Dishonourable Intentions2000 short story by
Jonathan Hicks Sixteen years before Episode
IV - A New Hope Melm sat up slowly, unsure of his location and
what was going on around him. He could see several blinking lights, the faint
outlines of structure in the darkness. There was no other sound but a distant
hum, which seemed to resonate
louder the more he listened. There was no sound of breathing, of the crunch
of boots on rubble as patrols passed. There was no coughing, quiet
whispering, no sense of tension. He listened intently, but no familiar sounds
were there. He closed his eyes and tried to force the sense of sleepiness
from his head. He licked dry lips. “Hello?” There was a distant whine and a voice replied, “The
prisoner is awake.” That voice. The Imperial prison guard. He was still on the prison ship.
“Lights.” The two strips of illumination embedded into the
ceiling buzzed to life and lit up the cell. Melm looked around with mild
confusion and held a hand to his aching head. “How.. how long was...”
“Seventeen hours and seventeen minutes. You would have slept the whole
journey if I hadn’t woken you.” “Yes, I
remember.” He swung his legs off the bed that he was
stretched out on and placed them on the cold metal floor. He hardly noticed
the uncomfortable feeling under his feet as he stood. “You
must have been dreaming things of intensity. You were thrashing and beating
the walls.” Melm checked the backs and sides of his hands as
the unseen guard imparted the information. True, the back of his left hand
was bruised. He looked back at the seat/bed and saw that the covers had been
kicked across the floor. “What
were you dreaming about? Your forthcoming execution?” “I don’t
want to talk about it.” “The Incursion is equipped with seating for
twenty-four troops and four officers. Two emergency rifles and two Blaster
pistols in forward arms locker, food and recycled oxygen and water for
prolonged use. Food cache is stocked for six standard months for a single
person. Twin upper mounted laser cannon, four forward proton torpedo tubes,
standard countermeasure probes for defence, standard shield generator to
deflect energy-based attacks, single light anti-personnel cannon located
lower rear. Single Gorsh hyperspace
actuator capable of sustained use, efficient up to three months continuous
use before drop-out and re-powering necessary.” Glann Cipple had found a subject to take his mind
of the monotony of the flight. Dropouts for
re-powering? What does that mean? “Feese,
this little ship isn’t going to fall apart on me, is it?” “No,
this vessel will not fail us. We
must find the prison ship soon, though. We are running out of time.” He didn’t want to hear the specifics again. He
knew that Melm had taken skills and knowledge from the homeworld of Ferrerea
and that the darker side of the warrior race had condemned him to death for
‘stealing’ what he knew, hiring Blackwing mercenaries to do the job for them.
Melm, he heard, was an incredible combatant and was intelligent beyond normal.
Unfortunately, his first attempt at trying to use his skills to get credits
and survive in the Setnin Sector went awry and an Imperial officer was
killed. Melm was arrested by the Empire, a public arrest on Chancai Trade
Centre. The Imperials aimed to make an example of their authority and
publicised his arrest and transport. Anyone looking for the prison ship would
know where to look. Melm was a man he could use in his new position as
a gangleader. Fast, deadly, efficient. He also knew that Melm’s people
believed in life-debts, as Wookie's and Chortese did, and if he could use
this rescue attempt to at least get Melm on his side... “Then
start scanning. We’ve got to find that prison ship before the Blackwings do.” “We are
following its course but sensors are useless long range.” “Then
scan quickly. Look for an Imperial signature. Find me that prison ship.” “We will
be out of the Setnin Sector in exactly seven hours.” Reluctantly, Glann agreed. He wanted to start the
search straight away, but the risk of attracting Imperial attention was too
great. He knew that they spread their warships thinly, but they were powerful
and they had a vast range on their sensors. Feese was right; best to get out
of Setnin space first, away from where the Imperial patrols were thickest. Glann lay back and closed his eyes with a sigh. “Would
you like some music?” “No,
thank you, Feese, I might just sleep a while longer. There doesn’t seem to
much else to do.” Sleep came easily. With a flick of his thumb, Carlonian Feese
detached the firing pin and lay it down next to the other disassembled parts
of his weapon. He lay down the huge frame of the rifle and began rubbing the
pin, checking it for imperfections and wear. Satisfied, he placed it back in
and started to reassemble the firing unit. This was the third time he had cleaned his gun. He
had taken the other two rifles from the arms locker and had taken them apart,
replacing the worn components of his own weapon with the unused ones of the
spares. He had also found a mini-missile launcher attached
to one of the spare rifles, which he had detached and placed on his own.
Glann had questioned his customisation, advising that he just use one of the
unfired spares, but he had not given him an answer and continued working on
his own beaten weapon. As he pulled back the primer on the firing chamber
and let it snap back into position, an electronic ringing sound echoed from
the cockpit. Glann stood immediately, jumping over the strewn debris of the
collapsed weapons, and stepped into the cockpit. “What’s
wrong?”
“Proximity alarm. There’s something in our way. I must drop out of
hyperspace.” “How far
are we from the Setnin border?” “Sixteen
minutes. I must power down the hyperdrive actuators, Glann.” So close to exiting Setnin space and now a problem. Glann gritted his teeth
and sat in the pilot’s chair. “Okay,
drop us out.” “Cutting
power to actuators. Converters switching to realspace. Exit in three seconds.
Two. One. Ion engine engaged. Defence system activated.” All around the ship the lights dimmed to be
replaced by red illumination. Tactical readouts appeared on the scattered
monitors. Glann peered out of the cockpit window, not wanting to rely on
computer analysis and wanting to see the danger as it was. Ahead was nothing, but as the ship slowed from its
hyperspace exit three small dots appeared ahead. There were flashes emanating
from those dots, flashes of explosions and streaks of energy weapons. “What
the...?” As the ship finally decelerated to match the
velocity of the three dots they became closer and clearer. Two huge Blackwing
warships, long and thin with massive noses that seemed to drag the thin bulk
behind it. They were darkly coloured, with what appeared to be thick piping
jutting from their rears and looping over to the front. For all appearances
they were teardrops, the heavier end pulling the smaller, the piping
protruding in hoops. Ahead was a smaller craft, perhaps two-thirds the
size of one of it’s pursuers. It was wide and flat, with extensions either
side like huge wings. At the end of these wings were long tube-like engines,
spewing particles as they poured on speed to escape the attackers. Its
central body was also teardrop-shaped, but with the thinner end facing
forwards. It jinked and banked, trying to avoid enemy fire, which came in the
form of turbolaser fire. The shots screamed towards the target like long
thin rods of red light. As Glann watched, a laser glanced off the fleeing
ship’s deflectors. It returned fire ineffectively with a weaker beam weapon. “The two
chasing vessels are Blackwing Punisher-class warships. The fleeing vessel is
the prison ship. It is damaged but trying to initiate a hyperspace jump. That
was the reason for the proximity alarm... ” “That’s
great, Feese. How did we get into
this?” Glann was watching with a mixture of awe and fear. The great Blackwing
warships, over two hundred meters long, were slowly pecking at the Imperial
prison ship. The flashing from the weaponsfire and deflector hits was almost
hypnotising. “Is the
prison ship having any luck with its jump?”
“Uncertain. Every time it begins the procedure a successful Blackwing
hit knocks them out of alignment. They cannot hope to enter if the Blackwings
continue to disrupt them so.” Glann chewed his lip. Perhaps this was his chance.
This seemingly desperate situation. Perhaps he could somehow get to the
prison ship and get Melm. But two Blackwing Punishers! How could he hope to
have any chance against them in this vessel? It would be like trying to
outfight a Gutra lizard in a brawl. But the ship was quick and nimble. If he could get
the Blackwings attention, somehow distract them long enough to allow the
prison ship to jump, and then follow them... “Power
the deflectors, Feese. And get two of the torpedoes ready.” “I would
strongly advise against a tactical engagement with Blackwing warships,
Glann.” “I don’t
want to engage. I just want to get their attention. Put them off so that the
prison ship can get away and we can follow them.” “I would
strongly advise against ‘getting the attention’ of a Blackwing warship,
Glann.” Glann was hardly listening. He watched as the
prison vessel was suddenly destabilised as another Blackwing hit threw it
off-course. As if suddenly realising what Feese had said he waved a hand
dismissively. “Just do
it. We can outrun then if anything goes wrong. Target the lead vessel and hit
the boosters.” He wasn’t actually certain if the ship had
boosters, but the term sounded sufficiently commanding to convey his real
message. The power readout of the ion drive increased and Feese applied
thrust with no complaint. The small ship shot forward, heading to a point
between the two Blackwing vessels. It slowed as they came within range of the
warships. As Glann watched, the prison vessel once again tried to open a tear
in space, thrusting out vast quantities of energy to open a hyperspace
tunnel, a short cut back to it’s own territory and safety. With very little emotion in his voice, Glann said,
“Fire,
Feese.” Two thin missiles, each the length of a man’s arm,
sped from two of the torpedo tubes at the front of the small ship. As they
moved away they changed course dramatically and sped at the lead Blackwing
vessel. They passed through limited deflector shielding as the huge warship
was concentrating all it’s energies on the fleeing prison ship. They struck
hard, tearing one of the pipes and severely damaging hull plating. The
explosions were violent, throwing debris and slightly knocking the warship
off-target. “Damage
assessment; warship still ninety-eight point eight percent combat effective,”
Feese reported, sounding almost disappointed. But the damage had surprised and nudged the
warship enough to ruin its aim. Laserfire passed harmlessly over the prison
ship, the hits from the second Blackwing warship striking hard but doing
little to change its trajectory. The prison vessel widened, flashed once, and
sped off into hyperspace. The battleship started to follow it with a burst of
power. “Go,
Feese!” Glann shouted, leaping from his chair and slamming his hands down on
the console for support. Even with the artificial gravity at full power he
was still being swayed with the movement of the vessel and the shockwaves
from the energy being pumped out into space. With a flare of power Feese pushed forward. The
warships, bereft of their prize, started firing wildly at the small craft as
it sped for the same point and direction the prison ship had gone. Their fire
became limited as it careered between the ships for fear of striking their
own. Feese poured on more power, warning klaxons
sounded, sirens screamed from the engine compartment, lights blazed and
strobes pulsed. Glann fell back into his seat, gripping the armrests tightly
and gritting his teeth as the swirling mass of hyperspace engulfed the ship. The ship dived in. All around Glann was a swirling
mass of energy, long streams of pulsing atoms that seemed to stream from a
distance and pass around the ship in varying colours. They were in hyperspace. “We did
it,” he breathed. There was no answer from Feese. “We did
it,” he said again, louder, rising from the seat. He put both hands on his face and slowly drew them
back over his head, the action seeming to transform his facial expression
from shock to ecstasy. “We did
it!” he leaped from the seat and danced into the officer’s room, whooping and
hollering. His hands pounded the wall and his feet kicked scattered weapon
components about the floor. He hardly heard Feese. “Glann!
The prison ship has already dropped from hyperspace! Hold on!” Glann dived for his seat. He supposed that
somewhere, deep at the back of his joy, there was one seed of doubt, doubt
that he would get away with it so easily. That seed was suddenly germinating
and taking root very quickly. “The
prison ship must be damaged. I suggest you strap yourself in and prepare for
a dangerous exit from hyperspace. Once it collapses we’ll be buffeted by
energy eddies, shockwaves that could damage the ship severely.” Numbly, Glann slammed himself into the seat. The
straps he pulled down over his shoulders, the buckles he slammed together as
tightly as he could. He stared out of the cockpit window and watched as long
streaks of black began to mix with the colours. All around him the ship started to vibrate, slowly
at first but then more violently until all around him was nothing but a blur.
He could feel his teeth chattering, his eyes felt like they were going to
leave their sockets. His whole body shook, and he was powerless to stop the
motion and the pain. Glann just sat in his seat and allowed himself to
revel in being alive. He gulped air and wiped his eyes with a shaking
hand. The view out of the window was normal space,
millions of white dots and a sweeping nebulae. The view moved rapidly across
his line of vision as the vessel uncontrollably tumbled through space. He
reached up and pressed the release stud on the straps, which slid back into
their recesses automatically. Lights flickered in the cockpit, the red lights
were dim but illuminated his surroundings adequately. Readouts sputtered and
rolled, the information being spewed was gibberish. The faint hum from the
engines was gone. He still had gravity and minimal life support,
according to one readout. He tried to stand but the aching throughout his
body forced him back into his seat. “Feese,”
he croaked, his throat dry and painful. “Feese, are you there?” “I am
here. I am attempting to restore power to vital systems. Please remain where
you are.” There was no chance of him moving. The aching
would keep him welded to the seat for a long time. “What
happened?” “A hit
from one of the Blackwing warships must have damaged the prison ship’s
hyperspace generator. The jump was not stable and collapsed. Luckily, I
noticed the drop and did not bear the full impact.” “The
prison ship?” The question was a hopeful one. “Damaged
and drifting. The energy pocket
around the ship almost crushed the vessel from existence during the initial
stages of the collapse.” He closed his eyes, the sting from the tears
receding, as was the moisture. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard,
trying to recover at least some of his composure. The deep breaths hurt his
chest and he winced. “Are you
injured?” “I ache
all over.” “My
apologies. I attempted to increase the gravity setting to compensate for the
vibration caused by the forced transition to realspace. I will lower the
gravity field to enable you to move easier. The ache will pass with time.” He tried to stand again and found it easier to
move. His body felt lighter, and as he got unsteadily to his feet there was a
beep and the lights blazed into
life. Control screens and instrument panels began churning over data and the
vessel slowly stopped its spin. “I have
successfully regained control. I appear to have lost main ion drive and the
hyperspace actuator, but these I can repair with time. Other than this there
does not appear to be any serious damage, other than system connection
ruptures. I can handle all repairs with internal damage control systems. I
will try to scan the surrounding area and try to localise our position. It
will take a long time.” “We
appear to have plenty of that.” Glann said dejectedly, and pulled himself
into the rear quarters. Glann busied himself by collecting the scattered
weapon components that lay around the quarters. He placed them neatly into
their respective places on the rifles and put the ones he would not require
back into the arms locker. After he had finally found every pin and spring
under the sparse furniture, most of which he simply threw into the disposal
unit, he sat down and checked out his customisation. He had taken the barrel of one weapon, the scope
of the other, the magnetic accelerator of one, the mini-missile launcher of
the other; he had created a bastardisation from his own weapon and the two
spares. He nodded with contentment as he checked it over, looking down the
barrel to check the alignment. He ached still but it was not as bad as it was a
while ago. He had spent a lot of the time trying to stretch his arms and legs
to try and fight off the annoying pain but this only succeeded in starting
fresh stabs of agony elsewhere. He decided to follow Feese’s advice and stay
still for a while, let the muscles and ligaments relax. That had been eight hours ago. Feese was still
taking readings from adjacent stars and systems to try and define their
position in space and get them closer to the drifting prison ship. He had
questioned him every few minutes at first, asking him if he had figured out
the location. After two hours, he had politely asked him to refrain from
interrupting whilst he was calculating. It was a difficult task he wasn’t
properly trained for, and distractions would only increase the computation time.
Glann had taken the hint and stopped his impatient quizzing. With a container of Chuklit brew in his hand, steaming with a rich sweet aroma, he lowered
himself into the pilot’s chair. He watched in silence as Feese went through
star charts and system data, the information scrolling up several screens
impossibly fast. He was impressed with the speed he worked but he kept his
praise to himself. He was on the border of sleep when Feese spoke
suddenly. “I have
a definite fix.” Sitting forward and realising his chuklit had gone cold, Glann looked at
the readouts as they displayed a three-dimensional representation of their
location. “Well?” “We are
far out of Setnin space. We are in Statoone territory, at least a quarter of
the way in. We have travelled two territories in the few minutes we were in
the tunnel.” “The
prison ship?” “Yes, we
are closer, but our position does not bode well. The Statoone are a race of
bipedal cyborg reptile-types that have no affiliation to any other species.
However, they do trade with every other species and will gladly turn us over
to our enemies if they think it could help their position. They do not get
into direct conflict because their numbers are small and they do not possess
the materials necessary to sustain a conflict. If we had something to trade
we could buy our passage out of their territory. If not, we can expect them
to arrest us or take this vessel apart for technology.” “So
these beings are nothing but common scavengers. Lizards feeding off the scraps
the other warring factions leave behind.” “A crude
analogy but partially correct. As with humans, the situation we find
ourselves in will depend on the individual we meet.” Glann sighed and sat back. “Well,
plot a course out of here as soon as we secure Melm. I don’t want to meet
them.” “It is
too late. One of my sensor sweeps has alerted a deep space station and
Statoone salvage craft is on an intercept course. It will meet us in thirty
to forty minutes.” “Right.
Dock to the ship and let's get him out.” It had been a while since Glann had done anything
like this. He swung around the corner of the dark smoky corridor, the rifle
he toted feeling clumsy in his hands. He knew, however, that he had to be the
one to find Melm. The one to release him from captivity. Feese stepped past him and continued down the
corridor. After a few steps he saw two black-clad guards staggering down the
corridor as the ship listed. He sent a burst of laser fire their way and they
fell. Glann watched, impressed at the masked Mon Calamarian’s ability. He
rarely saw Feese work at first hand and was pleased with his employees'
skill. “Rear of
the vessel, they’ll be keeping him in the secure station. One level down,”
Feese said. “How do
you know...” “I know
these vessels.” Although Glann couldn’t see his face he could tell
by Feese’s tone of voice that he didn’t enjoy being on this ship. They had found docking easy. The prison vessel was
still listing, damaged by the Blackwing assault and an unsuccessful transition
to realspace. They had already come across several technicians who were
working feverishly to repair the ship. They had despatched them with the same
prejudice as they had despatched the armed guards. They advanced in the dark, the ships alarm systems
and warning sensors obviously as off-line as the rest of the craft. Another
barrage of fire and an engineer fell screaming back down a service hatch. “Down
here,” Feese said, and jumped down the hole. The anti-grav chute lowered the two men to the next
level down. Feese shot another guard before he touched down onto the
deckplates and moved forward at a crouch, scanning the room they had entered. A large blast door was ahead, securely locked with
three guards posted outside. They opened up at the two invaders, sending them
diving for cover. “He’s in
there,” Feese said, adjusting the sights on his weapon. “Leave
it to me,” Glann said. “I need to be the one.” Feese nodded, rolled over so that he was in line
of sight of the guards but flat on the floor, and started giving covering
fire. Glann leaped up and fired his weapon. Although a
long time had passed he was still proficient with the Blaster and two guards
dropped. The third one started to run for another exit but Glann and Feese
both shot him in the back, flinging the body into the still-closed door. Glann advanced, Feese covering. He hit the release
stud and the blast door slid open. The white-haired demon that suddenly appeared out
of the dark cell made Glann stagger in shock, ducking as a half-naked form
leaped over his head, gambolled in the air and landed on his feet. Before
Glann realised what was happening the figure had kicked the gun out of his
hand.
“What...” caught his arm around his neck, “...the...” and twisted him
around so that he was between him and Feese, “...freck!”. As Feese leaped up, the man caught the weapon as
it fell and pointed it directly at Feese. “Hold
back or he dies, no compromises!” “Wait,
wait, I freed you, I saved you...”
Glann could hardly breath with the vice-like arm closing on his throat.
“You're free. Free.” Melm let go of the man who had saved him. His long
white hair was matted, his albino eyes glaring at the two beings as Feese
closed up. Glann motioned for Feese to lower his weapon. “We’re
here to get you out,” Glann said. “Then I
am in your debt,” Melm handed the rifle back to Glann. Glann smiled, a smile that Melm felt slightly
disturbed by. “I know you are.” Dishonourable Intentions 2000 short story by
Jonathan Hicks Sixteen years before Episode
IV - A New Hope Histories - An important
story in the development of the timeline, this Jonathan Hicks story tells of how Glann Cipple used Melms sense of honour against him and tricked him into his employ, with
the assistance of Carlonian Feese. A major factor in Cipple's
success within the Setnin Sector, this story begins Melms path through the
Setnin underworld along to his eventual position with Luschia Arkensaw aboard the Euphoria Station and beyond. It also involves the Statoone, a race seen in the later story Taking
Care of Their Own. Cast of Characters Glann Cipple Melm Carlonian Feese |