Dark Cargo

1999 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Seven years before Episode IV - A New Hope

As the hyperspace tunnel began to collapse around the starship, Pellone suddenly had a discomforting thought.

What if there was no one here to meet him?

The swirling tunnel began to dissipate, causing thin charges of static to arc across the ships hull.  The blunt nosed vessel banked slightly as the waves of energy washed over it, causing swirls of realspace that buffeted it to one side.  Pellone adjusted course to compensate and swore at the manoeuvring thrusters, which had obviously failed to keep the ship in a straight line.  As the ship began to travel a smoother course Pellone quickly looked at his near range sensors.

Nothing.

The tunnel vanished completely and the ships hyperspace instigators went completely off-line.

Still nothing on the sensors.

Pellone switched his gaze from the scanner viewscreen to the window, a huge ridged bubble stretched out in front of him, exposing a quarter of the cockpit to the view of space.  A million white dots and a sweeping nebula filled his vision.  He sighed heavily.

With an expression of resignation he slumped back into his acceleration couch, causing the old seat to squeak loudly.  The vessel was old, hailing as it did from the now closed Iralini Starship shipyards.  The Class Three Haruuga trading vessels had been in service now for over a century and this particular one was beginning to show its age.  Exposed wiring and the debris of a thousand food wrappers covered the cramped interior.  A lingering layer of smoke increased as Pellone blew a long strand of burnt particles from a thick brown NixStik jammed between his yellowing teeth.  He rolled it over to the other side of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at the view of space.

I've been stitched up he thought.

He quickly checked the engines had disengaged and that life support had not been compromised after the transition to realspace and began flicking switches to call up the instructions he had been sent.  After three days in hyperspace he was m ore than a little agitated.  He had arrived at the pre-determined co-ordinates in the middle of an uncharted region of deepspace somewhere in the dangerous Quarshannel Sector at the allotted time.  So where was the other ship?

The message he had received at Galli Station four days previously scrolled up on the holographic screen and he scrutinised it carefully to make sure he had not missed a vital piece of information.

Mister Pellone the message read, I have been reliably informed that you used to transport cargo for the He'ke Dynasty out of the Civilian Sector of Dorkaru space.  This cargo, so my source tells me, was of a delicate nature but you handled the movement of it discreetly and effectively and made quite a name for yourself in the Dorkaru underworld fraternity.  Considering this definite good reference I have decided to ask you to do something for me.  A smaller job, but nevertheless well paid.  Be at co-ordinates seven-eight-nine-slash-six-two-nine in exactly ninety-point-five standard hours and I will meet you there with my cargo and payment up front.  I need not tell you that secrecy is of the highest priority.

Thank you for your attention.

Dressel

It was the name at the end of the document that excited Pellone the most.  Dressel.  One of the most respected - and feared - corporation bosses in the entire Mid-Rim.  It was rumoured that he dealt with the more undesirable members of the business community but none of the stories and half-truths Pellone had heard could be substantiated.  He spat the NixStik stub onto the floor and licked his lips.  This could prove to be very profitable.

That was if he showed his face.

As he considered his next move his proximity alarm suddenly started whining. He spun in his seat and looked at a bank of screens to his upper right and as he reached over to turn off the sensor a strange signal started to coalesce on the viewer.

An Akilla Class Hunter-Killer warship began to emerge from its hyperspace tunnel. The huge tear in the spatial matter around the immediate area sending out shockwaves which buffeted Pellone's vessel.  Its two huge weapon clusters on each of the long wings locked onto his craft and began tracking.

Pellone reached for another NixStik, his eyes wide and his loose jowls trembling with shock and even a little excitement.  The Hunter-Killer emerged fully into realspace, its one hundred and fifty metre long bulk almost filling all of his screens.  The buffeting slowed to a faint tremble and then silence as the huge craft took position.

This proved to be more than a slight problem.  As far as Pellone knew these class of Hunter-Killers were military issue only and the chance of Dressel possessing one was remote. 

It appeared he had been set up. 

He reached over to activate his defensive countermeasures and prime his hyperspace actuator when his communicator whistled for attention.

Nervously he pressed the receive button and waited.

   "Welcome to P'ro space Captain Pellone.  My apologies for being late.  I am Dressel.  I trust you received my message at Galli Station?"

With a huge sigh he hit the transmit button.

   "Yeah, this is Pellone.  What the freck do you think you're playing at?  Those hyperspace eddies could have torn my ship apart!"

There was a hint of humour at the other end of the channel.

   "You are three points off the location I gave you Captain.  Considering the age of your vessel I can understand your concern.  Now, we do not have much time so let's get down to details."

There was a faint burst of white noise, as the channel became secure.  Pellone nodded and activated his own scrambler on his communicator.

   "You said you had a cargo and payment up front."

   "I shall begin transfer immediately Captain Pellone.  The P'ro do not like unregistered vessels in their part of space and they have a highly advanced tracking operation.   My payment will be up front, just as we agreed."

   "What's the cargo?"

   "Why Captain Pellone, I thought you were a haulier.  I also believed you were a man of disgression.  I would rather the cargo be left discreet."

Pellone snarled at the receiver and just grunted a response.

After ten minutes of manoeuvring and attitude adjustment Pellone brought his small ship alongside the huge Hunter-Killer, moving the cargo bay docking tube against the larger vessels opening in a strange parody of mechanical mating.  There were huge ringing sounds like the clash of a gong and the two ships connected.  Pellone, obeying his instructions, stayed away from the cargo area and opened the bay doors by remote.  There were a few moments of banging and scraping, which echoed around the cockpit and then silence.

Pellone heard the cargo bay seal itself and the docking tube disengage.  He snaked it back in, tilted the ship and slowly moved away from the vessel.  His communicator whined again.

   "Now Captain Pellone, return to Galli Station and dock at bay seven.  Once docked, open the cargo bay and then wait.  Someone will come along and remove the cargo and then you are released from our agreement."

   "Now wait a second.  What about payment up front?"

There was a moment of silence.

   "Of course.  I shall give you something you treasure above all else."

Pellone began to perspire.  His mouth became dry and his hands clammy.  He knew that Dressel had immense power and influence.  What could it be?

   "I will give you your life."

   "What?"  Pellone would have stood and spat at his cockpit window if his straps weren't holding him in place.  He bit the NixStik cigar he was smoking in half and ignored the sizzling sound as the heated end connected with something on the littered floor.

   "You are not the professional I thought you were.  I understand you did do those jobs in Dorkaru space - with a fifty-two percent failure rate.  Now go, before I target your life support and let you suffocate out here."

Pellone reached for his tactical computer and then stopped as the sensor banks lit up.  The Hunter-Killer had locked all of its forward firing weapons upon his vessel and according to his instruments, were pumping power into them, and preparing to open fire.

He knew when he was beaten, even before he got into fights.  The Hunter-Killer sat there almost impassively, almost daring him to engage. He reached for his control stick and moved the ship back.

The Hunter-Killer didn't move.  It continued to target him as he calculated his wormhole jump.  It continued to target as he engaged the hyperdrive.  It even continued as he entered the spatial tear and down the wormhole proper.

He sat, staring out at the blackness of the wormhole, staring at the blank screens around him.  Depressed, upset, betrayed.  It was not as if he'd failed on purpose.  He tried, he really did.  And there was the all-powerful Dressel, both mocking and abusing his abilities at the same time.

His thoughts moved from the insult to the cargo.  If Dressel was so all-powerful then surely his cargo was of great value.  There was no Hunter-Killer to threaten him now.  No danger of being vaporised by heavy assault turbo lasers.  He narrowed his eyes and smiled.

What the hell.  If Dressel was going to destroy his already smeared reputation then why not take the risk?

He unbuckled and climbed from the seat, disconnecting his flight suit from monitors, cooling systems and waste management tubes.  He kicked his way through litter on the floor and activated the cargo bay controls.

With a creak and a hiss the doors slid upwards, revealing an almost empty bay with one large container secure in the centre.  He stepped over, looking around to see if anything else had been stored but was disappointed to see that this was the only item there.  He walked to it unsteadily, having been strapped into his couch for the better part of the day.  Muscles ached and bones creaked.  He reached what appeared to be the opening and reached for the locking mechanism.

Before he even had chance to review the controls the lock deactivated and the opening started to swing out.  He stepped back as a tall man exited, a breathing regulator strapped over his nose and mouth.  Inside the container was a seat similar to the one that Pellone had just vacated in the cockpit, allowing the occupant to remain comfortable during prolonged spaceflights.

   "What the..?"  Pellone fell on his backside in shock as the man with dark grey eyes, a shock of white hair and a grim smile produced a Blaster pistol, pointing it at Pellone's head.

   "Well, you couldn’t be trusted after all.  All I wanted was to make it to the Galli Station for a secret meeting.  All you had to do was transport me there.  If you had carried out my instructions to the letter then I would have hired you on a long-term contract.  But no, you couldn't do that."

   "Wh…why me?  Why hide in my ship?"

   "I'm an important man Captain Pellone.  I can't simply walk onto a station unprotected.  I have many enemies.  This way, I sneak on quietly and in the process judge you for your trustiness.  At least I'll still get on quietly."

Pellone swallowed and reached for another NixStik.

   "Who are you?"

The man smiled.

   "I'm Dressel."  He said and pulled the trigger.

Histories - A story written by Jonathan Hicks which shows perfectly the devious nature and hard ruthlessness of the ganglord Dressel, the main competitor to Glann Cipple in the Setnin Sector and the Mid-Rim.  This is the first time that we see Dressel have any dealings in the Quarshannel Sector - years later he would become the first Setnin ganglord to have permanent dealings with the denizens of that sector.

Cast of Characters

Dressel

Captain Pellone