by Jason Grant

The lightspeed chase from Toprawa had gone by the numbers, but the objective had not been realised, as evidenced by the order from Lord Vader which dropped across Commander Terle's desk: despatch a team planetside to recover contents of escape pod. Terle toyed briefly with the idea of going himself. "Right," he said, "we got anyone expendable?"

His aide sighed and punched some keys on his information console. A side-on schematic of the mile-long vessel appeared, showing all the decks, some of them glowing different colours. He sucked air through his teeth before replying. "We-ell, decks nine through thirty-one are not doing anything right now."

"Feel like narrowing the field a bit?"

"They're elected. Give 'em the call."

The Star Destroyer's cavernous main bay was teeming with activity, grey uniformed technicians and ground staff poured over the spacecraft in their charge, and pilots in black pressure-suits moved amongst them.

Above the deck, slatted metal catwalks allowed the crews to enter their respective TIE crafts through the top hatches. Beyond them, the ceiling was invisible behind glaring white lamps.

The half dozen stormtroopers passed through this bustle without attracting undue attention, in spite of having four reptilian dewback pack animals in tow.

Everyone in the hangar was Imperial Navy. The troops they delivered to the galaxy's trouble spots were Imperial Army. Natural rivalry there. Order was maintained by having a structure, a chain of command, everyone knowing his or her place in the scheme of things.

Stormtroopers were a whole different organisation, so it paid not to bother them unless you had to. The deck officer had to.

The young man in a coverall of light grey rushed to intersect the soldier's path, spreading arms to gain their attention.

"Gentlebeings. Which shuttle do you want to take.

The team leader, ZTA-6479, his orange shoulder pad glowing in the bright lights nodded his white lensed helmet towards the nearest one. "This one will do."

The deckman acted as if he had not heard, and continued to grin his cooperation. "Just pick any one."

One of the subordinate troopers leaned towards his boss. "I don't think they want us aboard their nice ship, Seventy-nine."

Seventy-nine nodded at Twenty-One's (DLT-5921) comment, and turned towards towards the Navy man. "That's not it, is it? I feel sure you would be happy to let us use your ship?"

"Of course, be my guest." He actually waved them aboard, watched the animals file obediently up the ramp, and ran to find a communicator.

In due course, the shuttlecraft was heading down towards the planet. It never made it.

The sergeant regained consciousness slowly. He still floated in a warm black limbo state, but he could hear voices. He could put names to them as well.

"The dewbacks are totalled. Five-Five too." That was the weary voice of Beta, or BTA 1773. Stormtroopers rarely bothered with the full serial number when talking to their friends, but shortened it somehow, with the letters or last numbers. Beta was still speaking: "Five-Five was in with them when we crashed, and I don't know how fast we were going, or how much a dewback weighs, but they must have had some momentum on them!"

"Messy, huh?" That was Twenty-One's voice definitely.

"Messy? He's a splash."

There was a final voice now, that of GMA 0113 (Gamma). "We have to contact the Devastator, let them know we're okay. Whose our liaison on the ship?"

Beta's voice answered this, and Seventy-nine listened to their animated exchange.

"Yeah, like they give a stang. Anyway, the duty rep tonight should be TK-421."

"What, Mister Faulty Comlink When The Stuff Hits The Fan?"

"That's him, but faulty comlink or not, he's been promoted. He's transferring over to the Death Star along with Lord Vader's favoured staff."

"Bet he doesn't answer, but I'll give him a shot. TK-421, how come there are trees on Tatooine? TK421, do you copy? No response."

Seventy-nine decided it was time to move, and got rid of his helmet first. The first things he saw were the smashed and jagged window ports, a tree limb poking through and impaling the stormtrooper who had served as pilot, his chestplate smashed like eggshell; although it wasn't egg yolk sliming the splintered tip protruding from his back. Gamma sat in the co-pilot's chair, his young face pale and glistening. The rookie trooper was silent, and the Sergeant left him to it. Beta knelt between the two, poking his armoured finger at the broken keyboard console.

"Sarge! You're still alive!"

"I'm glad you're okay, sir."

He smiled up at them, all business. "Twenty-One, give us a sit-rep."

From somewhere at the back of the cabin, DLT-5921 reeled out the requested situation report.

"Two dead, sir. The dewbacks broke loose of their restraints when we crashed and squished Handler like...ahem. Pilot got impaled on a tree branch - massive thoracic trauma. The computers are no help. Nav-comp says it doesn't know where we are and Tactical wants its Mummy--"

"Drokking advanced response for a dumb terminal." mused the sergeant aloud, interrupting his subordinate. Possible that they were on an experimental craft, which might explain the deck officer's reluctance to let them use the ship. "This thing happen to mention who its mother is?"

"Doctor Dhruv Mahmet." the trooper replied promptly.

Seventy-nine put his head in his hands. He'd once been part of her bodyguard detail on a shuttle trip to the Maw Installation near Kessel. DSI Tech. Department of Scientific Intelligence. What had he got them into?

"Okay, anything more?

"Well, apron strings aside, Tactical did have one suggestion: break glass in emergency."

"Good plan." stated Beta caustically, indicating the viewports. "Has it seen them lately?"

"It doesn't mean the window, moron." Seventy-nine rolled his eyes to the heavens as he considered that many people thought his brethren were identical, but after a while you realised there were intelligent ones, and those, who, not to put too fine a point on it, were not rocket scientists, know what I'm saying? "That's transparisteel; we'd be here all drokking week."

"So what fragging glass?"

Seventy-nine indicated the controls in front of his dim-witted friend. "There is a keyboard; ask it."

Beta was clearly a one finger per key sort of man, and intoned each letter as he pressed it: "W.H.A.T. F.R.A.G.G.I.N.G. G.L.A.S.S.?"

There was a stony silence as everyone waited for Beta to reveal what the computer's answer was. Beta stood slowly, pulling the black blaster carbine from its hip scabbard.

Gamma flinched and went ballistic as the green laser bolt reduced the keyboard to slag and tiny shrapnel pieces bit into his face. He launched himself out of the chair at his colleague, smacking full tilt into his sergeant's outstretched and immoveable arm. Seventy-nine still had it where it counted, shoving himself onto an intercept course as soon as he had seen the younger man tense.

Beta swung his E-11 to cover his attacker, but dropped it in the next instance. Stormtroopers didn't shoot their own.

"What did it say?!" Seventy-nine demanded after catching his breath.

"Called me a moron." Beta admitted ruefully.

Seventy-nine was definitely impressed. How did it know? "Did it say anything else?"

"Yeah, look for a glass panel on the wall to the right." He glanced about himself, spotting a likely candidate. "Got it."

Seventy-nine looked on as the trooper put an armoured fist through the glass square, and extracted a small several page booklet. He flicked to the first page and read aloud from it. "`Congratulations on purchasing this experimental trans-dimensional craft. In the event of an emergency, the craft will automatically return to the host vessel and dimension after three days have elapsed, so feel free to explore your new environment before the allotted time.'" Beta paused, his finger marking his place. "`In the event of another emergency, please break second glass panel...'"

"Found it," sang Twenty-One's voice from the rear somewhere. "you want it broken?"

"`Yep, that's it,'" said Beta, still reading from the book, "`the one with the self-destruct button behind it.'" There was another silence.

"Well." The sergeant voiced the general consensus. "Guess we won't be breaking that one for a while."

The team leader led his reduced squad through the forest of tall dark trees. There wasn't much daylight left, and what there was hardly penetrated the tree cover. Their hand scanners clinched the deal. This environment was way too moist to be anywhere on Tatooine. They were definitely on the wrong planet.

A thick ground covering of red and brown leaves stained their white footwear, but otherwise they were quite clean. They had shucked the extra sandtrooper gear, and just wore the normal black temperature control undersuit, eighteen-piece white armour, and their standard E-11 carbines. Their helmets were hard to hold, and not exactly suited for use in a forest, so they were left back in the shuttle. Seventy-nine had insisted they all washed and shaved before setting out, and from what he could see, the team felt better for it. Start afresh after the accident, and all that. He kept a wary eye on Gamma, but the kid seemed to be okay.

The general mood had perked up a bit when they came to the trail. A well beaten dirt track cleared of trees and suitable for ground transport. They walked on that for about ten minutes when the first native passed them.

The wooden horse-drawn cart stopped a few metres in front of them as the chubby human driver reined in his animals. The sergeant had seen similar vehicles on less technological worlds where the Empire had staked a claim, but not this particular animal.

The driver, his red cheeks pale with concern and breath steaming in the air, looked down at them as they caught up. "You people shouldn't be abroad at this time of the evening. Climb on and I'll take you onto the nearest village."

The man was as good as his word, and it was not yet night-time when they pulled up in front of a roughly concreted innhouse. The cobbled stone streets connected a rough square of wooden houses. The streets were empty, but there was an air of restrained jollity coming from within the inn.

The Imperial stormtroopers debarked and followed their host into the establishment. Fire-fuelled warmth and human companionship overwhelmed them as they entered, and they allowed themselves to be led to a corner table.

"Some ales for these men!" The driver shouted as he moved towards some friends that he recognised.

The troops had noted a severe lack of even the most basic technology since leaving their ship, and even when the barkeep turned up, his clothing had a clearly homespun look. He put four tankards of strongly aromatic frothy brown liquid on the table, and waited for payment. "That'll be a krona."

"My shout, gentlebeings." Beta stated magnanimously, pulling his credit chip and placing it on the man's rough-hewn tray.

"No money. huh?" The tone was considerably less friendly now.

Seventy-nine handed the man a small polished disc of translucent yellow chrysopaz.

The man looked at it. He bit it. He said, "Is this gold?"

In truth, the sergeant wouldn't know gold if it came with a certificate from the Franklin Mint, but hoped he interpreted the glazed look on the barkeep's face correctly. "Yep, it sure is. Any chance of some food too."

Plates of bread and cheese and more tankards joined the first in quick succession, so quick that everyone got sloshed by the strong smelling liquid.

Seventy-nine believed in covering his butt. "Just call me Captain Contingency." he preened, "Good, is it?"

The Sarge was munching his way through the great tasting cheese when the innkeeper appeared once again by his side. He glanced up questioningly.

"Sorry to interrupt your meal, Captain."

Seventy-nine grinned, not realising the civilian had heard his little comment. "No problem, what can I do you for?"

"Sir, the young lady over there would like to hire your services for the next two days."

"In what capacity?" Seventy-nine didn't even look, having clocked the only female customer already. She was a lithe pretty young thing in a long dress, warm shawl of rich material, and her hands were clasped on her lap inside some little furry item, presumably meant to keep them warm.

"Escorts and bodyguards."

"And the young lady believes her life to be in danger?"

"Yes indeed. She has been invited to the chateau on the hill."

Seventy-nine thought about this. "I'm probably missing something, but that doesn't sound so bad."

The man made the sign of a cross over his waistcoat, and his voice dropped to barely a whisper. "His driver will be coming."

The sergeant noted the background noise fall to fearful silence, and looked round warily. "Oh yeah?"

The innkeeper jumped as his response was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

"Well this skel's got you abos' running scared." Seventy-nine noted, then suddenly belched and tasted cheese. "Sorry," he waved an apology at his new host. "hadn't you better answer the door."

"H-His carriage awaits." The man stammered his answer, fear evident in his whole demeanour. Darth Vader generated this kind of fear, so the stormtrooper recognised the signs.

"Whose carriage?"

"His driver won't be kept waiting, make your decision now. I beg you!"

Seventy-nine shook his youngest by the shoulder, and indicated to the team that they were taking the assignment. The young lady was already up and heading for the doorway. All the other customers stayed where they were, avoiding eye contact as the five filed outside.

Waiting for them was a stagecoach of jet black. Glass windows were etched with gold filigree; four large black wheels as high as each trooper. The whole contraption was drawn by half a dozen black steeds, plumes of the same colour rising off their heads.

The sergeant stood and stared. He had not touched more than half a flagon of the strong ale, and he had failed to hear the carriage's approach. There was no way these horses could have made it across those cobbles without him hearing them. Did the thing have stealth mode or what?

Ahead of him, the lady greeted the short driver, and allowed her small cases to be slung onto the back of the vehicle. As she lifted her skirts and climbed the couple of steps to enter the coach, she indicated her new companions: "Captain Contingency and his men will be riding with me."

The driver stepped into the limited glow coming from the now-forgotten inn's windows, and the stormtrooper took a step backwards. The short hunchbacked individual was a terrible specimen, his face alone a veritable battle field for supremacy.

Gamma, standing only with the aid of Twenty-One's supporting arm, put the sergeant's thoughts into slurred words. "You are one ugly little mynock."

"I understood that the lady would be travelling alone." the driver commented, ignoring the drunkard.

"You understood wrong, matey." The sergeant followed his employer into the carriage, and turned to help Gamma onto a seat. Beta and Twenty-One boarded the coach as well, and the cab driver slammed the door after them.

As they set off and left the little town, the woman finally spoke:

"Captain, I must thank you and your men for agreeing to accompany me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Maria Van Helsing."

"How charming!" If Ms Van Helsing thought there was anything strange about their names, as a proper Englishwoman she was too polite to comment.

As the coach ride became faster and bumpier, the sergeant got to the main question of the evening. "Where are we off to then?"

Maria seemed to steel herself for a negative response and raised her chin, purposefully meeting his curious gaze: "Sir. I am a vampire hunter, and we are going to Castle Dracula."

"And this Dracula is what, a protester against blood sports?"

Seventy-nine watched her cheeks colour and feared he might have said the wrong thing, but seeing as he was on the wrong plane of reality anyway, that was hardly surprising.

"Captain, are you saying you have never heard the legends of the vampire? They are the Undead!"

"Makes sense," the Imperial reckoned, "if they weren't alive there would be little point in hunting them."

"They are not alive either."

This caught him off-guard. "Not dead, but not alive either? That's a new one."

"No. A state inbetween."

"Pardon my ignorance, but what is the state between life and death?"

"Someone badly in need of an ambulance." Beta quipped, his companions sniggering.

"You shut up." Seventy-nine ordered with a smile, "I'm trying to think here."

Gamma stood unsteadily, gripping the sides to keep from falling over. "I'm sorry, that ale has gone right through me. I need to-"

Maria's face crimsoned, and she interrupted him, saying, "Just bang the roof and shout for the cabbie to stop."

They tried that, but to no avail. A pained expression came over the younger man's face, which the sergeant fully understood. Their armoured suits were not the quickest items to take off in an emergency, so had waste dispersal facilities fitted as standard. His rookie had probably been using that facility for the last half hour, and now that he was thinking about it, he could hear the barely audible pinging which the suit emitted to announce that it was full. Those had been large tankards.

"I'll stop him." Twenty-One announced, pulling his laser carbine.

"You can't shoot him, the coach will crash!" Maria warned him.

"Oh don't worry, I'm sure the anti-concussion shield and acceleration compensators will kick in okay."

"I don't think so." Gamma stated, biting the words out as his self control was being tested to the limit. "But whatever you do, please hurry the frag up."

Twenty-One pulled the window down, exposing everyone to frosty night air, and hauled himself through it, reaching hand over hand for the front of the vehicle. The bottom half of his legs were still inside when his body stopped moving.

Everyone looked sharply upwards as the ultrasonic humming blade of his vibroshiv poked a hole through the wood and silken upholstery.

"My goodness, what does your man think he's doing?!"

"Search me." The sarge waited. The coach's speed had not abated, and the horses outside seemed to be galloping as wildly as before. Just as he got impatient, Twenty-One's mouth arrived at the fresh hole. His voice echoed into the small compartment.

"We've got problems!"

"What is it?"

"Hang on, I'm making a list."

Wind whistled through the hole for a couple of moments while the stormtrooper took a quick look around. His lips returned to the hole. "Okay, One. There is no driver up here."

You can imagine the response to that, but the soldier was still talking: "Two, there's a bottomless ravine on this side of the trail and I'll bet there is one on the other side too. Three, we're being chased by a bunch of howling things with yellow glowing eyes."

Stang. "Anything else?" Seventy-nine asked.

"Isn't that enough?"

"Just answer the drokking question." The sergeant's voice was little more than a dangerous growl. This wasn't the moment for his men to start second-guessing him.

"No, nothing else sir." The trooper pulled his legs out of the carriage and climbed into the driver's seat.

Seventy-nine followed as far as the door, and glanced out the window himself, gazing back along the road. Sure enough, a pack of what looked suspiciously like nashtah hunting beasts was following, howling their appreciation at what he fervently hoped would not turn out to be Meals on Wheels.

"I hate nashtahs."

Maria squeezed past him, her body touching his, but whatever qualms she had about snuggling up close to a man she hardly knew were deflected by the cold Impervium armour. She followed his gaze. "As I thought. Timber wolves. Man-eating probably."

Wisps of white vapour caught his attention, and he twisted his head to look forward.

"Where did this mist come from?" he demanded.

Maria sat back down beside Beta, who was now checking the charge on his E-11 blaster. "I think we are getting close to the castle. The wolves, the mist, everything fits."

Seventy-nine looked back into the carriage, and banged his fist on the roof, waiting till Twenty-One appeared at the hole he had gouged.

"Okay listen up. Gamma, as soon as we hit the chateau, you run for the front door and get it open. We'll need to shut it behind us so no concussion grenades."

"Aye sir."

"Ms Helsing?"

"Maria, please."

"Maria, can you run in that dress?."

"Well, I guess-"

"That's a no then. Okay stick with me. You too, Beta. Shoot anything that looks hostile. Heavy stun force only."

"Right."

"What about me?" asked Twenty-One from topside.

"Those timber wolves will overrun us as soon as we stop anywhere. Lay down covering fire with the incinerators and fall back by squads to the A.P.C."

"What?"

"Sorry," Seventy-nine half smiled as he apologised. "line from a film. Always wanted to say it. Lay down covering fire to prevent any wolves getting too close, and as soon as we get to the castle, hit the ground running."

"Got it."

Maria fawned. "The ability for brevity in a situation like this is a sign of a good commander."

"It's the sign of a pillock."

The Sarge looked over to Gamma. "You're just upset you cannot use the Little Clone's Room."

Twenty-One's voice came through the hole: "Standby, we're just heading into the courtyard now. Going up a wide gravel path, and-"

The coach stopped, the horses silent, waiting patiently.

There was no signal to move, the door nearest the stone steps, and Gamma hit the bricks. He fired his blaster carbine at the big oak doors in an attempt to blast them open.

The sergeant stepped out next turned and gathered an armful of legs and skirts and threw Maria over his shoulder; then with Beta running interference, he sprinted for the steps. Behind them, was the sound of Twenty-One's E-11 cracking green laser bolts at their pursuers.

Gamma arrived at the doors, banging an armoured fist. "Open up, in the name of the Emperor!"

There was the sound of bolts being thrown, then they were pulled aside by a friendly faced woman; blinking in the warm yellow light which silhouetted her, Gamma caught a quick impression of ruddy cheeks and frills before he put her down with a stun blast.

Even before the concentric blue rings dissipated, he had cased the joint, taking in the wide carpeted staircase to the right, and the ornately architectured hall to his left, then back outside to his friends.

"Area's secure." he reported as the two troopers and Maria arrived. Twenty-One arrived a moment later, following instructions although the wolves had failed to give chase within the chateau's gates. Seventy-nine bent forward, popping the lady back onto her feet, then turned and slammed the door shut, putting his weight against it. His two subordinates joined him.

He looked down, spying the limp woman at their feet.

"Who's that?"

Gamma shrugged. "Probably the housekeeper; she opened the door for me."

"Tell me you only stunned her."

"Don't worry, she'll be fine."

Maria knelt beside the older woman, taking a small brown phial from her faded paisley carpetbag. The Imperials looked on dubiously, knowing what an E-11 on stun force did to a a victim's neural net. The smelling salts had initial success, though she conked out again after treating them to a passable impression of Threepio at Bespin: "Oh you poor ducks, you must be frozen--- oh no, I've been shot! Ugh."

The voice came from the top of the red-carpetted staircase, and all gazes turned that way. The speaker was an elegant dark-haired gentleman dressed for dinner: black tuxedo and trousers, violet cravat at the neck of his white shirt, black cape over his shoulders, lined with a rich crimson silk. He started to descend, almost seeming to glide town the steps, till he arrived in front of Maria She stood, trembling a bit.

She pulled her skirt up to permit a slight curtsie. "Th-thankyou for inviting me. These are my e-escorts."

Gamma shuffled his feet and stifled a grin, but otherwise did not react, satisfied to let his sergeant and the woman handle this.

Seventy-nine nudged Maria with his elbow, and said, "It's okay, we ate at the tavern, and we're real, real tired." He put on a show of yawning, stretching his arms above his head. "Just show us our rooms, and we'll see you tomorrow morning."

Dracula seemed distracted, but didn't argue the matter, still looking down at his housekeeper, a thoughtful expression on his brow. He jerked a hand vaguely towards the staircase. "Your rooms are already prepared."
Maria seemed to recover her composure a bit, and insisted on helping the housekeeper to her bed. Seventy-nine tried hauling her towards the staircase, but when a Van Helsing woman switches into that Florence Nightingale mode, a clone from the rough end of a Spartii cylinder really has no chance.

As the guilty party, Gamma found himself roped into a tour of the fragging castle, holding the "patient" under the armpits while Maria took the feet. His team-mates trotted after them, watching their vampire host warily.

Frag knows how the Count knew, but there were five rooms ready on the first landing, each with a single double bed inside.

Maria was billeted inside the first one, with ZTA 6479 and BTA 1773 standing guard outside in the hallway, taking the first shift. GMA 0113 and DLT 5921 claimed their own rooms, and Gamma for one planned to catch up on some serious sleep till it was time for a shift change.

The situation with the timber wolves was the only sign of any apparent danger thus far, but for some reason Seventy-nine had not wanted to prolong the Maria/ Dracula encounter more than absolutely necessary.

Within his sparsely furnished room, Gamma had already set his pieces of armour to one side of the great four-poster bed, and crashed out onto the soft body-hugging surface. He still wore the black undersuit, which stormtroopers relied upon so much that they rarely removed them without a specific Imperial edict ordering them to do so.

He closed his eyes and relaxed.

Around him, the room seemed to grow smaller. It was lit only by a couple of candles on the bedside table, so there was a serious encroachment of darkness on the little circles of light. The tiny flames flickered and shadows jumped around erratically.

It was not long though before he began to feel strangely uncomfortable, the atmosphere really getting to him, as if he was no longer alone.

Reluctant to open his eyes, Gamma was a little surprised to feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. It was a new experience, fear not being something a stormtrooper experienced often.

Finally he could resist the urge no longer, and he glanced upwards, instinctively rolling off the bed with a cry, the woman who had been floating horizontally above him descending into the spot he had just vacated, her face slamming into the abandoned pillow and ripping it to shreds, bits of fluffy down clinging to her blood red lips and abnormally long incisors.

She knelt up, clad only in a tattered dirty green negligee, and hissed at him; he dashed for the ornate chair in the far corner, on which nestled his precious E-11 blaster rifle. Once out of his sight she vanished, to reform directly in his path. To him, it seemed as if one of the shadows had solidified, and he ran full tilt into her chest.

He managed to dodge to one side before her pale arms could entrap him, making a last desperate dive for his weapon, his gloved hands grasping the butt as the vampiress' talons closed over his hair, snapping his head back painfully.

He was sighting along the E-11's barrel and ready to waste the bitch when she pounced!

She was faster than he expected, and in spite of his hastily fired shots, bowled him over. He jammed his right boot into her midriff and kicked out in a desperate stomach throw, tossing her over his head and out of sight.

He was up and she was back, leaping on him and brushing her fangs against the slick black plastic protecting his neck. Twenty-One twisted, quickstepping round to her left side and physically barged her sideways so she fell across the crumpled bed. A hastily activated concussion grenade followed her and he was out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

A floor-shuddering blast took the stormtrooper down to his knees, but what came next almost gave the poor clone a cardiac!

The centre of the door splintered and broke apart, a great man thick psuedopod unrolling across the flagstones, and flailing blindly in all directions. It was pale white, with pink suckers ranged across the underside.

He almost swallowed his tongue, he was so scared! Somehow he had the presence of mind to retreat to the side of the breached doorway, out of reach of the grasping tentacle, hardly daring to imagine what it's owner must look like. In fact, he was too upset to think straight.

"You wanna escalate?" he yelled through the broken door. "I can fraggin' escalate too!" He unclasped and pulled away the whole of his utility belt, the loop of white blocks containing incendiaries, concussion and stun grenades, and lobbed the whole lot inside.

The remainder of the squad had descended several dozen steps in almost total darkness until they were unsure of their position in relation to the rest of the castle.

The structure around them shook heavily, avalanching little streams of sand over them. Both stormtroopers staggered into the damp stone walls, only by sheer luck not tumbling out of control down the stone steps into the cloying darkness.

They exchanged glances as the rumbling died away.

"That didn't sound good." Beta commented worriedly. "Think we should head back up?"

"Uh-uh, we need to get Maria. Besides, Twenty-One and Gamma can look after themselves."

Beta might have felt like saying something, but kept his mouth shut. His squad leader had spoken.

Keeping his back to the wall, he sidled down the steps towards whatever lay at the bowels of the place. His E-11 and the glowlight slotted into the barrel, led the way. Seventy-nine stayed by the other wall, descending about five steps behind his colleague.

The stone steps were narrow and descended spirally, winding around a central core cut from the living rock, but not with anything as neat as a laser beamdrill. The atmosphere was getting moist, and the Imperials figured they were probably getting close to the water table.

"Sarge, are you sure she came down here?"

"You're the one who pointed out the secret passage."

Beta eventually came to the bottom, and swung his gun from left to right, the glowlight sending a pale yellow beam forward to strike the multi-shaded brown of a wooden door. They took positions at either side of the doorway, legs bent, guns pointing roofwards, unsure which of them should enter first.

"Sir? I have a really bad feeling about this."

The sergeant met his colleagues gaze and nodded, licking a sheen of nervous perspiration from his top lip. "Area is no way secure, but we have nowhere else to go. You ready?"

At his colleague's nod, Seventy-nine held up his empty left fist, black gloved with the white metal hand-guard on the back. His fingers uncurled and went rigid in a five second countdown, and as soon as hand was open, he barged the door with his right shoulder!

It was weaker than he expected, flying open to hit the wall, and allowing him to sprawl full length on the mouldy cobblestones. The stormtrooper went with the flow, landing on his side and sliding a short distance. By a 50/50 chance he had been facing the right way and yelled a direction as Beta followed his E-11 into the half-empty and candle lit wine cellar.

Cobwebbed green bottles of indeterminate age poked out from near rotten wine rack along the side nearest the sergeant's head, but that wasn't had grabbed his attention, his weapon a black artificial extension of his arms, aimed diagonally up at what had.

"Freeze!" he yelled tersely.

The Count stood in the middle of the cellar, his hands in turn holding Maria's unmoving form, and pulling the collar down from her exposed white throat. She was being held at such an angle that if he released her, she would fall like a sack of vegetables.

Maria seemed out of it, head lolling backwards in a dead faint.

The vampire's gaze flicked from the squad leader up to his subordinate as that worthy barged through the doorway, yelling commands of his own: "Let her go. Step back away from her."

This wasn't exactly a new situation for the Prince of Darkness. He did it by the numbers, dropping the girl as ordered and waited for the clone to glance down. The impact made her grunt, and then he moved.

Green laser bolts slammed into him from the other's gun, but he slapped it aside to shatter against the wall, gripping the stormtrooper's throat and bodily slamming him up the wall, meeting the clone's eyes and boring into them.

Dracula fixed him with The Stare, eyes changing to an unnatural crimson; "I am your Master and you will obey me."
"Err. No." Struggling to stay in control, Beta's tone was adamant, if not a little insolent; then squinting and shaking his head frantically, he gagged. "Arr frag, does your breath stink?"

The vampire growled and flung the stormtrooper to the floor, bearing his teeth as his ire rose. He would enjoy killing this one. The two main canines lowered from their retractable sheaths in anticipation.

Beta saw this and blanched, but he was a stormtrooper in the service of the Emperor and stuck to his self-assigned task; that of decoy.

Behind the Count and momentarily forgotten, the sergeant started to his feet to when the Van Helsing woman's knuckles rapped his arm. Distracted, he glanced over in time to see hitching up her dress with a handful of bunched linen underskirts.

"What are you doing? Leave your dress alone."

The puzzled clone watched through slitted eyes as she tugged a sharpened length of oak free from it's hiding place. She handed it like a baton it into his waiting palm, whispering "I don't go anywhere in South-East Transylvania without a stake on my person. Use it; it is the only thing that can kill him."

She blew him a kiss and legged it for the stairwell. Sensible girl. He watched her go, and turned to see how his friend was doing.

Beta was struggling in vain to hold the vampire at bay, hoping his squad leader would know what to do. The Count had already shrugged off a volley of laser bolts, and strength of ten men or not, the swift knee to the `happy sacs' should have bowled Drac' over like any other mammal.

Instead, green drool stained the stormtrooper's chestplate, and the inhuman creature sitting astride his chest was close enough that the clone could count every enamel tooth within that fetid mouth.

Beyond Count Dracula's terrible visage, Beta became dimly aware of Seventy-nine's presence, swinging the length of wood like a force stave, it connecting with a solid thwack into the side of Dracula's head.

Beta felt the vampire stiffen momentarily, and the other's strength fall to just that of three men. He shoved his right palm against Dracula's left knee and pushed as hard as he could, sliding the Count's entire leg backwards, and leaving him open to a simple turn. The clone bucked to his right, overbalancing Drac' and landing topside for a change.

Beta sunk a couple of vengeful fists into the stunned vampire's throat, then moved aside to lay full length on the semi-conscious creature's right arm. Seventy-nine arrived and landed with both knees on Dracula's left arm, effectively pinning their common enemy to the ground.

ZTA-6479, the team leader of Five Dewback Patrol, studied the piece of wood in his fist. Beneath him, Dracula's eyes had spotted the stake and reacted, shoes kicking and scuffing the earth, rearing up and threatening to dislodge the two Imperials. They exchanged worried glances and Seventy-nine spun the stick in the air, grasping it at the blunt end, holding it over the vampire's tuxedoed chest.

Back in her bedroom and exhausted from the climb, Maria had had to loosen her corset or expire from the lack of oxygen. She was dimly aware of the strong smell of burning up on this floor, but the situation was extreme enough that she was able to ignore it.

Her attention was on the dark rectangle in her wall leading down to the wine cellars she had so recently departed. A terrible howl had echoed up the stairs, but that could mean anything. Dracula's death rattle or his cry of triumph as he ripped her companions apart.

There was indescribable noise and commotion coming from below, and after a time, the noise ceased, but worse of all, no clue as to the victor.

Eventually, there was the light tread and heavy breathing of someone coming up the stairs. The two stormtroopers emerged from the dark space, first Seventy-nine, closely followed by Beta. Their white armour was smeared with mud and grazed either by talons or impact with the flagstones. Both men were jubilant though and the sergeant still held the piece of sharpened wood in his hands, apparently unused.

Maria put her hand to her mouth, her heart abound with joy. "What happened?" she enquired.

____.____

Seventy-nine stood before his love, chest heaving beneath his chestplate. After multiple exertions - climbing the stairs as well as fighting the vampire - he was shagged. He could hardly get a coherent word out.

"I don't know what I did, or how I did it, but--"

Beta interrupted, his eyes alight with victory, "We deep-sixed the son-of-a-Brubb! While I distracted him, the Sarge waded in and jammed that stake into his chest. Drac' just disintegrated; damnedest thing I ever saw."

Maria's face drained, looking at the two Imperials in horror. "You staked him? With the one in your hand?"

"It was your idea."

"You are not supposed to remove it from his chest! He can come back to life."

Seventy-nine's voice rose defensively. "You never mentioned this."

She threw up her hands in exasperation. "Didn't I say he was hard to kill?"

"Hard to kill, yes. You never said he was a drokking Mysteron agent!!"

"Is...this a private conversation...or can anyone join in." The Count was there, clutching the walls of the aperture for support, perhaps a little gaunt in the face, but totally reformed, his body, dinner suit and cape just as it had been when they had first set eyes on him. He cocked his head curiously, "What's that pinging sound?"

Seventy-nine concealed a smile and Beta crimsoned, coughing to cover his embarrassment.

Beta feinted to his left, attracting the vampire lord's attention, while Seventy-nine pulled his E-11 and blasted the roof above Dracula's head. He stepped back to avoid the falling chunks of rock, and lost his footing, falling a little way out of sight with a angry growl which boded ill for the two stormtroopers if he got hold of them.

Beta came up with a handful of silvery cylinders, having emptied one of the packs on his utility belt. He said just one word: "Incendiaries."

Half the contents of their belts followed the vampire, the hot billowing mushroom of golden flame pushing them backwards from the screaming and burning monster. A blackened shape barely visible within the conflagration, now rolling wildly as it tried in vain to beat out the flames which were consuming it.

Fire reflecting of his white armour, Seventy-nine turned to his employer, handing her the stake. "He'll be reduced to fine ash in about four minutes. You want to write your name in it, go ahead. I have to check on the rest of my team."

They had found Twenty-One tucked under the rubble in a foetal position, protecting his vulnerable skull with both arms. He was badly bruised but otherwise okay, and all four survivors picked their way out of the gradually burning chateau.

The small fires caused in the process of putting down the two monsters had not really appeared enough to endanger the building, but Castle Dracula was an orange beacon that could be seen for miles by time they had picked their way through the rubble and emerged into the chilly mist-laden morning.

Beta pulled a small handheld device from his belt packs and studied the readouts, pointing it away from the chateau. He pointed vaguely off towards a tree-filled valley below the hill they stood on. "The ship is about thirty klicks that way. Once we get Maria back to the village, and arrange transport, we should get back in plenty of time."

THE END