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Middle of Nowhere 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Five years after
Episode IV – A New Hope Mengenta. If this
place were any more backwater it’d be dry.
There are planets that are catalogued as having life, intelligent life
and full-on societies. This place, I
wouldn’t know how to describe it.
Sure, the people here are polite enough, but I don’t know. Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to go
backpacking through the forest in case the locals got hungry. They say that twenty starships land on
this rock every year, but I can’t agree with that. There ain’t twenty starships captains dumb enough to aim for
this dump. Except for me, of course. Glann Cipple knows his men alright. He knows I love places where the action
is, places like Chancai and Wennicas, so that must be why he sends me to
holes like this. He’d say it’s to
confuse our opposition, throw them off the scent, but I know better. I’m of the opinion that a good worker is a
happy worker. Glann thinks the
opposite. He thinks a good worker is
a scared worker. Motivated maybe, but
nothing more. But I guess that’s why
Glann is the head of the Setnin Sectors largest underworld operation and I’m
sitting here knocking back my sixth Duarga on a weekend afternoon watching my
navel lint collect. I check my chrono but it’s still the middle of the same
afternoon in the middle of nowhere on the same planet. I motion for the waitress to come over and
after swatting away another rifle clip-sized bug she manages to send the
message from her pimple-sized brain to her tree-stump legs and walks the
entire six metres while chewing on a piece of chak-root and breathing at the
same time. So I guess it’s
true, women can
multi-task. I ask for another Duarga and a plate of cockons, knowing
that this endless list of an order won’t be at my table for at least another
ten minutes. I blow out a tired
breath and lift my feet onto the seat opposite. I can hear the rackety scratch of a broken sound system crank
out the same tired jizz band, over and over again, which is fine if you have
the memory of a Guba fish but a bit tiresome if you can actually remember the
track you heard twenty minutes ago.
These freckers probably think it’s a different recording. I rub my forehead and scratch my ear as a
thought occurs to me. Every other
time I’ve been here it’s rained. I
stand and stroll to the window, and the three other patrons watch as if my
walk must be the most interesting thing they’ve seen this year. What am I saying, of course it is. It would be the most interesting thing
they’ve seen this year even if we were on Amagad. I’m Jan Lomona. I’d spoken too soon, it was raining, and the sky was
darkening but it was humid, which usually meant thunder. I looked up the hill, which was beginning
to sheen with the light rain. It had
been a mud bath every time I’d visited Mengenta. Visited, what am I saying?
That makes it sound like I’d actually want to come here. I’ve been in Imperial holding cells with
more character than this. I can just
about see the Berone
Sunrise in the distance, straddling two landing floats, which always makes
me nervous. The floats by the way, not straddling. I think the largest ship they’ve had here in the last three
years was a Ghtroc freighter, which next to the Sunrise was a
midget. Oh yeah, there was that Star
destroyer that bombarded the planet from orbit, and I seem to remember the
planetary governor thanking the Empire for their time and asking them to come
again and brighten the place up with more colourful laser fire. Shame about Endor, Mengenta could have
done with some attention. Bet they didn’t say that on Alderaan… As the sky gets darker and the rain increases I watch the
Sunrise dip
and rise on the landing floats, the lakes ebb and flow becoming more
pronounced. I raised my eyebrow, glad
that the Desando Dynamics designers made her a vessel capable of surviving on
water, not that I’d ever had the occasion to test that design feature
out. I could make out the outline of
another vessel high in the sky, turning around carefully and making a steady
descent towards the only other free landing float. I stepped back to my table and took the Duarga that had been
placed there, and in lightning fast time for the slug-slow locals, popped the
illuminated cork and took a chug.
Thanking the makers for their adherence to sector-wide quality I
lowered the bottle and grabbed my trench coat. It looked like my rendezvous had arrived. And then I thought `Screw it, why get wet? I’ll wait for him here. `
reseated myself and slammed my feet onto the chair again. Hell, why bother getting soaked when all
I’ll do is come back in here and get dry.
Besides, there might be a sudden rush and I could lose my seat… I try to compose myself, exude maximum cool. I seem to have garnered a reputation as a
bit of a dude, and a killer with the ladies.
You know, the guy who’ll make the one-in-a-million shot and kiss the
girl, before taking her back to my starship and a rampant night and then
slipping away to the next job and another conquest. Well, you have to do that kind of thing a lot of times before people
start believing it, take it from me.
And being stuck on Planet Dim with a collective planetary IQ that’s a
minus number doesn’t exactly help perpetuate the legend. But the next hour just might. I can always tell when he arrives, there’s an almost
tangible pressure drop when he’s around.
There’s stories about him, many more than there is about me. My tall tales usually revolve around
swapping DL consignments, or who my latest girlfriend is, or what colour some
smart ass has painted my ship this week.
His stories are about how many of Geon Tasars men he bumped off, or
how he took out Duze Jostenn, or what’s really underneath that faceplate of his. Carlonian Feese entered the bar, and even though there
was only me, three other boozers and the bar staff to see it, it was without
doubt one of the classiest entrances I’ve ever seen. Wind blowing a level nine gale outside,
rain lashing in, lightening illuminating the blotchy skies, and in the
doorway stood Feese, cowl whipping around him, muddy rain dripping off his
faceplate. He heaved the door shut
behind him and strode across the room towards me. Me, I just gave him my infuriating smile. You know, the really smug one I use when I
want to get under peoples skin. Well,
it usually works, but I’m not actually sure if Feese has any
skin. Scales maybe, but skin? “Hey Feese, sit down.” I kicked the chair out and towards him as
he stood dripping on the dark wooden floor.
“ Pull up a lily pad, take the weight off your flippers.” If he thought I was in any way amusing he didn’t let it
show, but then again I reckon if Feese ever had a funny bone it died along
with his fashion awareness. I
wouldn’t have covered rusty power coils in the rag he passed off as a
jacket. He looked at the chair,
weighing up any potential threat no doubt, and sat down. I lowered my feet and leaned forward. “So, what’s new? Glann didn’t have us meet here just to
appreciate the décor.” I motioned
over towards the locals, who watched us with the vacant gaze of the truly
moronic. Okay, so that’s a bit harsh,
but what the hell? Most of my
opponents have the smarts to at least answer me back. Or run away. These goons wouldn’t know one end of a witty remark from the
other. “Something’s up. So spill, what’s the story?” I know, I know, I was being overly snappy, but I couldn’t
help it. Feese was buttoned up
tighter than an A-desandian Nun, and that’s tight. He wiped his eye lenses clear, flicked some switch on his wrist
and I watched the condensation evaporate from the inside of his
faceplate. Handy, I thought. In-head heater. He looked directly at me, or I assume he was, it was difficult
to tell. I wondered what it was he
hid behind the faceplate. Some folks
thought he’d had an accident, and that his face had been eaten away by
maggots. Others thought that the
maggots were still eating him away, irradiated and mutated by exposure to
some unknown explosion. Others said
that Feese himself was a mutant, shunned by his peace-loving people and
raised an outcast. Me, I just figured
he was an ugly bastard with low self-esteem and didn’t give it any more
thought. “Cipple wants us to meet and
discuss the arrangements for next weeks run out to Noscage. You’re to get a team together and choose
the route.” If a lifeless
faceplate could twist itself and give a look of distain then…hell, Feese’s
faceplate twisted up and gave a look of distain, alright? Even the parts of him that weren’t real
could detest me. As for the rest of
Feese, the real parts? He just exuded
a fishy aura of detestment. “That’s not a problem, I already
had a couple of guys in mind. I was
gonna bring Kit’Kitch, he knows the terrain and he could do with getting away
from the Brrrrixt Cantina for a while.
And there’s Derri Klan, he’s a reliable pilot and he always gets the
job done. I know I’ll have no trouble
with those boys.” I narrowed my
eyes, tried to look serious with sniggering laughter welling up inside me and
pressed on. “Why’s Glann bothered
about that? He usually leaves minor
details up to me.” Then Feese did something, I’m not quite sure what it was,
but whatever he did it made me shut the hell up. Maybe it was a slight tilting of the head, or some kind of
telepathy, or maybe I saw right through that faceplate and into his eyes, but
whatever it was I zipped up. Which,
coming from me, is quite a feat. I
waited for him to speak, but he said nothing and so I waited. But being patient took too long and so I
leaned in again. “What?” I asked, curiosity
getting the better of me, as it so often did. I’d annoyed him, I knew that, but I like dicing with danger and
Feese is just about as dangerous as it gets.
In fact, I have a lot of friends who are barely able to keep
themselves more than a hairs breadth away from danger. Glann himself is a man of hidden
depths. He can be charming, sociable
even, but that façade doesn’t fool me.
Even when I feel like we’re connecting on a man-to-man level I’m
always aware that to him, I’m just a tool.
I’m no more expendable than a good ship, or a useful route. But I know that, and so I can deal with
him in my own way. And besides, I
don’t think he likes the fact that I slept with his wife. Before they were married, of
course. What, do you think I’m that crazy? Now, Goah Galletti, there’s a certified nut that fell
from the tallest tree. I used to
think I knew this guy. We were good
pals, hung out together. In this line
of work you have to work hard at making friends, and even harder at keeping
them because you never know when someone will get a better deal, or be
offered that golden run. But I think
that if there’s one thing I’ve done right in this line of work it’s making
and keeping a lot of friends. And I
always make sure I stick by them. But
as for Goah, I’d love to know what sent him so close to the edge. Nowadays, if Glann wants something done
with extreme prejudice he either sends Feese or Goah. There might have been a time in the past
when he may have hired an outsider.
Glann could afford Fett if he really wanted him, but those days are
long gone. Why go to a stranger when
you have such class within your ranks?
If that’s what you define as class, two stone cold killers. Me, I prefer to keep my head just beneath
the parapet and out of sight. Making
cracks is one thing, making enemies of men like that is another. Difference is, I know when to call it
quits and walk away. They don’t, and
that’s what sets them apart. Feese laid his hands on the table and straightened his
back. I smiled. “Fins aching? Maybe you need to take something to ease
your joints. I hear Mon Cal Liver Oil
is good.” “Don’t you ever
give your jaw a rest?” he asked, an edge of annoyance seeping into his
cracked and dry voice. I shook my
head and took another swig of the Duarga. “What, and miss the joke
opportunity of the decade? No
chance.” I grinned again. “Why, not bothering you am I?” Feese glanced around the room at the others, all now
seated at the bar and listening to some mundane conversation on the
radio. Probably a weather report or
something equally interesting. ` Today it will rain, followed by more rain tomorrow and
then the next day thirty-nine differing types of rain, followed by a wet
spell. ` “No Lomona, you
don’t bother me. You never have. You’re not in my circle, and you’re not in
my class.” He leaned forward to
stare right at me. “So why would you
bother me?” There was an edge in his voice, a nastiness that wasn’t
usually there, and I didn’t know why.
Sure, Feese was blindly loyal to Glann and lately I’d had a few
run-ins with Cipple, made a few questionable judgement calls. But I was still here working as usual,
everything was good. There was no
reason for Feese to have a real problem with me, unless I really had got right under his skin. “You tell me Feese. I thought we were here to talk shop. I know I bug you sometimes, but that comes
with the territory. It has for the
last twenty years and it always will.”
It was my turn to lean in this time. “You give me one good reason to cut you some slack and I’ll
consider it.” “Because maybe
you should respect me more than you do.” You know, if I hadn’t heard it from his own mouth I
wouldn’t have believed he’d said it.
I paused and frowned. “What? Are you kidding? Respect?” I quickly grabbed the Duarga and sank
it, noticing out of the corner of my eye the three patrons and three bar
staff watch our conversation with more interest. “Listen Fish face, if I had a credit for every guy who’s told
me to respect them, I’d buy myself a rocking chair and retire. You earn respect Feese, you don’t
demand it.” I could sense him
about to move, make a play of some kind and I tensed and lowered my hand to
my blaster. “And for what it’s
worth you’ve got my respect. My professional
respect. You always have.” Don’t ask me how I knew it, because when he swung his
rifle up at my head and took aim, deep down I knew that he was going to
whack me then and there, and even though I’m quick on the draw and I knew
it was coming, he had me beat hands down. So looking back on it, how I realised what he was doing when he
was moving at hyperspeed and shooting the three bar staff down before they
had chance to take us out I’ll never know.
The other three stepped away from the bar, hands raised above their
heads, and like a wraith Feese was right in front of them, rifle wavering
between the three of them, finger like a twitchy spring just waiting to be
unleashed upon the trigger. You could
smell the fear. Well, just about,
over the stench of the lake and the odour of the ocean from Feese. I held my custom heavy blaster steady in
my hand, but my heart was thumping like a drum. Feese turned to face me, faceplate glistening in the dimness
and cocked his head. “Good to know I have your professional
respect Lomona. Now, help me tie
these three up.” I looked around and found some packing string lying in a
dusty corner and tossed it over to Feese.
He herded the three into a tight, sitting circle and wrapped them in
the string, securing them. He looked
at me again, moving towards me, and even though I now realised the true
intent of our argument, the fact that it was a set up to draw Formoons men
out, I still waited with a touch of trepidation. Which Feese would have registered no doubt, and probably got a
hell of a kick out of. Well, whatever turns you on I guess… “These three work for Torona
Formoon. Cipple estimates that they
know details concerning the death of Boba Dallagra, and my instruction is to
persuade them to part with that knowledge.”
“And the three
stiffs? Who the hell were they?” I
asked, motioning towards the still warm bar staff, steaming on the
floor. He looked over his shoulder at
the three bodies, shrugged and clasped his hands together, the leather
slapping loudly. In a louder voice he
said to me, “What they appear to be, simple
bar staff.” I raised an eyebrow at that. Cold Feese, real cold.
He continued. “Now, you have
a choice. You may stay, or you may
go. It’s up to you.” I blew the breath out through my lips and weighed up the
options. Despite what I had just
witnessed I was as opposed to needless violence as the next man, but Boba
Dallagra was one of my best friends.
And despite the rumours that Galletti was partly responsible for his
death while trying to nail Formoon, I appreciated Glann wanting this
situation resolved. I also knew that
there was no way I could stop Feese from doing whatever he planned to these
three, and a nasty little part of me didn’t want to stop him anyway. But I knew that I didn’t want to watch him do it either. “I’ll be in the Sunrise. If you need anything, comm me.” I grabbed my jacket, tossed another
cockon into my mouth and finished my Duarga.
As I reached the door I turned and looked at the threesome on the
cold, muddy floor, the bodies of the three bar staff steaming behind the
bar. I motioned to Feese and opened
the door. “If I were you I’d tell
him what he wants to know, and fast.
He has a habit of forgetting himself once he starts.” I paused in the doorway and raised my
collar against the elements, still not exactly sure what my part in this
whole charade had been. I think I’d
walked about ten steps when the screaming started, but it might have just
been the wind… I stood in line, waiting to give Trace Dallagra my
condolences. Her brother Boba was a
good friend, and as genuine a man as you could hope to meet in a life like
this. I smiled at my fiancée Frans as
she clung on to my arm and, breeze blowing across the Bay of Amagad, we
reached Trace and embraced tightly. There was a strong turnout. Boba was a popular guy, despite bemoaning everything and
anything that he could. He’d been
Glanns Chancai operative for a good long while, and even though he denied it
I knew he was proud to have been given that important position. And he did his job well. He must have, Glann never had him
`removed’, as other Chancai agents had been.
Boba had a watertight mouth as far as giving away secrets was
concerned, and many of them he would take to the grave. Glann knew that, and appreciated it. Perhaps that’s why he paid for this huge
funeral. When Latti Telex died it was
us boys who coughed up for the coffin.
Not this time. Greelwood
coffins are rare this far out, and I know Trace was grateful. She smiled as we moved on and hugged the
next in line behind us, Himbimimam, another of Glanns operatives and one of
Boba’s best friends. And it was like that all day. Hugs, smiles and remembrances of a man we all liked and
missed. And when the coffin was
burned, and his ashes spread across the bay on a strong wind we all
smiled. I could see the black clad
silhouette of Goah Galletti, far away on a distant cliff edge watching the
proceedings, uninvited and not welcome at the funeral but man enough to at
least observe the occasion. And at
the back of the congregation I noticed Feese and nodded to him, and he nodded
right back. I think that a lot more than Boba was buried that day,
and that made me smile. I squeezed
Frans’ hand as we walked back to Glanns Fortress and closed my eyes. Life’s too short to waste… Middle of Nowhere 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Five
years after Episode IV – A New
Hope Histories
– Set at a
crucial point in the reign of Glann
Cipple in the Setnin Sector, this story comes just after the death of Boba Dallagra, a popular and likeable operative of Cipple. Sent to Mengenta,
Lomona awaits Carlonian Feese for reasons unknown and learns
more about the assassin than he thought he ever would. Cast of Characters Jan Lomona Carlonian Feese Frans Latka Kit’Kitch Derri Klan |