<font:Arial:16>      “What’s this, Johnson?” I heard from behind a rock.
      “Who the hell is Johnson?” I said to the vacant air.  
      “Oh, forgive me,” came the reply, as Stephens emerged.  “I must have mistaken you for someone else.”
      Chase Stephens, the clinically deluded smuggler of ill-repute, was the latest addition to the parade of inadequacy which had marched gleefully across this little world.  What had I done to deserve this?  Burns had obviously scheduled our duel to take place on the day of the greatest Conclave in history, right on a little stopover planet on the major trade route.  I had no idea how my actions in defeating every single Omphr who set foot there would affect the big picture: perhaps I was gaining some kind of reputation for myself.
      “Listen, Johnson,” said Stephens, wiping away a trail of drool from his lower lip.  “I have an important business meeting to attend.  We are moving the Ring of Obfuscation through the Galactic Rift, and I have to discuss the number of freighters required with Mr Edge.  Now why are you loitering around here?”
      Edge.  He was by far the oldest of our number, and perhaps the most powerful.  Hearing his name piqued my curiosity.
      “I’m sorry, sir,” I said.  “I was merely admiring the view and taking a rest before we continue onwards.”
      “Hmm, well Johnson, I’m a little bit disappointed with that,” he bleated, turning his back.
      I was equally disappointed with the fact that he heard my approach with an unprotected blade.