|
Reunion 2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks Thirty years after Episode IV – A New Hope “What the hell are you doing here?” Dressel snarled. Anzai Karoo stared at the man in front of him and tried to figure out what was so different about him. His hair hadn’t changed, maybe a little thinner, his face was old and weathered and his clothes still appearing as though they were several sizes too big for him and hanging from his shoulders like robes. Then it struck him. He was out in the open and exposed. He was alone, with no bodyguards or hired gunmen to protect him. He had come to Trefnare, the planet where the friendship between them had first started to crumble, totally alone. As per the instructions. Anzai had been on Chancai, about to sign a deal that would make him a very rich man and enable him to do the one thing he had wanted to do for several years - retire. He had been an old hand at the smuggling business over a decade ago and now that his bones ached and his thoughts wandered he was ready to put the Cannon Angel, his ship, into storage and just relax. He had been preparing to leave his ship for the last time when his communications array had lit up. He had been tempted to leave it but he thought what the freck, one last time. The message had been short and slightly cryptic, but it had been enough to make him power up the Angel’s drive systems again and blast away from Chancai. ‘Karoo. You were once a member of the crew who were aboard the ‘Happy Contriver’. A reunion of all the Happy Contrivers alive is about to take place. Trefnare, Old Veshat Town, in thirty hours. Come alone. Tell no one’. Old Veshat town. Where Dressel and Glann Cipple, who had gone on to become two of the most influential gangleaders in the Setnin Sector, had sold out a Jedi family to the growing Empire to make their fortune. Where Riger went missing. Dressel had gone on to become powerful and dangerous, but Glann... he had built an empire of crime so large it seemed to rival the ruling power of Setnin itself. He had sold out everyone to the Empire to gain more power and failed, had even tried to invade the sector to take that power back. And failed. He had vanished and even though many suspected he was dead it had never been proved. If there was one chance, one slight chance, that Glann was also going to be at the reunion he had to go. He had to be there to see him and ask him why, Glann? You had everything. “I guess you got the message too, huh?” Anzai asked, quickly looking Dressel up and down to make sure it was the gangleader he was addressing. “Of course. A reunion, I was told. If there’s just one chance that...” “Yeah, I had an attack of ‘get Glann’, too.” Dressel glared at him. There was a strange bond between them that had bought them here, to this place, but the ruling emotion of their relationship was of hate and distrust. The last time they had met Dressel had double-crossed Anzai and Anzai had been lucky to escape with his life. Nighttime on Trefnare was always filled with strange sounds. Screeching animals and far off rumbles of electromagnetic storms in the atmosphere. The area they were in was littered with refuse. There were only two buildings left standing in Old Veshat Town. They were teetering on the edge of a long fall to cragged rocks below, crumbled and torn by years of neglect and tremors. Gas escaped from decaying conduits and the ground was covered in a low-lying mist that seemed to slowly creep around their ankles and then over the edge of the drop, a silent waterfall of fog. They said nothing. They had nothing to say. Nothing to reminisce about, nothing to share. All the memories of their good times together had either been forgotten or repressed. All that was left was the stance they both shared; ready, alert, waiting for the other to try something underhanded. Anzai smiled humourlessly. “Is this the reunion, then, Dressel?” Anzai asked. “Don’t tell me you sent that message...” “He never sent it.” A voice drifted from the dark and they both turned, Anzai instinctively grabbing his blaster pistol’s handgrip but not drawing it. A figure came from the darkness, the rag-like cloak, the armour and the mandibled helmet glistening with moisture from the faint rain that was coming down slowly but even now beginning to intensify. A large blaster rifle was nestled across the bounty hunter’s arm as he approached, behind him a figure covered in what appeared to be old scraps of clothing, well bundled against the cool, damp air. The armoured figure had one hand on the other’s shoulder, and as he came into the light from an age-old overlamp he threw it to the ground. “Well, Queed, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Dressel said. He didn’t show how bothered he was at the appearance of the bounty hunter and just looked on him impassively. “Don’t tell me you sent the message?” “I did,” Queed replied. He hooked the strap of the rifle he was carrying over his shoulder and swung it to his back. “I am glad you have both come. Now we’re all here.” With a sharp intake of breath Anzai looked around him. “What do you mean?” “The only one of us missing is Dessio D’Staan, but he is long dead.” “So,” Dressel sneered. “Bounty hunter Queed has got us all together with a lie. Who hired you? Pocock? Wessen? Whatever they’re paying you I’ll double it, right now.” “Shut up, Dressel,” Anzai whispered. He was staring directly at the visor of the hunter. “Oh, come on, Karoo, we’ve been set up. Whoever hired Queed knew of our past relationship and just used it to lure us out...” “I said shut up, Dressel.” Anzai knew that Dressel was just speaking to hear the sound of his own voice, to calm himself. There was something more, something about this meeting that had him confused. “If you thought this was a trap, why did you come?” Dressel fought for the words but could find none. He just stared at Anzai and then at Queed. “Because I’m old. I’m tired. In many ways, I hope it is a trap.” He took a step towards the bounty hunter and held out his hands palm-up. “Well? Is it a trap? Have you been hired?” Queed took a single step forward until he was standing over the rag-covered figure. “In a way, yes, I have been, but my employment with my hirer is now terminated with this meeting. What I do now I do for myself. The five Happy Contrivers sped across the galaxy and took what they wanted. One of them, Dessio D’Staan, left, taking with him money and possible business ventures. The remaining four carried on their ventures but two of them, Dressel and Glann, went a step too far and sold out a Jedi family to make an instant fortune here, in Old Veshat Town. Another member, Riger, found out about their sell-out too late and tried to stop them. He was in love with one of the family members. Dressel threw him off a cliff and Riger died.” Dressel started, his eyes bulged and his hands started to shake. “How do...?” Anzai just stared at Dressel and his eyes began to narrow. “You did kill him...” “Don’t interrupt,” Queed snapped. “Anzai Karoo left the Contrivers, what was left of them, and travelled. His fame with younger smugglers is well known and many respect him. With the money Glann bought his way into Amagad and started the crime empire we all know and lost it. Dressel started his own empire and killed many to maintain it. Including one Luschia Arkensaw. My daughter.” Oh, freck, it’s revenge, Anzai thought and started to back away. He still had his hand on the grip of his pistol but he was loath to pull it free from its holster. He knew he shouldn’t allow a murder to take place, but it was Dressel. But surely, if he didn’t help then he might as well shoot Dressel himself? He would be a murderer by association if he did nothing. For the first time in his life, Anzai was split in his decision. The best he could manage was, “Whoa.” Dressel stepped back. He had gone white, and not from the cold. The rain as coming down harder and the ground was starting to turn muddy. “Queed... I never killed her. I had nothing to do with it. It wasn’t me...” “Quiet. If all I wanted to do was kill you then I would just shoot you now and walk away. I do intend to do that, but my employer wanted me to do one last thing for him before I left his service.” He booted the figure on the floor and he groaned, falling to his side and then struggling to get back to his knees in the slippery mud. “It took me three years to find him. The surviving Happy Contrivers are together again.” No one moved. Anzai just stared at the grimy, rag-covered figure in front of him. “No...” Dressel just stared. He was struck dumb, speechless, in many ways terrified of what the man might mean. But still he found the strength to move forward, each step harder than the last. Anzai followed suite, kneeling in the mud to pull back the figure’s hood as Dressel looked on. The face was old, scarred, worn. There were lines of age in the lines of age, the skin appearing cracked and split like old leather. It was dirt-smeared and caked with substances that Anzai didn’t even want to guess at. But there was no mistaking the eyes. Although his body had failed him, there was a glare of power still lurking within those deep, blue orbs. “Glann.” The face seemed to twitch at the mention of the name. Glann Cipple’s eyes focused on Anzai, and then up at Dressel. In this man’s position any other being would have scrabbled away, tried to plead for his life, tried to bargain with every ounce of soul he had left to be allowed to live. Glann Cipple looked back at Anzai. He smiled. “If I’d known we were getting together,” he said, “I’d have worn cleaner rags.” There was a roar as Dressel leaped at Glann, his hands out to grab his old adversary by the neck, but Queed got in first. His heavy boot connected with his side and sent him splashing to the ground. Anzai leaped back, this time pulling his pistol free and levelling it at Queed. “Enough! What the hell is going on here! Why did you bring him?” Dressel was hacking as he tried to get his stolen breath, trying to get to his feet as Queed advanced on him. He seemed to reach into his cloak for something but Queed kicked him again, this time in the chest. The ganglord snapped up and then down, landing on his back by the edge of the cliff. Queed stood over him. All Anzai could hear was Glann’s laughter. He turned angrily, as did Queed, to look at the man as he started to get weakly to his feet. “Oh this is a wonderful meeting,” he roared and then let out another burst of laughter, which seemed to drown out even the noise of the rain. “Is this how old friends meet, eh? There’s no bargaining, no underhanded remarks, no food laid on? Has courtesy slipped so much in the Setnin Sector since I left? What, is this the result of the Galactic Alliance being within my sector’s borders? Look at yourselves!” his face suddenly turned grim and he pointed at them all in turn. “Look! Reduced to secret meetings in the dark. What happened to the glory of the Setnin Sector? Are there no men brave enough to take power into their hands and shake it? Milking it for all it was? No, there are only weak men,” he pointed at Anzai, “men who dream of glory,” he pointed at Dressel, “and men who are still nothing but players in another’s game,” he pointed at Queed. “I was the man every one of you was scared to be. A man who stood up and grabbed that power. I had the strength to be the one who wouldn’t allow myself to be restricted by a constricting sense of morality or a need to limit myself. No one else could see that, no one else could understand and for that I was cast down! Hated! And now, here I am, watching everything I despise, everything I didn’t want to be, scrabble over the scraps left by my legacy, try to glean something from it and kid yourselves that you came out the other side unscathed. You’re just scavengers. Remnants of my empire.” He coughed and there was a trace of blood on his lips. “You should have left me in the gutter, Queed. I’m ashamed to be here.” Queed stood to his full height and turned to face Glann. He took several steps forward so that everyone could see him and looked at the other three in turn. “You’re wrong, Glann. I’m not here as a player.” He lifted his hands and grabbed the sides of his helmet. There was a hiss as he lifted it from his shoulders and dropped it into the liquefying dirt on the ground. He was bald, with a horrendous scar that ran from his scalp and covered the entire left side of his face, causing the eye to appear distorted and misplaced. His jaw was firm and his lips quivered as they clamped tightly onto a tube that ran from his mouth and into technology that seemed to be fused to his skin. The right side of his face, however, was unmarked, and that was all they all needed to see who it was under the helmet. Even age couldn’t disguise that visage. “I’m here as a Happy Contriver.” “Riger!” Dressel shouted. Anzai almost dropped to the ground as his knees threatened to buckle. Glann just looked from Riger to Dressel and, strangely, he smiled. Dressel already had his hand in his cloak and was pulling out a pistol. Anzai, a pistol in his hand but seemingly limp, leaped forward, noticing that Riger wasn’t looking in Dressel’s direction. “Look out!” Queed’s head snapped to Dressel’s location at the warning and as the ganglord raised the weapon he leaped forward. Riger’s left hand grabbed Dressel’s left wrist as he tried to angle the weapon away. He was successful in directing the energy discharge from its intended target. Dressel, fear etched into his features, tried to bring his other arm up but Riger grabbed that one too. They teetered on the edge of the cliff. Anzai looked down at the burn mark in his clothes and tried to convince himself that Dressel’s shot hadn’t slammed into his chest. He couldn’t feel any pain but he could smell burnt cloth and flesh. His weapon dropped into the mud as he fell to his knees. You fool, he thought, you freckin’ fool. You were always the one to stop the arguments on the Contriver, always hated the violence and the pain. You always tried to stop it. Look where it’s got you. Glann quick-stepped over to Anzai as he started to sag back. He knelt down next to him and caught him in his arms as he started to slip away. “Oh, Anzai. You of all of us...” At first Anzai thought that here, at the end, Glann was going to say something that would bring back the warmer days of life on the Happy Contriver. When he looked up at the man, however, all he saw was a small smile and a shaking head that seemed to say, I told you so. Riger and Dressel stared at Anzai as they struggled on the precipice. Riger turned to Dressel, his heart on fire. Dressel simply couldn’t believe what he had done, but at this moment he was more fearful for his own life. He stared at Riger, stared into the eye that could still see, stared at the half-man he had tried to kill. “How...” “I was found by my employer, broken and bleeding. He repaired me in exchange for the chance to live and work for him, but always I thought of you. That look on your face when you grabbed me, threw me off this very cliff! You sold out my lover’s family, you bastard! I had a love, a daughter, and you took her away from me. And then Luschia... Luschia! Even my boss knew it was time to cut me loose. I wanted you so badly. I wanted you so badly I saw nothing but you. I spent years building my own network, getting spies and operatives to watch you so that I could find an opening in you’re defences. I wanted it to be special! To finish off my ties with the Contrivers! So here you came, and here we are...” “I knew...” Dressel whimpered. “That’s why I came. To pay the price. Somehow, I knew...” Riger pulled a cord on his chestplate and a small beeping sound started emanating from the armour. Dressel looked down, his eyes wild and tearing. Riger was a walking bomb. “No... not like this...” he stammered. “Strange,” Riger said through gritted teeth. “I remember saying that myself... right before you did this!” With one last heave of his aged legs, Riger launched both himself and Dressel off the cliff edge. There was no scream. No sound of their falling. It was as if both the men in that fall to their deaths had committed themselves to this embrace of finality. The explosion that followed was bright and loud, and all Glann could see was a flash of light that faded in seconds, far down at the bottom off the jagged rocks. The detonation echoed around the valleys and appeared to be answered by the roar of a thunderclap in the distance. He looked back down at Anzai, his smile was huge. “They’re dead,” he whispered. “Glann...” Anzai croaked. “Your need for power... why?” “Its amazing what fear can lead a man to do,” Glann said, and watched as Anzai went limp. He held the slack body in his arms for a moment before lying him tenderly on the ground and running his forefinger and thumb over the still-open eyes, closing them. Then he slowly stood and looked around him. Smoke had started to curl up from the lip of the cliff. “Riger and Dressel,” he said to the smoke, and then he looked down at Anzai. “Anzai.” He giggled. It was a small sound, almost maniacal, but it was constant and slowly built up into a laugh. “I’m alive,” he said around the laughter. “I survived! Do you hear me?” he lifted up his arms and allowed the rain to cover him, his eyes on the sky as the lightning flashed above him and roared. “I’m alive! The last of the Happy Contrivers!” His mouth was open, the water cascading down his face as he laughed his joy to the heavens. He was the last of the old breed. The last of the men who had started the rule of the underworld of the Setnin Sector. He had held entire planets at bay, had staved off attacks by whole governments, had hold of power so great even the Empire of old was willing to do business! His greatest rivals were dead! He could have it all again! All of it! He dropped to his knees and laughed so hard that the blood in his mouth became one with the rain and stained his already soiled rags. Hunched over Anzai’s still form, his shoulders heaved as he dragged every last drop of joy from the moment. Then there was the sound. At first he thought it was a trick of the night sounds, but he knew it wasn’t. He tried to curb his happiness but he found that he couldn’t. He laughed softly as the sound grew nearer behind him. It was the soft hum of a small repulsorlift generator, accompanied by the sounds of something large and heavy being dragged along the ground. Small hisses and bleeps accompanied that sound as something huge came up behind Glann. The single light source threw a shadow over Glann that he tried to convince himself wasn’t there. It was the shadow of a large bulk that terminated in a long, snake-like protrusion. Glann knew the sounds. It had been decades since he had heard them He had woken at nights covered in sweat, those same sounds in his dreams and sometimes even when he was awake, lurking at the back of his mind, behind everything he did. He started to shake, all thoughts of happiness gone. His skin suddenly became tingly, his hands useless and numb. A four-digit appendage closed on Glann’s shoulder and he almost started to weep. The long fingers, which he could see from the corner of his eye because he was too terrified to look at them directly, were pale and worn, with the gnarls and the lines of ages etched into them. Glann bowed his head. “I knew you’d come,” he said softly. It is a simple tale to tell. A long time ago, when the Old Republic was still in power and the
galaxy was the playground of the innovative and the brave, there was a large
group of peaceful star travellers called the Muyaden. These people had been
searching for a home in their battered old starships, and as they came into
the Corb Sector, long before it became the Shattered Zone, they found a
planet rich in resource and small enough to be ignored by most. It was a
planet called Klaem. They powered down their starships for the final time and
started to build a new life for themselves. The leader of the Muyaden, a large powerful man called Guta Cipple,
had a son, Glann, who was to succeed him as the leader of the Muyaden. He was
liked and respected by his followers. But Klaem had another inhabitant. There were creatures here that no
one knew of, an alien race that had not been seen in the galaxy for two
thousand years. A race so old that even the origins had been lost to
knowledge. The creature was simply called Longbody, for he had a physique
that could only be described as long and snakish, with a torso that was
equipped with a long neck and long, powerful arms. He was hiding on Klaem,
why the Muyaden didn’t know, and he didn’t like having these settlers
disturbing his quiet. He didn’t want them there. Guta decided it was time for his son Glann to start his role as the
leader of the Muyaden, and sent him to meet with Longbody. Longbody was
supported by a huge repulsorvest, which supported his torso and allowed him
to move about easily. Glann had never seen such technology. Longbody made his terms simple, the ‘droid brain built into his
repulsorvest interpreting his strange words. The Muyaden will leave or die,
but Glann refused. How could Longbody stop them? He was on his own. Then Longbody told him
something that Glann would remember for the rest of his life. ‘Hear this, boy. I have
power you could not imagine. I will strike from the dark for that is where I
live’. Glann did not doubt it. Longbody told him that the threat was not
only real, but that he had already sent for a pirate fleet to attack out the
Muyaden and kill them all. They had seen Longbody and knew he was there.
Glann would die with the rest. He had never intended any of them to live. But Glann, his fear of death greater than all things, pleaded for his
own life to be spared. When Longbody asked him to help him wipe out the
Muyaden. Glann agreed as long as he was allowed to live. After Glann had returned and told his father of the attack, the
Muyaden drew up defence plans using their small supply of Sunwing fighters.
The plans were well conceived and they set them in motion. Glann, honouring his agreement, told Longbody of the plans, and this
information was communicated to the pirate attack fleet. Glann was horrified when his father gave him a flyer’s helmet and
pointed at a Sunwing. ‘You’ll fight with us my son!’ The pirates attacked that morning. As they came screaming from the
heavens the Sunwings started their attack. Then all the communicators of the
Muyaden screeched, and they all heard Longbody’s translated words. ‘You will all die today,
Glann the betrayer. All of you.’ The shock of hearing Glann singled out as the pirates started to
carve up their defence left Glann with little option. He pointed his ship for
the stars and fled his own people and Muyaden, even as he heard his people
die, heard them pleading for mercy on the communicators, as he heard his
father roar, ‘my son! My son!’ Longbody was the dark. And he knew that he would never be safe. The
fight lasted for days as the Muyaden tried to strike at Longbody, but
ultimately they were wiped out. Glann fled to the Setnin Sector followed by another Sunwing who tried
to take revenge for his treachery, but Glann disabled his ship and they
crashed on a moon where Glann almost killed the pilot but couldn’t bring
himself to finish off his own kind face-to-face. He placed him in his own
flight suit and helmet and sent him away on a random route in his badly
damaged Sunwing, hoping that the pilot would be found dead and identified as him.
He used his fighter to attack a lone freighter in desperation. He had to get away from Longbody and he would do
whatever it took to stay alive. He took the ship, the Happy Contriver, and tried to start a new life for
himself. Months later he received a message from someone who identified
himself as L. It said, ‘you cannot hide, Glann. I am the dark. Don’t sleep’. So Glann, in fear for his own life, made his fortune and built his
empire and tried to surround himself with loyal people and high walls and even
a city. If he couldn’t run from Longbody, he would make sure he was safe from
him. And so began Glann’s life of fear. There was no glory. No need for
power. All of that came later. Just fear. Glann was holding back his fear at this moment, although he shook uncontrollably. The hand tightened and slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head. Longbody towered above him, looking down on him. All he could see was the silhouette, the rough shape of the alien as it stared at him with expressionless black eyes. The whole body was pale and it wore its repulsorvest like an item of clothing. It’s long thin body stretched out behind, tapering to a thin, sharply pointed tail. The skin was covered in small markings like hoards of dots that spread out and congregated at joints. “Queed... Riger... worked for you?” Glann whimpered. Longbody nodded. With a gentle tug, Longbody indicated that Glann should get to his feet. As Glann stood he tried not to shake, tried to force down that feeling of severe cramp that had built up in his stomach. He wasn’t sure he could walk with Longbody as he started to turn to head back to the shadows. Is this how it feels, he thought, when a man knows he is going to die? Longbody stopped and turned as he noticed that Glann wasn’t following. Glann looked at Longbody, the tears hidden by the rain. “I’m afraid,” he said. Longbody placed a long arm around Glann’s shoulders and with an almost tender appearance they disappeared into the darkness. Reunion 2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks Thirty years after Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – Perhaps the most important
story written about the fate of the Setnin
Sector underworld. By Jonathan
Hicks, the end of four major
characters is chronicled here – Glann
Cipple, Dressel, Queed/Riger and Anzai Karoo. As the story ends we are left wondering –
who exactly is going to step into the shoes of Cipple, Dressel, Queed and
Karoo? And what does the future hold
for the Setnin Sector? And with the
appearance of Longbody,
known to be a Howlrunner,
what does the future hold in store…
Cast of Characters Glann
Cipple Dressel Longbody Queed/Riger Anzai
Karoo Guta Cipple |