic cast some of his many eyes over the peeling paint and dented panelling and did some mental calculations.
“That’ll be 1,750 credits for the replacement parts, plus 1,250 labour,” it stated with firmness. It placed two of its hands on its hips, awaiting Shinzon’s answer.
“I’ll pay for the parts now and you get the rest once the labour is done,” Shinzon countered.
The mechanic thought for a second, sizing up Shinzon.
“Fine, deal.” It spat something blue onto the ground and held out a hand for payment. Shinzon wasted no time dumping a handful of credits into the alien’s hand and stalked off into the city. He wasn’t going to hang around here in the open if he could help it and, besides, he needed to get some more credits. Lost in thought, for the second time, Shinzon failed to pay attention. The mechanic made his way to a nearby communication panel to make a call, as Shinzon obliviously walked away.
“Marshall?” whispered the mechanic through an orifice. “I think the guy you’re looking for just pulled in for repairs.”
With urgent caution, Shinzon strode through the dilapidated area. The sound of voices drew his attention from the harsh neon lighting all around, and he headed down a flight of stairs into an alien market. Or was it a red light district? He didn’t know any of these species and it was hard to tell. Aliens of all kind were mingling, either hawking wares or seeking a bargain. There would be money here for sure. It was still a little brighter than he liked, but at least he could hide fairly well amongst the people.
He strode forward into the area and began hunting for unguarded registers and open pockets. As he walked, voices from the street leaped out at him.
“Dr. Futurity’s the man for you! He can build you a new arm!” hawked one.
“It’s a scanner, darkly painted so as to blend in wherever possible!” bartered another.
“I heard that Gears singer has been gaining some serious support on the lower level,” said someone as Shinzon strode past.
Shinzon continued on. He was not interested in the petty troubles of the people here. He had his own problems. His stomach agreed, voicing its displeasure with the lateness of dinner. And Shinzon had to agree, it had been almost 18 hours since he had last ate.
He looked around for someone selling something that looked like it had been made today, not that he had much choice. After a few minutes of searching, he settled for some bread (he presumed) from a ‘baker’ who had set up shop in one of the buildings on the edge of the market.
He handed the creature the few credits he had left and grabbed one of the less stale pieces of bread. It tasted pretty bad, but it would fuel him all the same. He sat, for the first time since Stavros. Taking a moment to eat and reflect, he started mentally prioritising his revenge list. Every moment he had to spend in this place made his desire for revenge that much more intense. They will pay for all these indignities and more.
Suddenly, Shinzon became acutely aware of the silence around. Everyone had frozen, a street vendor not even daring to turn the gas down on his now overcooked Scazz steaks.
At the end of the street stood a presence. Burning red eyes, wide brim hat, dark brown coat, he was hard to miss, and judging by the reaction of the people in the street, none had. Including Shinzon, who quickly ducked inside the bakery and held his breath.
The imposing cybernetic visage at the end of the street was Marshall Lokjaw, one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the business. He wasn’t from around here, which meant payment must be substantial this time. The Marshall came from a distant galaxy, and no one knew who or what had summoned his foul presence upon the Milky Way. He had evidently taken a liking to the quarry here, or rather, the payment associated with said quarry. Destruction was his justice, like this world had never seen.
Marshall Lokjaw slowly moved forward, the clunk of each footstep echoing around the street. No one spoke as he slowly advanced through the alley, his roving eye seeing every movement. Shinzon held his nerve, but with Lokjaw determinedly approaching, he needed an exit. And he did find one. He just couldn’t see what was on the other side of it. But he couldn’t waste any more time, so he grabbed a nearby and terribly stale loaf, and hurled it through the cracked glass. This was very quickly followed by Shinzon hurling himself through the window, and into a dumpster below.
Lokjaw’s head immediately snapped to the source of the noise, and he fired his laser beam once, then twice for sure. No sooner had the second blast left the barrel was he upon the smoking bakery, inspecting the damage.
Destruction of premises: 700 credits in repairs. Not his problem. One shopkeeper: dead. His problems: over now. Primary target: unaccounted for. This was a problem.
Reassessing the premises, Lokjaw spied the window, and launched himself there in a flash. His photoreceptors identified wet footprints on the ground below, and he dropped down to the surface with a heavy thud.
Not far away, Shinzon sprinted across the rain-soaked permacrete, not daring to slow down or look back. After what seemed like hours, but was likely only minutes, he found a suitable place to catch his breath: a packed casino.
He ran straight into the building and found a shadowing corner to hide in. But if the gasp of the Ferengi a few seats away from him was anything to go by, Shinzon wouldn’t have long to rest.
He took a peek around a corner and, sure enough, there, in the metal, stood Marshall Lokjaw himself. The robot spoke for the first time, addressing the crowd in front of him in a harsh metallic voice.
“The one who turns him in gets to live.”
Most of the crowd didn’t know who Lokjaw was referring to, and some of them even knew he couldn’t shoot them all, but none of them wanted to be around when he started blasting, and they all immediately scattered in a myriad of directions.
Shinzon was among them, running through the kitchen and out the back door. He followed the path down an alleyway and into a far more industrial area than he had been in before. The harsh neon light was gone, replaced by the smell of oil, grease and hyperfuel.
Shinzon wasn’t fussed about the aesthetics, but he needed a way to fight back (or at the very least lose his pursuer for a bit).
He wasn’t sure the abandoned factory in front of him was either of those things, but it beat running out in the open, so he smashed open the boarded-up door with his shoulder and cautiously ventured inside.
The machinery was in better condition than he expected. Just a little dusty. He immediately ran deep into the facility and hid behind a lathe, looking around for anything that could do some damage. The clunk of metal footsteps outside told him he was running out of time.
And pretty much right on cue, Lokjaw strode in and examined his surroundings. Formulating a plan, he pulled out his laser gun, ensuring it was fully charged. Lokjaw then slowly and deliberately shot every coolant tank on the level. Within a minute a thick steam had completely enveloped the lower levels. Which was exactly where Shinzon was…and he didn’t possess the advanced photoreceptors of an android.
Which left him in a spot of bother.
The clunk of Lokjaw’s steps echoed all around the room. Closer, farther he was always around. And just when Shinzon thought he had an opening to break for the door, two laser bolts streaked out of the steam and slammed into the machine next to him. They exploded in a shower of sparks and Shinzon was forced to creep up a flight of stairs to avoid his pursuer.
Lokjaw continued to prowl, making his way up the same flight of stairs. The steam was not as thick here, but that was a small consolation. What was of considerably more usefulness though was the welding torch Shinzon had swiped from a bench. With a few tweaks to the internal components, he had a laser gun of his own on his hands.
The game of cat and mouse quickly became more akin to a wild west shootout. But for every shot Shinzon sent Lokjaw’s way, he got two in return, which was not a very sustainable way to operate a firefight. Shinzon needed to finish this battle quick, preferably with him still alive.
“There’s something,” he muttered to himself, sighting an option available.
He carefully manoeuvred himself, backing up until he reached a cargo crane. Using the cockpit as cover, he engaged a series of inputs on the control panel. Lokjaw advanced relentlessly as Shinzon took shelter behind whichever parts of the crane’s cockpit hadn’t been blasted away yet.
But Lokjaw had been too busy focusing on the moving organic, that he had ignored the machinery. When the crane arm was on a direct collision course for him, his programming didn’t account for it until it was too late. Which was to say he didn’t notice until he was flying sideways over the railing.
Lokjaw disappeared below the layer of steam and hit the ground with a thunk. Shinzon didn’t feel like sticking around to confirm if his pursuer was still operative, so he swung the crane around in the other direction, straight through a crumbling wall.
Wasting no time, he clambered into it the hole he just made, and crossed the bridge he had revealed to a walkway on the side of another building. Not daring to look down, he crossed the gap like a monkey and ran for his life.
Turning, rolling, diving, Shinzon raced back through the neon-drenched alleyways to the landing pad his ship was on.
The Quadjumper! he thought to himself in relief. His relationship with the ship had always been love/hate, but right now it was a sight for sore eyes.
Breathless, he addressed the mechanic.
“My ship – is it fixed?”
“Yes,” the treacherous mechanic replied. “Now payment is due.”
Shinzon pulled out the modified welding torch.
“I don’t think so.”
“Ha! You think I haven’t had people try to swindle me before? Your ship’s going nowhere without the fuel I drained from its tank!”
“Like hell it ain’t,” Shinzon sneered back. “This is a Quadjumper, it’s got two fuel tanks.”
This was very much a revelation to the mechanic, who sputtered in confusion.
“Well then I’ll take your ship as payment”, he said, pulling out his wrench and lunging at Shinzon. But before he could make good on his threat, Shinzon quickly swiftly hit him with a backhand across the face and flipped the stunned alien around, putting him between Shinzon and the entrance to the landing pad.
The mechanic’s eyes (all of them) went wide with fear as he saw Marshall Lokjaw bearing down on them, laser in hand. Two shots later and he was dead. Shinzon threw his limp body aside. Lokjaw continued to fire, just missing the ducking Shinzon by mere inches.
Shinzon returned fire, and scored a hit on the bounty hunter, square in his chest. Lokjaw staggered, falling briefly to one knee, but continued on his course. Shinzon took this opportunity to bolt for the ship’s ramp.
Reaching the cockpit, he very hastily reinstalled the ignition coil and fired the engines. Laser blasts battered the hull, but he made it. “Launch!” he cried as the engines engaged.
Shinzon’s ship streaked into the upper atmosphere, as Lokjaw watched it go with futility gleaming in his eye. Once it had left his view, he silently turned and stalked back into the concrete jungle.
Eventually the Quadjumper left the planet’s atmosphere and Shinzon collapsed back in his seat, exhausted. He would not be able to survive all these hunters much longer, and the bounty on his head was only going to get bigger.
Then he had an idea. At the navicompter, he keyed in the coordinates to Earth. It was well out of the way, and he could rely on the heroes there to take out any alien threats to him. Such a delicious irony, that one.
Plus, he smiled, he had some unfinished business with a certain Fanboy Mike there.
Earth.
Said Fanboy Mike was in the middle of putting the LOOFAH into long-term storage. It was regrettable, but with fuel prices these days he couldn’t afford to roll out the massive metal beast every time someone robbed a grocery store. And besides, he’d always have Edie Van Heelin’ to protect him anyway. With the last bit of coolant drained from it, Mike closed the doors to the large garage and put in the locking passcode.
Then he turned and ran back to the house. He had a hockey game against Edie to get to, and he certainly didn’t want to be late.
Space.
Meanwhile, across the universe, Tyranus sat in his personal shuttle, fuming. Since Lokjaw had let Shinzon escape there had been no concrete leads on his locations. A possible sighting near the Magellanic Clouds was the best he had, and that was a week ago. Tyranus was absolutely incensed. Jango Fett would have brought me his head by now Tyranus thought to himself.
But despite the great danger Shinzon’s limited knowledge posed to his plans, Tyranus could no longer delay the next phase. He keyed in the communication details of his agent on the Earth. An orangey-skinned man with blonde hair answered.
“How are you? I appreciate you taking time out of your day to talk to me. That is the nicest thing.”
Tyranus did not have time for pleasantries and got straight to business. Time to see if the Martians did a better job with their creation than the Kaminoans.
“Initiate subtext 66”, he spoke clearly and deliberately.
The man’s eyes changed in an instant as a preprogrammed personality took over.
“My lord, what is thy command?”
Tyranus spoke again.
“The Northern Lights. Destroy them all.”
The man replied.
“It will be done.”
Tyranus smiled and turned off the communicator. At least something was going his way. Now to go about locating the renegade clone Shinzon. Maybe he should increase the bounty further. It was a risk though. If it got too big, the hunters would be fighting each other for it rather than doing their job. Given the circumstances though, it would be an acceptable risk.
But the Sith Lord would eventually find out that this was in vain, for Shinzon was far beyond his reaches now. The Quadjumper touched down on the edge of Kīlauea, a volcano in what is known on Earth as Hawaii. Shinzon soon exited and looked around.
Yes. He thought to himself. This will make a fine place to build a lair to hide out in and operate from.
And so the many pieces across this giant chessboard known as the Milky Way moved their movements. Things were in motion now, unstoppably so, and some people were about to become something that they would not walk away the same from:
Victims of Changes!
THE ADVENTURES OF TEE BONE MAN: PHASE ONE – THE SQUIRREL SAGA 
THE ADVENTURES OF TEE BONE MAN: PHASE TWO – THE MULTIVERSE SAGA
THE COMPLETE ADVENTURES OF EDIE VAN HEELIN’
THE WRITER’S ROOM
mikeladano.com 
