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Bacta Reality 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Fourteen years
before Episode IV – A New Hope It felt like he’d been drifting for years, but Honaro
Desiato knew that in truth it was only a day. The breathing apparatus was tight across his face and his large
bulbous eyes stung whenever he opened them, the thick gooiness of the Bacta
coating and blurring his vision. His
body ached, what was left of it, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t
seem to scratch the irritating itch that was annoying his middle leg. He wouldn’t normally mind but it was his
favourite leg and it had taken years to grow. And besides, this health care business didn’t come cheap. Especially for a mid-field racer like
himself. He knew that his swoop was a wreck, and that the Red Star
Hotel chain sponsored Derrelex II would never swing round the canyons
of Inianjon or any other world ever again. He’d miss that swoop. Chicks dug it. Honaro also knew he’d miss his two lower arms, the two
that had been ripped away by the tremendous force of the impact with the
canyon wall and the swoop that was trailing close behind in third place. His main competitor, a sneering cocky
human called Zugarrenn was streaking away and he’d given the Derrelex a good
few seconds at full burn, reeling Zugarrenn in meter by meter until he could
feel the heat from his flared exhausts.
He knew he was lucky, having the think leathery hide that his species
the Deveer had, and was well aware that it was that skin that had held him
together on more than one occasion. But not this time. This time he had come off decidedly second best, and the
canyon wall, the vanes of the following swoop and Zugarrenn had come away
victorious. And as he lay there in
the burning wreckage, limbs scattered all around, orange blood seeping like
engine grease from his many wounds, waiting anxiously for a med team he
thought would never come, he guessed that his days as a racer were likely
numbered. Despite this, he was lucky in many respects. Inianjon had a first-class medical
facility and had perfected a form of Bacta fluid that was effective at
salving burns and quickening the healing process. He knew he’d need that, as well as he knew that he would be in
this cylindrical tank for quite a few weeks.
His position in the small Derrelex Racing Team would have been taken
now, there being very little room for sentiment on the swoop racing circuit,
and regaining that slot would be nigh on impossible. He sighed within the breather and closed
his aching eyes. Yep, my hot rod
days are over. It was like it was in slow motion but Honaro could see
his life flashing very slowly before his eyes, almost as if he was reliving
it in real time. The thought chilled
him. He’d had many friends in the
business who’d skirted death, and even more who had succumbed to it. His life had been, racing apart, an
unremarkable one and he wasn’t sure he wanted to suffer the tedium again, no
matter what speed it was replayed. But as he opened his eyes slowly, almost hearing the
creaking of his eyelids through the gooey fluid, he could see shapes in the
room. Figures, coalescing into near
sharpness. One figure he thought he
recognised. Was that Zugarrenn? It couldn’t be, that sneering human
wouldn’t bother himself with a med lab visit, surely. Turning his head he could see another
figure, Hurtoits, his team mate and friend.
And the third was surely Driss Cotta, top racer and al round decent
guy. They seemed to be sharing a
heated argument, snapping and hacking at each other, but Honaro couldn’t make
out what they were sniping about. Just
as well, he thought, I don’t think I’ve got the energy to break up a
fight - He flickered for a second and was propelled back to the
race. He’d been lying in fourth
position, his best position for eight races, but Zugarrenns swoop had out manoeuvred
him to steal it. Honaro gritting his
teeth plate and squeezing the throttle he kicked the Derrelex II into
high gear and muscled out the sixth placed swoop that was closing in
fast. Zugarrenn was being reeled in,
even as he tore the twisting path of the canyon, and Honaro could sense the
excitement of the crowd, the roar of the engines, the heat of the
exhausts. He smiled broadly as he
sensed a small victory, one of many such insignificancies that littered his
racing career - And suddenly he was on the winners’ rostrum, but not on
Inianjon. He was back in his early
racing days, when he was a hot prospect, vaunted by the major teams and
offered the stars and moons for his future services. His smile returned as he accepted the
trophy from the perfectly shaped Twi’lek and held it aloft, cheering himself
hoarse as the crowds did the same. He
looked beyond the podium and the two runners up, past the local dignitaries
and down the long, crowded central street of Mos Banely to the distant canyon
and rocky outcroppings of his victory.
Tatooine had always been a swoopers paradise, her terrain a lethal
challenge, and young Honaro had decided to test his skills here on the Outer
Rim. And it paid dividends. He was now a name, and a winning one at
that. Desando Dynamics were after his
thumbprint, as were Assallam Astronautics, two well-established teams eager
for continuing success. He felt
honoured, spoilt for choice, and young Honaro wondered which team would give
him a shot at racing in the Core - `…and
Desiato hits the front with only two klicks to go, surely nothing can stop
the young Deveer now! Driss Cotta is
lying in wait, but it’s Zugarrenn who’s coming up fast on the inside! We’re into the final klick and it’s
desperately close, but it’s Desiato by a vane! Honaro Desiato wins!’ He could feel the exhilaration as he crossed the infrared
finish line, the blast of the horn almost blowing out his hearing pits. Zugarrenn was the local boy and the
partisan Escall crowd showed their initial disappointment, and then gave
their grudging appreciation by clapping Honaro’s victory. He grinned beneath his goggles and
acknowledged Zugarrenn as he cruised past him, both slowing down to a crawl. The cocky human tipped his hat at Honaro
as he dipped in front, leading them both back to the pit area. The Deveerian was first off his swoop, ambling his
three-legged walk over to Zugarrenns area and waiting for the human to accept
the pats and back slaps of his compatriots, receiving many himself. “Top finish.”
praised a stocky Gamp as he moved past, and Honaro smiled in return. “Haven’t seen a finish like that since the
Tatooine Ten Thousand two years ago.” “I
remember. You won it.” Honaro pushed through the final ring of
spectators, accepting a handshake from top swooper Driss Cotta and reached
out his own hand to shake Zugarrenns. “Great race
Honaro. Thought I’d got you there on
the bend. Good holding.” Honaro grinned, appreciative of the compliment. “Thanks Zug,
I’ve been working on tightening my turns.” “Practise made
perfect.” Zugarrenn motioned towards
the waiting media melee. “We’d better
meet and greet. I think we’ve both
got some contract signing to do.” “Sounds like a
good days work to me – “ “There’s nothing
wrong with the injectors Honaro, it’s you!” Honaro waved his four arms in consternation and shook his
head. “No, no, no,
I’m telling you, I gunned the engine and went for the overtake but there was
nothing in the tank. She’s fried.” The engineer raised an eyebrow as he looked up at Honaro
from his haunches and threw the oily rag to the dusty floor. His patience had long since worn
thin. The multi-limbed Deveer had been
a racer for Assallam Astronautics for three years, and despite a blistering start
to his rookie season had slid gradually down and down the starting grid, only
occasionally placing on the podium.
For such a big investment with such bright hopes, Honaro was now
officially a disappointment. He knew
his contract was under review, as did his engineer. And the fuming man was hoping against hope that he would be
working alongside a more competent swooper next season. “Look pal,
my swoops don’t fry, they don’t stall, they don’t jump, they don’t quit. What they do is win races. Somehow you’ve managed to find a way to
make them look like junkyard racers.
This is Assallam. We don’t run
in the middle of the pack, we lead it.”
He gave Honaro a withering look.
“Maybe you can settle for coming in second. I can’t.” “But,” began
Honaro despairingly. “But what? Damn, I sure wish we’d signed Zugarrenn
when we had the chance. That boy’s
got engine grease in his veins.” Honaro stiffened at the mention of Zugs name. Their friendship had turned sour the
minute the arrogant human signed the contract for Desando Dynamics swoop team
back on Escall. And it had been made
all the harder when Zug began taking podium finishes every race. On a galactic scale these Mid-Rim
championships were the lower leagues, but within Setnin and the surrounding
sectors it was prime time viewing.
And as Zugs’ star ascended, Honaro watched as his own sank beneath the
horizon. “Maybe you
should have offered more money when you had the chance to sign him.” stabbed
Honaro, trying to salvage what little pride he could. The engineer smirked. “You got a
better basic deal than he did, but he’s on a win bonus scheme.” He whistled through his teeth as he
retrieved the rag and stood to his feet.
“That boy’s earning five grand a win.” He began to walk away towards the shower room. “Maybe you oughta think about that the
next time you blame my injectors.” “But,” Honaro shuddered and opened his aching eyes again. He was still in the Bacta tank, floating
freely, tubes and leads trailing from his shattered body. He felt slightly better, but still his
missing limbs ached as if they were still attached, and despite the
transfusion he felt light headed. The
room was plunged into darkness and he could only assume that it was nighttime. He was alone again, and wondered to
himself where Zugarrenn, Driss and Hurtoits had got. No matter, he couldn’t spend time worrying
what his racing colleagues were up to; he had some healing to do. Plenty of time for that - “You’re a loser,
I never should have agreed to go out with you.” Honaro ducked the flying piece of pottery and winced as
it crashed against the wall, showering him with pieces of clay and
ceramic. He gingerly lifted his head
from beneath the couch and raised his eyebrow in a submissive gesture. His girlfriend had always been fiery, but
now she was positively volcanic. “Asura, honey,
calm down.” He glanced behind him at
the pottery. “Things will pick up, I
promise.” “Promises, promises,
that’s all I ever hear from you.
I told you when we started, I want the high life, not…this!” She flashed a glare around the plush suite
and turned up her perfectly shaped nose at it. Honaro couldn’t help but frown. This was the luxurious Emperor Suite at the Red Star
Hammill. There likely wasn’t a room
as opulent as this on the entire planet, which granted wasn’t saying much,
but luxury is luxury and this, as far as Hammill was concerned, was it. Asura continued her ranting, stomping
around the room, her perfectly shaped lekku swinging seductively behind her
perfectly curved back. “I’m used to
having everything that I want, to be waited on hand and foot. I shouldn’t have to come down to this!”
she wailed, and Honaro covered his ear pits as the crying rose in
intensity. Gods, now I know why
most Twi’lek girls are slaves. Give
them a taste of the high life and they demand it all. A soft knocking at the door broke his
cover. He stood, moving silently past
his fuming girlfriend and opened it slowly.
A bellboy waited there, silver platter in hand with a flim resting
lightly on top. “For you sir.”
He stated, his eyes expectantly bobbing in anticipation of the tip that would
surely follow, but Honaro’s eyes had already noted the letterhead on the
flim. Assallam Astronautics, his
swoop team, and surely their new contract offering for the forthcoming
season. He closed the door in the
bellboys face, much to the disgust of Asura.
He’d been here on Hammill to raise public interest in the latest
rounds of races, and had done numerous holovid spots. He was tired, but he knew that all that
exertion would be worth it once he opened this flim. “What’s that?”
queried Asura, moving towards him, her perfect legs spanning the gap in two
strides. Honaro grinned and began
opening the flim. “This, baby, is
your passport to a new and better life.” Honaro turned out to be right, though not in the manner
he expected. Ten minutes after Asura
had packed her bags and taken the next flight off Hammill he still couldn’t
believe that the flim wasn’t a new and increased contract offer but a letter
notifying him that his contract was to be terminated a year early. Or that his replacement in the Assallam team was - Zugarrenn tapped lightly on the Bacta tank and peered
inside as Honaro lowered his eyes to look back at him. He could feel the fluids surging through
him, his insides knitting together, assisted by the healing properties of the
Bacta. If he had the strength he
would have climbed out of the tank right now, wrapped a tube around Zugs neck
and – “Squeeze
gently, that’s it, not too hard on the throttle. Now, open her up and see what she can do.” Honaro looked across at his new mechanic and marvelled at
how patient and polite she was. And
attractive, for a human. Her blond
ringlets masked much of her pretty elfin face, and her slight frame bellied
the booming voice that came from it.
Honaro had learned to appreciate her ready and genuine smile, and when
she turned it towards him all the hurt and disappointment seemed a million
kilometres away. If only life at
Assallam had been this easy, he thought as he swung his right leg over
the fuel tank and straddled the swoop, this middle leg resting on the
controls as a very handy fifth arm.
Iieera smiled as she kick-started the swoop for him and folded her
arms in satisfaction as the Derrelex growled beneath them both like a
contented Nexu. “Now if you
don’t get a top five placing on this beauty there’s something seriously
wrong.” Honaro glanced at her with an edge of nervousness in his
eyes, but Iieera bumped playfully into his shoulder to show she was just
kidding. Derrelex had swooped in
quickly to get Honaro’s signature when Assallam disposed of his services,
reasoning that a name driver, however short he may have fallen of expectancies,
would be of benefit. And given time
he could work with the mechanics and tune a great swoop. Building a team around him was what
attracted Honaro to the team. That and the inordinate amount of hot babes that
frequented the pit area during a Derrelex run. The team’s silent owner, a fellow named Jomobol Pocock, would
often be spied at the practise runs and warm-up heats. And now the new season was approaching his
niece Haetzi was often at the track, her young and enthusiastic presence a
welcoming break from the strains of building the team. Honaro grinned at her as she walked past,
hand-in-hand with her uncle and revved the engines. “They sound
perfect.” He commented, praising Iieera’s good work. She shrugged her shoulders in a humble
manner. “Only a Jedi
can truly use a lightsabre. It
doesn’t matter what you fly, if you haven’t got the skills then no one’ll
know how hot this rod really is.” She
eyed him closely. “And you’ve got
the skills. So go and show everyone
how good a mechanic I am by getting a placing.” “Iieera, it
will be my honour to – “ A cold chill ran down Honaro’s spine as a bright light
pierced into his eye, and he opened it just a crack to see what was going
on. A doctor was peering in to his
tank, checking on his response. He
furrowed his eyebrow and then opened his eyes wide to indicate his
alertness. The doctor screwed up his
face and stepped back. Honaro could
hear him speak, but muffled, as if through tar. The others in the room were too far away from the tank for him
to see clearly, but he guessed it was his three fellow racers again. He could see gesticulating, arms waving,
and wondered what could possibly drag them into such a furore. Maybe I’m in a worse stare than I
thought I was, he said to himself.
I feel good but – By the gods, it’s cold! Honaro couldn’t believe the wind as it whipped through
the twisting canyons of Inianjon, buffeting him from left to right, bouncing
him along like a childs toy caught in the swirl of a river. He gritted his teeth plate and curled his
lip, lowering himself down behind the low windshield and squinted ahead,
focusing on the swoop ahead. It was
Zugarrenn again, he’d briefly lost sight of him but clearly Zug had
encountered some back markers and now this was Honaro’s chance to gain
ground. He flicked three switches in
a pre-determined sequence and waited for the redundancy generator to kick in
and feed some more juice into the reconditioned engines. Iieera had been working miracles in
practise, and he felt confident that he could coax even more power from the
swoop that was rattling and humming like a bird. This was the tenth race of the season, and he had been
gathering points like a scavenger, picking up fifth and sixth places and
amassing a modest but notable total.
For a small team just starting out Derrelex were making ripples on a
large pond. Honaro was out to make
waves. He checked his pit computer, and messages from his team
were relayed to him. All systems were
nominal, his swoop was coping well with the cold and the constant spray of
mud that was thrown up from the dry walls, the heat and moisture of the
swoops beginning to slime the canyons with their grease. He was sitting in third place, the Desando
swoop sticking close to his tail. Zug
had been forced to go wide on the last turn and Honaro took the chance and
nudged in even closer, sitting just three metres off his exhaust. Two back markers were fighting between
themselves, causing a problem for the race leaders. But in Setnin swooping there were no rules that said back
markers had to give ground to the race leaders. Honaro and Zugs would have to sort this out themselves. Honaro watched as Zugs pushed his way through the two
swoops, twisting in tightly and forcing them apart, and before they could
close to continue their battle Honaro did the same, tilting his Derrelex
II on her side and blasting by.
Zugs was in his sights now, trying to pull away, his Assallam
Astronautics swoop struggling to cope with the messy conditions, her tune up
more suitable for a dry track. Iieera
had been smart and configured the slower but hardier Derrelex to cope with an
oily, filthy track. Her foresight was
paying off. Honaro pulled level with
Zug, and they swung around the next canyon wall together, side-by-side. The crowds’ cheering was deafening, audible
even over the roar of the powerful engines.
Another turn approached, this time a tight left and Honaro had to give
ground in order to navigate the turn.
He slipped into Zugs slipstream, the heat of his engines buffeting the
loose leathery skin on his face. He
thanked his mother and father for passing on their tough hide and hunkered
even lower in his seat, his middle foot resting beneath his chin. He scratched his nose with his toe and
twisted the throttle, feeling the comforting growl of the engines increase as
Zug came nearer and nearer and nearer… And all of a sudden his life slowed to a crawl. Almost before his synapses could receive
the message that he was in pain he saw the canyon wall swing towards him,
then a thump and a smash of light and fear and pain. Then darkness, before a ripping sound
informed him that the steering vanes of the swoop behind had collided with
him and torn away his two lower arms, then the dark again, then the numbing
sensation as he left the swoop and his middle leg behind and hit the floor
with a thud and a squelch. He blacked
out briefly and regained consciousness.
He could see his severed arms a few meters away, and he looked down at
himself, a battered wreck of a Deveerian, and tried to cry out in pain and
panic but couldn’t find his voice.
All he could think was one constant thought, like a mantra running
through his mind. What did I do?
What did I do? Gee it’s really dark.
Why don’t they leave the lights on in this place? It’s not like it costs anything. And why’s everyone staring at me? That’s funny, Hurtoits looks like he’s crying. Big baby, I’ll remind him about that when
I get out of this tank. And Driss
looks miserable. And Zugs too… Hmmm… Hey, this isn’t right.
Why can’t I feel my legs? Oh, that’s right.
They’re over there. Why’s the doctor messing with the tank controls, I feel
great. I should be out of here in no
time, why mess with things now? Hey,
it looks like he’s turning it off.
Maybe that means I’ll get out of here today. What’s that cleric saying? And what’s with those flowers, why are they there? They look like… Oh… Oh, I get it. Figures. Guess this really is the end of my hot rod days. Bacta Reality 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Fourteen years
before Episode IV – A New Hope Histories –
The story of unlucky swoop racer Honaro Desiato as he goes from
promising young hopeful to big league racer to mid field rider to his
death. By Mark Newbold, this
features Driss Cotta from Jonathan Hicks’ Shadows
from the Past story, as well as telling us that Jomobol Pocock
had a silent interest in swoop racing, funding the Derrelex Swoop
team. Cast of Characters Honaro Desiato Zugarrenn Hurtoits Velix Asura Iieera Driss Cotta Jomobol Pocock Haetzi Pocock |