A Lesson in Responsibility

1999 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Five years after Episode IV - A New Hope

   “Hard over. Bring her around as fast as possible, all foreguns to bear.”

The New Republic cruiser Moz’a’ti swung around slowly, so slowly Captain Conno didn’t think she would complete the manoeuvre before striking the drifting carcass of the pirate frigate he had just crippled. The enemy ship was turning end over end towards the Moz’a’ti, energy pulsating from her ruined engines and debris, artificial and biological, spewed from the huge gashes down her sides. The Moz’a’ti tilted and began to turn, and Conno watched as the ship tumbled past and narrowly missed his ship.

   “Captain, starship Blackwing is manoeuvring for a belly shot with her torpedoes.”

   “Understood. Launch high frequency countermeasures and tighten turn. Thirty-two degrees tilt. Fire a volley with what's left of our turbolasers.”

The long Blackwing, a pirate vessel clearly defined from the hull graffiti and an unelegant bird painted around the bridge section, settled into a firing position and opened up her belly missile bays. Her rapid-fire cannons were already chipping away at the Moz'a'ti's shields on her left side, there was a flare of energy and all the lights in the Moz’a’ti’s bridge flickered.

   “We’re breached!” screamed Bulle, Conno’s second officer. ‘We’re losing power to our turbolasers.”

   “Captain, the Blackwing has launched!”

A burst of light and two sleek missiles sped from the pirate ship and headed towards the Moz’a’ti. At the same time, two small pods ejected from the Moz’a’ti and flew away from their bearer. The two missiles detected the high frequency transmission from the pods, and their sensors and tracking systems immediately went haywire. They toppled confusedly and tracked off in different directions. One exploded prematurely and the other disappeared into the darkness of space.  Conno raised a fist and he shouted.

   “All guns fire! Maximum power!”

Small slots in the side of the Moz’a’ti flared and a flurry of Blaster bolts appeared between the two ships, emanating from the Moz’a’ti and slicing into the already damaged Blackwing. After the laserfire had cut down the pirate vessels belly it struck her engine boom, and the connection between the ship’s main hull and engines evaporated into a thousand pieces. The pirate ship began to tumble as it was caught in the aftershock of it’s own engines detonating, and then it was consumed by energy as the whole thing blossomed white-hot. After a few tense moments of shockwaves and debris bouncing from the hull, Conno was able to see through the devastation and see the drifting pieces that used to be the Blackwing.

His bridge personnel cheered, got to their feet and pounded each other on the back, hugged and gripped hands. Conno just stood in the centre of the celebrations and ignored the thumps of appreciation and the faces of his crew in his vision, who were smiling and laughing with more relief at surviving the encounter than pleasure at killing the enemy.

   “That’s enough.” Conno snapped out of his thoughts and turned to address the room. “We’ve got a decompressing ship that’s damaged and I want to get out of here in case intelligence were wrong about the pirate ship’s numbers. Bulle, I want this ship to the closest station with relevant dry-dock and medical facilities. O’Mall, get me a damage report. Suet, you sort the headcount and casualties. Move it, people!”

It was as if the crew had had the memory of the victory struck from their minds and they scurried to carry out their captain’s orders. Conno tried to rub some life back into his pockmarked face and crossed over to the sensor officer.

   “Contact Republic Command in this system and inform them Operation Hunter was a success. Transmit the log of the battle, and tell them we’re heading for the nearest station to ascertain damage and treat our wounded. Barler, are there any signals from the downed ship?” Conno was referring to the vessel that had missed them after they had disabled it.

   “No, sir. No contact. I’m reading pockets of sustained life support throughout the ship; there may be survivors. I’ve lost some power to my scanners, Captain, I think the sensor array must have been damaged.”

Conno nodded.

   “Understood. Call security and have them take a shuttle across and collect prisoners. Tell them to be quick. I want to be gone in ten minutes.”

   “Yes, sir.”

Conno crossed back to his command desk and was interrupted by Bulle, who approached with a small handcomputer glowing with information.

   “Navigation tells us there’s a spacestation just under three parsecs from here, orbiting the planet Leogard. They should have relevant facilities.”

   “Very good. Lay in a course and as soon as the shuttle re-docks proceed at best possible speed. Call the station and warn her we’re coming in damaged and with wounded...”

Jank Hooly was tall and had the sort of face you could trust, which was quite an advantage when you were a barkeep. He smiled all the time, filled your glass with more than was necessary and the station rumour was that he never touched a drop of the product he served. He was respected and liked throughout Spacestation Leogard. After all, he owned the only bar for twelve parsecs.

The rotation he was working was a bit slow. The regulars had drifted in and out, and the new faces from the trading ship that had docked two rotations ago had been and gone. Jank liked meeting new people.

   “Jank. Another. A double.”

The small voice drifted from Jank’s most regular patron, Sam Smiles. Jank walked down the bar, wiping his hands on his bar towel and stood over Sam shaking his head. His bass voice came out low and resonant.

   “I think you’ve had enough, Sam.”

Sam looked up at him, his face locked in a permanent grin through some form of muscular seizure brought about by terrible scarring he had suffered. He held out his empty glass and waved it in front of Jank’s face.

   “Jush one more. A shingle than, eh? Medicinal, eh?”

Jank sighed heavily and reached behind him for another bottle. He tilted the container and let a splash of alcohol fall to the bottom of the glass. Sam nodded; after all he couldn’t smile his thanks, and knocked back the drink in one shot. After sucking a sharp breath between his teeth he slammed the glass down on the bar and stood up, a little shakily.

   “Now, Sam, straight to your dorm, now. No picking on the security personnel. You’re not on basecamp now. And don’t rise to anyone who wants to know what you’re smiling at.”

Sam, swaying slightly as he tried to affect the look of one who is not as drunk as he appears to be, saluted to Jank.

   “Yesh, Captain.” He turned on his heel and made a course, an erratic course, for the door. Jank shook his head again and walked back to the customer he had just been conversing with.

The customer watched the doors slide shut behind Sam and then turned to look at Jank.

   “Why does he smile all the time?”

   “It’s not his fault. His muscles around his face have all been burned and fused. A plasma gun blew up in his face the day after he passed out in military school. He could have had all the damage repaired, but he couldn’t afford it so the army medically discharged him.”

   “Poor lad. Anyway, you were telling me about this spacestation.”

   “That’s right. There’s not much to do here. I’m afraid it’s more of a stop-off point between here and the rest of the sector. There’s a couple of VR playpens and a Holo-vid hall, but not much else. How long are you here for?”

The customer took a sip of his low-alc drink and sighed.

   “Until I get my main drive repaired. My shut-off sensors aren’t functioning and there is no way I’m heading into the sector without that kind of security. I’d say two or three days.”

   “Rotations.”

   “Pardon?”

   “Here we call the days ‘rotations’. The time it takes for use to orbit the planet once. Sam calls them ‘rots’ because he thinks that what we’re all doing, all of us who stay here. Where are you headed?’

Another sip.

   “Believe it or not, I’m Chancai bound. I hear the place is hiring pilots and tradeships for supply runs and I fancy a bit of easy money.”

Jank topped up the visitor’s glass without being invited and shook his head when he reached for his account card.

   “Zelon, huh? What attracts you to the tradeworld?”

   “Well, the money is easy, and I haven’t been there before. I want to see what it looks like.”

   “I tell you, there’s much to see.”

The customer took a long draught of his drink.

   “So why are you still here? Since Leogard exhausted it’s mineral supply, I thought most people would pack up and leave.”

Jank picked up a freshly cleaned glass and began to wipe it down, looking around his bar and wondering how to answer. He wasn’t sure he could answer.

   “I like it here. It’s my bar.”

The customer looked around the bar, too, trying to discern what it was about this place that made the bartender stay. The whole place was circular and domed, the ceiling split in half by a huge reinforced window. Jank’s back was to the window, so the first thing seen when entering was the large imposing form of the bartender with a huge spinning starfield behind him. It was a nice bar, not like most of the rundown places usually found aboard backwater stations. It was clean and well kept, with a constant supply of food and alcohol and next to no trouble.

   “I see what you mean, but there can’t be a future in this place.”

Jank shook his head.

   “Whilst traffic still travels into the sector, I’ll be here.”

The customer turned back to Jank, nodding his head. Then his eyes fell over Jank’s shoulder and they fixed upon something out the window.

   “Holy Pudu!” The customer placed his glass on the bar and stood his eyes wide and his mouth open. Jank, startled by the sudden outburst and a little offended, turned to see what had alarmed him.

Outside the window was the hulking shape of the Moz’a’ti, trailing glittering debris and spewing gases and other materials from many wounds all over her hull. As she approached the vicinity of the spacestation all could see nose thrusters come on to slow her speed, the result of that being a huge outburst of gases from the engine section as something overloaded and she began to vent to compensate.

   “It’s a New Republic vessel.” Jank put the glass on the bar with his eyes still fixed on the warship. “She’s taken quite a beating. The thruster pressure control must be ruptured, she’s losing most of her manoeuvring power.”

The customer looked at Jank, trying to ascertain how a barman knew so much about starships. Even he, who had been starflying for over twenty years, didn’t know why the warship was venting gases. There was a flair of light from the ship and his attention was drawn back to it.

A light had appeared on the belly of the warship and everyone watched as a small shuttle exited the main ship and headed for the station’s dock. The Moz’a’ti was now a lot more settled as she fell into a stationary position with the station. Extendable docking booms began to reach out to her exterior airlocks as she began to drift closer. Now the watchers in the bar could see down on the ship. She was scarred and pitted. A few turned away when they saw frozen bodies drifting in the windows of certain sections that had been breached and depressurised. Lights dimmed and the ship started to shut down, taking her engines offline to minimise any more danger.

   “Should she be that close after so much damage?” someone asked nervously, looking around for an answer. She was Twi'lek with her hand over her mouth. Another patron, a Sullustian, voiced his concern also.

   “They should have parked further away. If she goes up, we’re done for.”

Jank turned and held up his hands to placate his customers.

   “If she was in danger of exploding or whatever then the captain would not have brought her in. She must be stable. Now, please move away from the window. Come on, drinks for everyone.”

This seemed to calm the patrons, and they returned to their seats, some further away from the window than before.

Jank was filling the glass of a new arrival when the door slid open and the head of security came in with one of the station doctors. His crisp uniform was dark and he carried his hat under one arm. Jank liked him because he liked to do everything correct and by the numbers. He didn’t like him because he spent most of his time looking down on everyone else.

   “Captain Rogens,” he said by way of greeting. “What brings you up here?”

   “Sorry to trouble you, Jank, but we’ve got a major situation. The Moz’a’ti out there has just been in a major fight and over two-thirds of her crew are injured or dead. Doctor Barsiov here hasn’t the room in medical for all of them and we need to commandeer some space.”

Jank frowned. It wasn’t the fact he didn’t want to help; it was the fact that he was being virtually ordered to give up his bar.

   “Why here?”

The doctor flipped over a couple of flimsies on his clipboard and quickly scanned the contents.

   “According to station schematics you have plenty of power sources, which would be perfect for our medical equipment.”

Jank looked out at the ship and then back at Rogens.

   “That was quickly done, she’s only been docked for a few minutes.”

   “She called ahead about half an hour ago. We need this space, Jank.”

After a huge sigh, Jank began to take off his apron.

   “Fine. Just give me moment to get everyone out and then you can start wheeling your stuff in.”

Half an hour later the bar was filled with beeping machinery, flashing readouts, hurriedly prepared instrument tables and makeshift beds, including several of the tables usually reserved for eating guests. The whole area had been sterilised and cleaned by assistants as the tools of the medical trade had been arranged. Jank stood behind his bar, all taps to his kegs switched off and the liqueur bottles under lock and key, and sipped at a cordial drink. A few minutes later, the first medical arrival was heralded by the doors flying open and a hovertrolley being rushed in with a still form on it. Jank looked on impassively as the figure was hauled from the trolley to one of the beds, and then the trolley was taken away for the next passenger.

The crewman was wounded, but it didn’t seem that bad to Jank. His left arm was bloodied and burnt, and his face was covered in black smudges to suggest something had exploded on him. He was calm and quiet, his eyes fixed on the ceiling and his expression blank, with the odd twinge as he felt something. He was obviously drugged as he rolled his head over on his pillow to give Jank a weak smile. Jank smiled back and raised his glass to him. Then the medical staff swarmed over the crewman like ravenous scavengers, inserting needles and removing clothing.

The next patient had fared better, being helped in with his arms around two other crewmember’s shoulders, laughing as one of his friends said something about how well he’ll play hardball after his stay here. The man’s leg was bleeding at the ankle. He was helped into one of the chairs.

Screaming echoed up the corridor outside Jank’s bar as the next one came in. He was lying on his front on a hovertrolley, screaming for someone to help him as he struggled to reach behind him. Medical staff held him down, and as he was wheeled to the far side of the room Jank could see a large triangular object sticking out from one of his shoulder blades and he was evidently trying to reach his shoulder to pull it out. His cries dimmed as a doctor jabbed something into his neck. Jank turned away, shaking his head as he absent-mindedly rubbed his shoulder.

It was like this for the next few minutes, with wounded being ferried in and deposited where their wounds would be treated effectively. After quarter of an hour had passed, there were over thirty casualties, some with sheets already covering their faces. Jank stood, watched and listened.

   “Can’t think of a better place to die.”

Jank turned at the comment, trying to discern if it had been aimed at him. He saw a young woman lying on one of his tables, a tube coming out of her arm and into a feeder. Other sensors were padded to her chest and head, although a sheet had been placed over her for modesty’s sake.

Jank walked over and looked down at her.

   “You seem to be well taken care of.”

   “No way, buddy. I got caught in an engine room explosion. My lower abdomen is filled with charged shrapnel. Doctor says if he can’t stop the poisons from the shrapnel getting into my bloodstream I’m a goner.”

Jank frowned.

   “The doctor doesn’t appear to have a very good bedside manner.”

   “What do you expect from a ‘droid? But hey, I got no problem with that. I’d rather know now than worry about it whilst it happens. Hey, what are the chances of a drink?”

   “None, I’m afraid. I’m under orders not to serve any of you. I don’t know what kind of medication your on, any of you. Sorry.”

   “Hey, no problem. But if it does turn out to be terminal, I’d like a straight Vineu.”

   “You got it.”

The woman smiled and lay back, closing her eyes as moisture ran from them and down her cheeks. Jank stepped back and then realised that he had been holding her hand. He gave it a squeeze and walked back to the bar.

   “Hey, buddy, don’t get serving her, she’s already been busted for drinking on duty.” The voice came from the man with the damaged ankle who had been one of the first brought in. He was tall and muscular, with twinkling eyes and a cheeky, optimistic grin. The woman’s eyes flew open, and she lifted her head to look at him.

   “Shove it, Mandon, you son of a nerf-herder.” A smattering of the wounded laughed and the crewman called Mandon laughed also. Jank shook his head and started to move to the toilets.

   “Hey, man, you got a light?” Another crewmember beckoned him over to her, a NixStik dangling from her lips. “I don’t think I can light this myself.”

Jank started to move over to her.

   “What, you lost your lighter?”

   “Worse.” She lifted her right arm to show that she had lost it below the elbow, and now a metallic cap was covering the stump with several flashing lights and tubes with plasma and other chemicals running to and from it. She smiled, all the time holding the NixStik in place with her lips. “The thing is I was holding onto my lighter with that arm at the time.”

Jank tried not to show any sympathy or offer any words of encouragement. He simply helped up his hands in a helpless gesture.

   “I quit. Sorry, I’ll see if I can get one of one of the others.”

   “Thanks.”

He found himself stepping over bodies on the floor, all covered with white sheets, some of the sheets stained with their blood and chemical concoctions the doctors were pumping into people. Each one was tagged and marked, waiting for the morgue detail to come and fetch them. He quickly turned away and walked into the toilet.

All he could hear in the restroom was the sound of someone heaving in one of the cubicles. He used the urinal and then crossed to wash his hands as the cubicle opened and a young man walked out, one of the assistants in the spacestation’s medical bay. His eyes were red and running, his face pink and his hands white. There was dried blood on his tunic. He washed up quickly, blew his nose and departed.

Jank let the tap in front of him run and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were glazed and puffy. His skin was flush and his hair was greasy. He ran his hand through his greying hair and sighed heavily. Then he splashed water in his face and dried himself off.

It had been so long since he had seen the devastation of starship conflict.

‘I need that power right now!’

‘I’m doing what I can, Captain. The grid is fluctuating and we’ve been holed in the main Ion converter.’

‘If I don’t get that power we’re finished. I need weapons!’

‘Sir, the decompression in B deck is compromising engine output. It’s sucking the life out of engineering, sir!’

‘Then seal that deck.’

‘Captain! There are people down there! If we seal that deck they’ll die for sure! We have to get them out.’

‘That frigate is coming about for another pass and if we take much more damage we’re all dead. I need power to the forward lasers now!’

‘The missile system...’

‘Is down! Now seal that deck before we’re blown away!’

‘I can’t do that, sir. I won’t kill those people.’

‘You have to!’

‘I don’t understand you, sir. I never will. I won’t kill those people.’

‘Conno, you’re relieved! Engineering, this is the Captain. Override failsafes and seal off B deck. Do it now!’

‘Sir the frigate is in range. Power to weapons is nominal.’

‘Then target manually and get that damn ship out of my sight!’

Jank snapped back to the present as the toilet door swung open and one of Rogens’ security staff walked in, heading for the urinals. As he relieved himself he looked up at the wall and then over at Jank.

   “It’s hell out there. You should see the medical bay. It’s bad, real bad.”

   “I know.”

Jank turned off the water and exited quickly, the security man watching him go with more than a little confusion.

Several more wounded had been brought in. They were in bad shape, with missing limbs and covered faces. One man had a heavy bandage around his eyes and burn marks all down his face. He groped blindly for someone or something to hold onto, whimpering softly. The man in the next bed reached over and grabbed his hand, gritting his teeth as the blinded man gripped it fiercely.

   “It’s all right, Carlon, I’m here,” he said quietly, “It’s Arver, you’ll be okay.”

Jank walked past, wiping his mouth and closing his eyes as if that small moment of blindness could somehow tell him what the crewman was going through. After a little while he had reached his bar. Two more bodies had joined the others on the floor.

The door to the bar slid open, and a man in a captain’s uniform entered with another officer of lower rank. He stood in the doorway and viewed the scene, rubbing his pockmarked face. Jank looked at him hard and long, waiting to be noticed. When the captain’s eyes did fall on him, they stayed locked. They stared at each other for a while, and then the captain approached him.

Jank let him come over, his eyes always on him, his hands gripping the bar. He could feel his heart racing and a layer of sweat appeared on his face.

   “Good morning,” he said, letting go of the bar and walking around it to stand opposite the captain.

   “Damn, Jank, how long has it been?”

   “A good five years, Conno. I see you got your commission.”

As if realising his status for the first time, Conno looked down at his uniform and hooked his thumbs into his belt.

   “Yeah, well after the Ricanus incident the Republic were short on captains. I think I pulled a short straw, that’s all. What about you, Jank? What are you doing now? Do you work here?”

Jank smiled and pulled out a barstool and leaned on it.

   “I own this place. Been here since I left the forces. That’s why it says ‘Jank’s Place’ outside.”

The other officer suddenly looked startled and looked from Jank to his captain.

   “Jank Hooly? Jank Hooly of the Tempestuous? It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”

   “No, no, it’s just Jank now. I gave up the ‘sir’ after I gave up my command.”

   “Nevertheless, it’s a pleasure. I’m Second Officer Bulle of the cruiser Moz’a’ti.”

   “The Moz’a’ti, huh? What’s a big warship like her doing in a backwater like this, Conno? Trouble?”

   “Pirate hunting. I can’t go into any more detail than that. Look, Jank, I need a favour. We hauled some survivors from one of our target ships and some of them are wounded. I need a secure room to treat them but hold them for transport back to command. The brig here is already full. Can you help?”

   “Well, I’ve got a games room over there I can clear out. I’ll take care of that for you.”

   “That’s great. I’ll have my chief run them up, there’s only about half a dozen. When I’m through with inspection and whatever, how about we have a drink?”

Jank nodded.

   “You’re on.”  He watched Conno walk across the room, looking in on his wounded and then leave. He smiled as a brief thought flashed through his head.

   “Hey, Jank. What was that Bully said about you being a captain once?”

The woman on Jank’s table was addressing him, and Jank turned. He walked over and stood by the makeshift bed.

   “I used to be in the forces. Who’s Bully?”

   “First officer Bulle. We call him Bully because he’s a bit of a hard-ass. Did you really command the Tempestuous?”

   “Yes, during the Ricanus campaign.”

   “I heard that was some serious stuff. Fifty ships all blowing the hell out of each other. What was it like?”

Jank looked up and scanned the room, narrowing his eyes as he remembered. Then he looked back down at the woman.

   “This.”

The first thing that told Jank that security had brought up the wounded prisoners was the amount of profanity he could hear just outside his door. There were five of them, all dressed in the same coloured jump suits but with different markings on each. The mobile ones were not taking kindly to being manhandled into the bar, and they were showing their disgust by pulling at their restraints and foul mouthing their captors. One of them was lying half-conscious on a trolley, and he just let his head roll around limply to take in his surroundings. After a couple of stops and starts, the five of them were ushered into the games room and the lock on the door was secured after guards were placed in with them and doctors were admitted. Jack watched, afraid that the situation might escalate. Some sleeping wounded were awakened by the fracas and whinged about being disturbed.

The apparent leader of the group was a tall wiry man with thin hair and a small beard. His people were three other men, the one of which was on the trolley and a woman with a baldhead and pieces of jewellery hanging from her ears. She was the one giving the abuse, with another of the men in concert. Even when beaten they were defiant.

The room fell quiet again, except for the muffled exclamations from inside the games room and the odd murmur from the collected.

   “Hey, Jank, looks like I’m not going to get that drink.”

Jank was wrenched from his thoughts by the woman on the table, and he walked over to hear her.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Doctor just told me he stopped the poison. Good news, huh? He reckons after a little micro-surgery I’ll be back on duty in a week.”

   “A week? In my day you would have been out for longer than that.”

   “Hey, that’s the benefits of accelerated healing, Jank. Tell me, what was it like at Ricanus?”

Jank took a deep breath and looked at his hands. Then he rubbed his shoulder and said.

   "Imagine what you just saw and add an extra forty or so ships in close quarters. Crossfire decimating friendlies. Escape shuttles wasted by mis-aimed missiles and lasers. Rapid-fire cannons misfiring due to over heating and detonating. Sometimes you were afraid to destroy an enemy vessel in case you got caught in the explosion. The communication channels filled with orders and screaming. Frozen bodies bouncing off the hull, disabled ships decompressing and flinging their crew into space...” Suddenly he stopped. He noticed that he had attracted a small audience as other crewmembers listened to his description. Each one was trying to imagine what he was talking about, overlaying what they had experienced and trying to increase the magnitude. One of the crewmen rolled over, his hand to his face, trying to hide the tears. Jank felt a little guilty, but the way some of them were looking at him he felt compelled to go on.

   “The fight lasted for a good four hours, and then you had half a day of waiting for backup and medi-vacs. None of the support ships would come until all damaged ships had stopped exploding or misfiring their weapons. The ship slowly crumpling as she bled our oxygen. The Tempestuous was lucky, I had managed to save our engine compartment before...” Again he stopped, as a memory suddenly jumped into his head. The sight of Conno refusing to seal B deck. Him giving the order. Listening as a dozen crewmembers screamed down the internal comline for help. Those screams fading as the vacuum took them. Taking out the frigate, it’s debris slamming into a friendly, both ships getting caught in the gravity well of Ricanus II and burning up. Explosions, smoke, more and more screaming. Then hearing the gunner shout ‘My mama sure is gonna be proud of me!’

   “Jank? You still with me?” The woman reached out and touched his arm, and Jank recoiled with a start as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings.

   “I’m sorry, look, I’ll be back in a second, okay?”

As Jank started to move back to the toilets he watched as a guard exited the games room, panting and holding his head. Obviously the medics were working on one of the prisoners and he hadn’t seen the devastation a grisly wound could do. He watched as the guard lowered his hand to hook his thumb in his pocket.

Then he noticed the guards' firearm was missing.

Jank froze into place, aware of the pressure in his bladder and trying not to make the other patients aware of the situation. Anyway, maybe the guard hadn’t been issued, looking after pirates was a dangerous business. Jank took a step in the guards' direction, assured that was the case.

Assurance vanished as a gunshot rang from the games room and a man started screaming. The other guard on the bar’s side of the door pulled his gun and leapt for the lock controls. The first guard scrambled for his gun but was rewarded with an empty holster. The second guard reached for the lock controls.

   “Leave it locked!” Jank found a voice and spewed it forth with a scream. Wounded sat up, alarmed and confused.

The door slid open, and Jank’s fears were founded. The guard’s back exploded as a Blaster bolt tore into his flesh, sending him staggering into one of the patients behind him. The patient grimaced and rolled out of the way as the lifeless body crashed into the table and over it.

Jank seemed to move in slow motion as the other guard was shot. The side of his head dissolved and he spun around to land on the lap of a crewman in a chair. The crewman started wailing and struggled to push the body from him.

The prisoner who had appeared half-drugged on the trolley stepped from the room and scanned it with the Blaster he had secretly stolen from the guard. Obviously, his wounds were not as serious as he had led the doctors to believe.  He targeted all the personnel who were standing, including the doctors and the wounded, and held them with a fierce gaze. All were still. Then the other four ran out, brandishing weapons they had commandeered from their guards. They all took defensive stances, aiming their guns and daring anyone to make a move. The bald woman leaped several bodies and ran to the door. With a deft twist of a laserscalpel she had opened the door control panel and twisted a wire. Jank heard the hydraulic lock seal the door, just as other armed personnel appeared through the glass, weapons ready and aimed at the woman. She laughed loud and deliberate so they could see her glee and slammed a hand on the door.

   “We’re sealed in,” she reported to the wiry man.

Wiry nodded slowly, acknowledging her statement with a slow smile, scanning the room. “Listen up,” he said. “We’ll kill you all if we have to, but we don’t intend anymore harm.”

Jank looked at the guards, especially the unarmed one who had had no chance, and seriously doubted the sincerity of Wiry’s words as the pirate continued.

   “Someone get on the com and call your captain.”

No one moved. The doctors had moved away from their military patients as if distancing themselves would somehow save them. The wounded looked around helplessly, the ones who were not mobile seemed more anxious to jump the pirates, annoyed they were bedridden. They looked at their standing fellows waiting for them to do something.

   “You!”

Jank looked directly at Wiry, determined to meet his gaze but shocked to find Wiry was actually looking over his shoulder. He turned his head to see the crewman with the wounded ankle, whose name he couldn’t remember. The crewman stood and faced Wiry stoically.

   “Get on the frecking com and called your frecking captain. Right now!”

The crewman stood immobile for a second, and looked over at Jank as if waiting for an order. He had been one of the men listening to Jank’s description of the Ricanus conflict. They held each other’s gaze.

Then the crewman’s heart erupted and his body flew backwards. The Blaster shot rang in Jank’s ears and he screwed his eyes shut, feeling warm heat wash down his face. After a few seconds, Jank opened his eyes and saw no sign of the crewman.

Jank turned his head back to look at Wiry and saw that now he was looking directly at him.

   “You,” said Wiry. “The com. The captain. Right now.”

It took a little while for Jank to get his head together to move his limbs, and in that time he was waiting for Wiry to shoot him. But Wiry just held the Blaster level and waited for him to move. Jank stepped forward towards his bar, and reached for the countertop communicator. Outside the bar he could see the other guards backing off down the corridor, taking up positions but not wanting to aggravate the situation by showing a force of arms.

Jank pressed each of the com buttons in turn. His hand was shaking and his vision blurring, but he pressed the correct sequence and got through to the station exchange.

   “Jacquo?” he murmured down the comline. “I need to speak to Captain Conno of the Moz’a’ti. As soon as you can, please.”

   “Well, actually, Jank, he’s already...”

  “Jank? Jank, what the hell’s going on up there? It’s Conno! What’s...”

   “This is Jank. Listen carefully. Our wounded prisoners are armed and have sealed us all in the bar...”

Wiry, realising that he should add something to this conversation, quickstepped to the com unit and pushed Jank out of the way. He grabbed the com and picked it up, as if holding the unit to his lips would make him sound more threatening.

   “Captain Conno? This is Bosun Fost. I have taken control of the bar and I am willing to trade your men’s lives for a ship.”

   “You're not getting the Moz’a’ti, Fost. Forget it.”

   “I don’t want the Moz’a’ti. I want one of those trader ships that are docked on the upper pylons. I leave in ship, you get men back. Everyone’s sweet.”

   “Where do you think you can go, Fost? We’ll hunt you down and waste you. At least if you come back with us you may get off a death sentence.”

  “Oh, I think it’s too late for that, captain.” Fost forced the com into Janks hands. “Tell him. Tell him!”

Jank took the com and looked directly into Fost’s eyes as he spoke.

  “They have already killed two guards that I can see and a patient. I’m not sure they want to compromise.”

   “Too damn right,” Fost pulled the com back off Jank. “Captain, you got an hour to prep that ship and then bring it down to a lower pylon, or I’m gonna start giving your wounded some injections of my own!”

   “Damn, you can’t...”

Fost squeezed the com’s button to disconnect the call. He threw the communicator to the bar, letting it clatter and slide across and turned, still looking with narrowed eyes at Jank, to rejoin his fellows.

Jank breathed out, somewhat relieved he had not been this Fost’s victim and yet feeling guilty because of it. He looked over at the dead to see them being pulled out of the way by doctors, under the instruction of the bald woman.

The bar had fallen quiet. The wounded, those who were not under the influence of sedation, watched the pirates intently, waiting for their next move. Some looked impassive, some scared, some not caring their hatred was showing. Jank looked over at the pirates to see what they had planned next.

   “Even if Conno does get a ship to a lower pylon, how the hell do we get to it?” the bald woman was saying. “He’s gonna have every corridor scanned.”

   “We’ll take some hostages,” Fost said, scanning the room as if considering possible volunteers. “They won’t fire if we have something to bargain with.”

   “Of course he will,” the woman snapped. “You know the New Republic's stance on terrorism. They won’t let us go.”

   “Ah, Pudu. It’s all gas and Pudu. They’re just being tough, but when a few innocent lives are involved, they won’t fire, or even attempt to stop us. They don’t want that kind of publicity.”

   “I don’t know...”

   “Look, just shut the freck up and let me think, okay? I know what I’m doing. How long did I give them?”

The bald woman rolled her eyes and looked at her wristchrono.

   “An hour. That was five minutes ago.”

Fost walked through the room, motioning that another of his men should go and watch the door. He looked into every face, scanned every nuance of the people he was choosing to accompany his band to the lower docking pylons. “I got it,” he said suddenly, clicking his fingers and spinning. The patient he was standing next to stared at him wide-eyed, expecting a Blaster shot. “We’ll take non-military personnel. If one of these wounded freckers gets shot they’ll put it down to ‘occupational hazard’. I’d like to see them try to kill a civilian.”

Jank closed his eyes and cursed silently. He had already played that scenario in his head, wondering whether Fost would think of the same thing. He knew that if he were still a commissioned officer in the New Republic, he would think twice before trying anything with civilians involved. Now his old first officer, Conno, would be put in that quandary.

   “I still want to know how they found us,” the bald woman said to Fost. “How did they know where we would be? We were nowhere near a shipping lane or anything.”

Fost shook his head, talking in normal conversational tones and not caring whether his prisoners heard him or not.

   “I don’t know, they must have been tracking us after we left Galli Station. I want to know what all this ‘theft of military weaponry’ is all about.”

One of the men pointed at one of the wounded.

   “Ask him, he’s an officer.”

Time passed slowly, too slowly for Jank’s liking. After about forty minutes, a small trade ship, stub-nosed and broadly built swung silently past the window from top to bottom, re-adjusting it’s positioning to dock with a lower pylon.

The room had become stale and warm. The mood had become sombre, with some of the Moz’a’ti’s crew becoming more relaxed as they realised they were not going to be required for hostage duty. Some others were murmuring between themselves, eyeing the pirates, obviously trying to figure out a way to resolve the situation themselves. Others sat staring at the walls, the window, and the floor, trying not to attract any more attention than was necessary.  Jank stood by the bar solemnly.

Suddenly, Fost jumped from the table he was sat on and said, “Right, time’s up. You. By the bar, bring me the com.”

Jank looked over and saw Fost stood at one side of the door with his arm outstretched, awaiting immediate compliance. He slowly moved his hand and grasped the com, and he walked over to Fost with it in front of him slowly and deliberately. Fost flicked his fingers with impatience until he stretched and wrenched it from Jank’s hand.

   “This is Fost, Captain Conno. Your time is up. Is the ship prepped?”

   “This is Conno. She’s prepped. She’s waiting for you on pylon seven. I’ve cleared the corridors so you’ve got a straight run to the airlock.”

   “Slow down, captain, how stupid do you think I am? I’m going down there with four civilian hostages, and if any of your people try anything we’ll shoot the lot of them. Now, tell your men to pull back or I start blasting.”

The bald woman suddenly stepped forward and selected four doctors, much to Jank’s despair. He watched as the young male doctor started whimpering, his hands in front of his face as the woman started slapping him to force him to be quiet. She pushed him back and raised her Blaster. “Let’s show these Republic nerf-herders we mean business...”

He didn’t fully realise what he was doing, but Jank stood in front of the woman with his arms outstretched. She looked at him in surprise and raised the weapon to point at his head.

   “Problem? Perhaps you want some, instead?”

   “You don’t have to kill him. I’ll go in his place. Besides, I’m just the barkeep.”

The woman smiled slowly and took a step back, glancing over her shoulder and whistling to Fost. He looked up.

   “Looks like we got a hero, here,” she said.

Fost walked over slowly after a quick glance at his chrono. He stood directly in front of Jank and looked him up and down, a look of sincere confusion on his face.

   “What’s your problem, granddad? Want to be a hero? Fair enough. You just tell the captain here that you’re a civvie and you and these doctors are our hostages.”

Jank continued looking at Fost as he reached over and took the com off him. He flicked a switch and raised it to his dry lips.

   “Captain, this is Jank Hooly. Three of the doctors are being taken as hostages and I have volunteered myself as one, too. We are about to exit the bar and head for the pylons.”

   “Jank? What do you mean you’ve volunteered? Are you mad?”

   “A lot of these kids have got futures, captain. I’m just a retired officer. Let this be my last service.”

   “I’ll never understand you, Jank. I’ll never understand.”

Fost snatched the com.

   “That’s enough talk. I don’t care if your a class one loony, you’ve volunteered for the job, so let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

The doctors and Jank were pushed through the door and into the corridor, which was pentagonal shaped with a flat floor and a pointed ceiling, lights stretching down the inside of the point at irregular intervals and lighting up the otherwise dull-finish walls and floor. One of the male pirates looked up and down the corridor before motioning the others through.

   “All clear.”

   “Okay, barkeep, which way to the lower pylons?” Fost demanded grabbing Jank’s elbow and turning him around. Jank pointed down the corridor.

   “There’s a lift at the end which covers all decks. The pylons are on deck twenty-one.”

   “Right. Bring the com. Two doctors behind, hero and another in front. Hold onto them. If any security guys or soldiers pop their heads up we waste a hostage.”

The group started to walk down the corridor. Every step Jank took he was scanning the recesses of the walls, looking for any doors which might be slightly open, praying that if Conno was going to try something it would be down on the pylon deck when the pirates thought they were going to make it. He felt the firm grip of Fost and just let himself be pushed at his pace.

They came to the doors.

The controls were large and uncomplicated, and at Fost’s silent urgings with small shoves Jank depressed the lift control.

There were a few tense seconds as they all waited for the lift to approach. The pirates looked back down the corridor nervously, waiting for Republic personnel to appear. Guns were pressed hard against the necks of the hostages.

The lift doors hissed open.

Fost groaned. The lift was only a small service tube, hardly large enough to fit five people. He looked at the hostages and then at his fellows.

   “Now what the freck do we do?”

The bald woman thought quickly.

   “We just take one hostage. We’ll dump the others.”

   “Oh. Great,” one of the other men said, “we just walk into the docking pylon with one hostage. We won’t be exposed at all, will we, you stupid woman!”

   “Got any other suggestions, moron?”

One of the other men chipped in.

   “We could split up!”

   “Divide and conquer, the hell with that!”

   “Shut up!” Fost shouted. “Calm down! The pylon is right out the door. We’ll take hero here and try our luck. We’ve got this far!”

More seconds ticked by as the others mulled the idea over in their heads and then finally agreed.

   “Fine,” said the bald woman, “we do it that way. If they start shooting we’ll fry hero and run for the ship.”

They started piling into the lift, pulling Jank in last to shield them from any attempted targeting should they run into trouble exiting. The space was small and they were all forced to press up against each other hard. Jank could feel the weapons the pirates were carrying sticking into his body. If he tried anything he would receive at least three Blaster wounds, and at this range they would most definitely be fatal.

Options started running through his head as he was instructed to press one of the buttons that would take them to the docking pylon. He depressed the switch and stared at the doctors as the lift doors slid shut.

There was a good chance he would get out alive. All the pirates wanted to do was get on board a trade ship, and at this moment they were arguing about possible destinations and how best to outrun a patrol vessel. All he had to do was hang on and he would get out of this.

But what if they took him with them? The transport ship was almost bound to be unarmed and they wouldn’t want patrol ships shooting at them. Threatening the death of a civilian would still keep them off their backs.

As the lift slowly descended he felt a pang of guilt. The oath he had taken as a Republic officer meant he couldn’t allow them to leave. But why should that matter? He was a civilian, now. Oaths didn’t apply.

Unfortunately, his conscience did apply. These pirates had shot and killed two unarmed people. He had made many hard decisions in his past. This would just be another of many.

As if squirming to get comfortable, he twisted his body. His knee came up and pressed a low switch, one that would take them to the lower engineering section. If he couldn’t stop them from leaving he would certainly make it difficult. It would, at least, give Conno more time to figure out a plan of action. The pirates were too busy arguing over escape plans to notice the lift by-pass their intended level and continue down.

There was a beep as the lift stopped and the door started to slide open. As one, they looked up at the level indicator.

   “Wait a minute...”

Jank leaped forward, taking the few precious milli-seconds of shock within the pirates to get out of the way and into the deserted engineering room, which was a myriad of pipes and crawlways, darkly lit to minimise power. As he tried to twist sideways behind a large conduit he heard one of the weapons report once.

Pain seized his lower left leg. It felt as though the muscle had suddenly spasmed, the sinew roaring with cramp and fire. He gritted his teeth, unused to the sensation, and toppled forwards. Nausea clawed at his stomach and it took all his self-control to stop from screaming.

The pirates had stumbled out of the lift after him, and as they investigated the conduit he had dived behind the doors slid shut. A red light appeared above the door, indicating a lock had come on.

   “Damn!” shouted Fost. He leaped back at the doors. “We’re sealed in!”

Nice one, Conno, you took advantage. Through the pain Jank knew that his former second officer had been watching the proceedings on the station’s scanners and had no doubt taken the opportunity to trap his adversaries.

He was suddenly aware of Fost standing over him. He looked up through tear-blurred vision and watched as the wiry pirate took the long communicator out of his belt and lifted it above his head.

   “You frecker!” the man roared, bringing the device down and slamming it into Jank’s wound. Jank threw back his head and screamed.

   “Fost!” the bald woman shouted. “They’re draining the atmosphere. Trying to make us black out.” She was stood by a workstation where several readings were indicating slow but gradual pressure loss.

Fost was undeterred.

   “To hell with ‘em! It’s the death sentence for sure, now! Get on the primary workstation and overload the generators! We’ll blow them all to hell! And as for you...” the pirate looked down on Jank, who was gripping his wound and groaning with the pain. He lifted the com again and bought it down hard, bouncing it off his head and letting it fall to the floor. Then he turned and headed with the others for the workstation.

Jank stared at the com. He knew that draining the atmosphere out of the engineering section through the small vents would take time, and in that time the pirates could set the generators for critical mass and destroy the whole station and any vessel in the vicinity. He also knew he was going to die, one way or the other.

He wasn’t beaten yet.

He reached over with trembling hands and took the com. Turning down the volume he pressed the activation switch.

   “C...Conno...” he whispered.

   “Jank? Jank, what’s going on?” Conno’s voice drifted quietly from the speaker.

   “Shut up and listen. I’ve been shot. They know you’re draining the atmosphere. They’re going to set the station’s generators for critical mass.”

   “Damn! I’ll get a team down...”

   “There’s no time! They’ll have started the sequence. Open the emergency evacuation hatch on the lower levels.”

   “What? Are you crazy? You’ll all be sucked into space!”

   “If you do that it’ll stop them and the station’ll be saved. Do it, Conno.”

   “Jank, no...”

   “For freck’s sake, Conno, don’t argue! Do it!”

   “Jank, I don’t understand you....”

   “I’m a soldier, Conno. I’ve taken so many lives I can’t count them. I left the Republic to try and find myself but I’m empty. Useless off the bridge of a starship. An old spacedog. I’ve always made hard decisions that affected the lives of others, but I want this decision to affect my life. Make my life worth hundreds of others. Do it, Conno. Do it now.”

The com clicked off. Jank lay back and waited.

It would have been nice, he thought, to have bought one last round.

The locks on the evacuation hatch were disconnected. Jank smiled as he heard decompression warnings wail throughout the station.

Conno turned from the window. He had watched debris fly from the hatch and didn’t want to watch as his friend was catapulted from the station along with the pirates. He ran his hand down his face and blinked his reddened eyes. Opening the hatch had been one of the hardest decisions he had ever made.

   "Now I understand you, Jank," he whispered.

Histories - Written by Jonathan Hicks at the end of 1999, this new story set after the destruction of the second Death Star consists of totally new characters.

Cast of Characters

Jank Hooley

Captain Conno

Second Officer `Bully' Bulle

O'Mall

Barler

Sam Smiles

Captain Rogens

Doctor Barsiov

Crewman Mandon

Carlon

Arver

Jacquo

Bosun Fost