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Close of Business 2001 short story by Mark Newbold Thirty-five years after Episode IV – A
New Hope Tarr Ranth
walked with the gait of a man who had already decided his destiny. His thick arms
pumped, pendulum-style, through the crowds of mid-afternoon Chancai. Past throngs of merchants and sales
beings, past street performers and security guards, skirting the starship
tunnel region of Level 11 with its grimy flow of freighters, pleasure yachts
and military vessels and around onto the main concourse towards the affluent
Northside and Unit 1181 - Grabby’s Gunshop. Ranth paused as
he caught sight of the shop. A
big-time arms dealer in a big-time city, dealing illegal goods on the `clean’
side of town, Ranth had never understood how Grabby had remained above the
law while trading on the Northside.
The Southside of Chancai historically had far more relaxed attitudes
to the underworld leanings of the Setnin Sector, even under the oppressive
regime of the Empire. In these days
of the Ki-Ki invasion and the supposed safety of the Galactic Alliance he
better understood the situation.
Nevertheless, Grabby Cap was a man with many contacts, many friends
and many stories. And if nothing
else, Tarr Ranth enjoyed a good yarn. He approached
the Gunshop and nodded in acknowledgement as a customer left the
premises. He thought he recognized
the woman, but put the notion aside as he entered and waited by the
doorway. Grabby was finishing with
another customer and raised his eyebrows in greeting as he noticed Ranth. The broad ex-bounty hunter nodded and
waited patiently, his Jedi robes swirling in the air-conditioned breeze. He stepped aside again as the latest
customer left the shop and moved to the counter. Grabby wedged the fat cigar back into his mouth and ran his
stubby fingers through his thinning hair.
An eyebrow arched as he gave Ranth a long look. “Jedi Knight or fancy dress?” Ranth returned
the arched eyebrow, albeit with less inherent humour and placed his
palms on the counter. “Jedi Knight.” He allowed himself a brief smile. “As if you didn’t know.” Grabby nodded
and shifted on his stool, the green haze of his cigar wafting away to the air
ventilation. “Not much gets past me. Especially when it concerns one of my best
customers.” Tarr Ranth
leaned in and drew a long breath. “It’s about my custom I wish to discuss.” Grabby cocked
an ear and frowned. “What, something not meet your
satisfaction?” He nodded at the Jedi
garb Ranth was wearing. “What’s the
matter Ranth? Those robes make you go
soft?” Tarr Ranth
chewed the inside of his mouth. He
knew Grabby was testing his admittedly low reserves of humour, but still the
subtle dig gnawed at him. Relax
Tarrion, he told himself.
Remember what Master Zeboden showed you. Words only wound if they harbor the truth. He leaned in to
Grabby. “I’ve come to clear my account. In full.” Grabby raised
his eyebrows and leaned back, an expression of surprise running across his
ageing features. No one cleared their
account in full, at least none of his customers. Grabby had earned his reputation as one of the best gunsmiths
in the Mid-Rim for a reason – satisfaction or your money back. But so far in his career he’d had few
reasons to do that. Ranth, coming
into his shop dressed like a Tusken Raider with a store card, canceling one
of the largest and most regular accounts Grabby had on his books, well. That simply wasn’t one of the ingredients
for a good day. “I’m assuming there weren’t any problems
with the last delivery. The
EL-44’s?” He smiled. “You’re usually not backwards in coming
forwards when it comes down to ordinance.”
He nodded slowly in thought.
“You have a certain…reputation.” Ranth fixed
Grabby with a stare. “And what `reputation’ would that be
then?” “Being a stickler for the rules.” He grinned “Don’t be offended Tarr.
It’s part of your charm.” “My reputation notwithstanding, I no
longer require armament, in any quantity. I’m a Jedi, not a bounty
hunter.” He patted the lightsabre
that hung from his belt, gleaming in the subdued light of the Gunshop. “This is all the armament I need.” “Pity,”
Grabby sighed. “I do blasters,
blas-laz’s, rifles, force-pikes, stun guns, even projectile weapons. But I don’t do much in the way of
lightsabres.” Ranth reached
into the utility pouch on his belt and removed a cred stick. Holding it up in the light he handed it
over to Grabby. The gunsmith took the
cred stick, noting that it was full and swiped it through the cash register. “You know Tarr, you’re leaving behind a good
career and a good profession. Guys
don’t often build up a reputation like you’ve got and simply walk away.” He handed the cred stick back to Ranth,
the account paid in full. “They
usually get carted away in a box.” Ranth secreted
the stick back into its pouch and seated himself on the stool next to
him. Grabby had made some salient
points that gave him pause for thought.
No, not many bounty hunters had the opportunity to step away from life
on the lanes and grasp the chance of a new start with a vice-like grip like
Ranth had in recent years. He’d
always had the sway of the force in his life, the influence of its power and
majesty sitting stage right, just out of eyesight, waiting to infuse itself
into his life and take hold. Decades
had passed, decades of the hunt and the chase…and the kill. But Tarr Ranth had waited until his sixth
decade to truly mature and become the man he was destined to be. And now he had arrived at the departure
gate that would lead to the next chapter of his life. But the past,
like a specter ordained to haunt and pester him, refused to fade away. “I’ve seen my share of boxes. I feel like I’ve lived in one for
years.” He breathed deeply. “This war, this invasion. I have influence now. I can help. It’s why I became a Jedi.” Grabby snorted
a laugh and leaned back, taking the cigar out of his mouth and reaching a
hand under the counter to grab two glasses and a bottle of unidentified
alcohol. Ranth watched with interest
as Grabby poured two shots of the black liquid and nudged one over to the
ageing Jedi. Ranth looked at the shot
glass, then to Grabby, then back to the glass again. “Listen Ranth, I’ll be offended if you
don’t share a glass with me. You’ve
been my customer for over forty years, and if I know anything about Jedi one
thing they don’t do is catch up with friends and chat about the old
times.” He raised the glass. “We
might never meet again. Let’s share a
drink and salute the past.” Ranth, against
his better judgement, took the glass and snatched it down. The drink was surprisingly sweet and
reminded him of a childhood beverage his family aide Li’Tur used to prepare
for him. Pleased by the taste and the
memory he offered the glass for a refill.
Grabby half-smiled and obliged. “Do you remember the days when all this,”
Grabby swept an arm around the shop.
“All this here was like a candy shop and you were the biggest kid with
the sweetest tooth?” Ranth sipped
again from the glass and nodded. “I do.
The first weapon I brought from you was a modified ES-62, Gaveera
Series. With a shortened stock and –
“ “ – A dart shooter installed to surprise
the locals.” Finished Grabby, nodding
in genuine warmth at the memory. “I
got a lot of time for the ES-62.
Never had one go down on me, in the shop or in the field.” Ranth paused,
the glass hovering near his lips and frowned. “Out in the field? If I’ve seen you on this side of the
counter ten times then I’m a Garmon Bats Uncle.” Ranth finished his second shot. “You wouldn’t know a field if you were buried in it.” Grabby swigged
away at the black beverage. “I planted a paddy field on Lydon
once.” He grinned and rested his chin
on the heel of his hand. “You don’t
know about my military past, do you?” Ranth shook his
head and drew a deep breath. The
alcohol was beginning to dull his senses and he focused his highly trained
mind to see through the haze. A
Jedi’s life is never an easy path.
But the pit stops make it bearable. “I thought this shop was as near to the
military as you ever got.” “Ahh, young Mister Ranth,” began Grabby
with a huge grin spreading across his face.
“Have I got some stories to tell you.” “…and then that’s when Feese broke
through the window and all hell broke loose!” Ranth raised an
interested eyebrow and leaned in closer.
He was enjoying the tales Grabby had spent two hours telling him,
about his days as a mercenary and military hero. Going undercover on missions for the sectors top
ganglords. Working for the Rebel
Alliance on covert missions, even operating as an information gatherer for
Jabba the Hutt in the Core Worlds.
Ranth had no idea that this short, over weight, balding old man had
had such an eventful career. He reminded
himself to never take people on their outward appearance. The path to a mans true self is a
winding one. Never take the simple
path when the rocky one is so much more rewarding. “Did Lomona explain what he was doing
with Pocock’s niece?” Grabby almost
spat out his mouthful of cockons in a fit of laughter. “Aww, come on Ranth! The day Lomona explains why he’s bedded a
woman,” He paused and grinned a wicked grin.
“Is the day I’ll tell you about my part in destroying the Revenger.”
Ranth pulled an
impressed face at the mention of the Empire’s obliterated Super Star Destroyer,
taken out by the Alliances’ crack team Squadron Indigo over the world of
Mantin III thirty two years ago. The
members of Squadron Indigo went on to become heroes, and those who died
became legends within the Setnin Sector.
The destruction of the Revenger went a large way to releasing
the grip of the Empire in the sector and allowed her to assist the Rebellion
and fight to free them from its tyranny.
But Ranth was a knowledgeable customer – he knew that Grabby had no
part to play in that escapade. Did
he? “We had to sneak on board in a shuttle,
camouflaged as a Junk Shuttle. Our
team managed to get into the main bulk of the ship through the maintenance
crawlways and then we spread out through the ship, taking key areas and
planting thermo-nukes on slaved timers.” Ranth raised a
hand, shaking his head in denial. “You can’t possibly mean to tell me that
you helped destroy the Revenger.”
He lowered his hand. “A tale
is a tale is a tale, but I have no time for fanciful make-believe.” He drew a breath through his nose. “A Jedi’s time is short.” Grabby waited
for five seconds and squinted at the graying Jedi. “You gonna let me finish this
recollection or what?” Ranth stared
back and then nodded. “Good.
Anyway, we planted the devices and met up near the main bridge. Remember, the ship wasn’t complete so they
had a skeleton crew. Maybe fifty,
sixty thousand. And after a good
fight and a few men down we made it back to the shuttle and blasted off just
before the slaved timers activated and blew the ship.” He leaned back. “And that’s how we destroyed the Revenger.” Ranth had to
hand it to Grabby – if he was making up the last two hours of tales then he
certainly told them with conviction.
But Grabby Cap?
Everyone knew that he never left the Gunshop. To think that he was a part of so many
heroic missions was…ridiculous. “You don’t believe me, do you?” Grabby pulled a disappointed
expression. “And after all the heists
you’ve pulled, all the tales you bring when you buy a new gun. I thought you of all people would give me
some credit for my skills.” Ranth lowered
his eyes and took another mouthful of his drink. What the hell. From
this day on my life is of only the force and my duties. Why deny myself a last indulgence? He nodded and shifted on his seat. “Tell me more.” Night had
fallen when Tarr Ranth left Grabbys Gunshop for the last time. Traffic was at a crawl, the real nighttime
activities yet to kick into full swing.
He turned and acknowledged Grabby as the shutters descended and
latched into place and then he was alone.
A handful of revelers brushed past as they made their way to the
nearest cantina and Ranth watched them enter. He sighed and looked down at himself. His garb was now of a Jedi: the man Grabby had known for forty
years had finally gone. Ranth felt
like he’d left him behind in the Gunshop.
A catharsis, of sorts. He turned the
corner and returned to the long walkway that led to the starship tunnel and
the stream of grimy freighters, pleasure yachts and military vessels that
spewed a constant stream of metal into the skies and the Setnin Sector
beyond. Grimy, constant
Setnin. His domain, run by
crooks, inhabited by crooks, all living by the code. The Setnin Way. And that suited
him fine. Close of Business 2001 short story by Mark Newbold Thirty-five years after Episode IV – A
New Hope Histories – A short tale telling of one of Tarr
Ranths final acts as a bounty hunter and the
moment he accepts that his one true destiny is to be a Jedi. Based upon a story premise by Louis Turfrey, this shows Ranths cast off the last vestiges of his bounty hunting
past and accept his destiny and future as a Jedi. Cast of Characters Tarr Ranth Grabby Cap |