Ship Shape

2001 short story by Andrew Dick

Four years after Episode IV – A New Hope

One

   “Welcome to Traders Plaza, Abregado-rae’s newest and most vibrant shopping experience. On our three floors you will find many…”

Goah Galletti ignored the rest of the pre-recorded message, instead staring at the scene in front of him in a state of bemusement. A large bronze statue stood atop a sparkling fountain. A six-piece jizz-wailer band sat in a discreet alcove, playing gentle music. Families drifted in an out of the various shops on display. There was a Siso Berran store here, for stars’ sake.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the dingy corridor he’d just emerged from. Yeah, that’s the Abregado-rae spaceport, all right. Shrugging, he sought to regain his bearings and find his contact.

Like everyone else here in the mall, Kadriorg Zivan was here with his family. It was a strange sight to see Paael Teqe’s right-hand man, a huge hulk of a human, to be here with his pretty wife and three small children. But there he was, large as life, failing to persuade his offspring that they should eat something healthy for lunch rather than nerf-burgers again.

   “Kad Zivan, what a pleasant surprise.” said Galletti, managing to put some bonhomie into his voice.

Zivan looked up. The ugly face cracked into a smile.

   “Goah, my friend. I didn’t expect to see you here.” he turned to the others. “Elyn, kids, this is Goah Galletti.”

“Pleased you meet you, Mister. Galletti.” smiled Elyn Zivan, offering her hand. Goah shook it out of politeness.

   “Kids, aren’t you going to say hello to Mister. Galletti?” asked Zivan. The three children eyed Galletti uncertainly. “Aww, they’re shy.” cooed Zivan. “Elyn, can you order lunch while I go withdraw some money to pay for it?”

   “Sure, sweetie.” she smiled. “Come on, kids.” she steered them towards the nerf-burger restaurant while Zivan and Galletti headed for the Automatic Credit Machines.

   “Unusual choice of meeting place, Kad.” said Galletti when they were out of earshot.

   “I knew you lived near here, and Elyn was nagging me to take the family shopping anyway.” shrugged Zivan. “Kill two mynocks with one shot.”

   “It’s not the timing.” Galletti shook his head. “This place is weird. I know they’re trying to give Abregado-rae more respectability, but a family mall built onto the side of the spaceport?”

Zivan grinned.

   “I like it.” reaching the ACM, he took out his wallet. As he located his ACM card, Galletti noticed a large wad of credit bills.

   “Need to lift money, huh?” he said dubiously.

   “It’s useful for privacy.” rumbled the larger man. He turned and made eye contact with the man behind him in the queue. The other man took the hint and backed off slightly. “We need a job done in a hurry.” continued Zivan in a low voice. “We subcontracted a delivery to Coruscant. Turns out the guy wasn’t as good as he said he was, and the Imps impounded the ship. The boss wants the ship back, yesterday. I’m putting together a team, and I want you on it.”

   “Thanks.” nodded Galletti. “But surely the Imperials will have gutted the ship already?”

   “Probably.” said Zivan, jabbing at the buttons on the ACM. “But the ship has sentimental value which is worth more than the cargo.”

Galletti shrugged. Whatever was so important to Paael Teqe aboard the ship, the Imperials weren’t expected to know about it or find it. Galletti also knew better than to enquire any further.

Zivan handed Galletti the money he’d just withdrawn, four thousand credits.

Galletti eyed the cash in his hand.

   “Not my usual line of work.” he admitted. “But what the hell.”

Two

   “Freighter Veiled Charm, please transmit your cargo manifest and clearance code” ordered the Imperial Center Customs official.

   “ICC Control, Veiled Charm transmitting now on data channel two-three-three.” the pilot paused to glance at Res Huren, and punched a button on the console in front of him. There was a long pause.

   “Veiled Charm, you are cleared for landing. Proceed to the edge of the shield control zone.” said the Customs officer abruptly.

   “Customs, Veiled Charm complying.” said the pilot, and shut off the transmission.

All six seated in the flight deck breathed a sigh of relief. The pilot, Tome Rasow, turned to Huren.

   “Well, Huren.” grinned Arson. “Looks like your codes are still flavour of the month here.”

Huren shrugged. A former Imperial spaceport docking officer, he had been hired by Paael Teqe to provide expertise in beating Imperial security, and he had just proved himself worth the money. Despite the calm persona, he had been as worried as everyone else.

Kadriorg Zivan turned to the Quarren seated in the navigator’s chair.

   “Well, Arobaini?” he asked. “Did you get it? And more to the point, did they see your program?”

   “I doubt it.” the alien shook his head. “It was a passive program. It only kept tabs on any changes within our computer, so I have a record of what files the Imperial security computer accessed while they were talking to us over the comlink.”

   “That will be worth knowing.” put in Huren. “Do we know whether they work on file names, or file content?”

   “I’m going to give the cargo bay one final check.” announced Galletti, rising from his seat. “We don’t want anything that will make the Empire even slightly suspicious.”

   “Good thinking.” said Zivan distractedly, his attention staying on Huren and Arobaini.

As Galletti left the deck, Rasow rose from his seat, turning to address his Shistavanen co-pilot.

   “You okay to land this thing yourself, Rether?” he asked.

She gave him a don’t insult my intelligence look, and he left. He caught up with the smuggler on the stairs down to the cargo decks.

   “Hey, Goah. Wait up.”

   “Tobe. Shouldn’t you be landing this thing?” Galletti frowned.

   “A good captain never lands his ship when he can bully his first officer into doing it.”

   “You bully Rether?” Galletti snorted. “Sure.”

   “Hey, buddy.” Rasow put his arm round Galletti’s shoulders. “Whatever the problem is, I didn’t cause it, so stop kicking me in the ass. So, uh… what exactly is the problem?”

   “Huren.” said Galletti. “I don’t trust him, and neither should you.”

   “Ah. To a certain extent, you have a point.” Like Galletti, Rasow was an ex-Rebel. Shortly after Galletti had joined Teqe’s group, he had discovered that Rasow had also been a Rebel, and had also been on Hoth, although the two had never met there. “I know he’s a former Imperial, but that’s the point – he’s former, not current.”

   “I’d have less trouble believing in him if he’d defected for reasons of conscience.” said Galletti. “As it was he was merely unemployed before Paael Teqe took him on.”

   “Goah, I don’t like the Imperials any more than you do.” said the pilot. “But this kid just doesn’t have the balls or the brains to be an Imp spy, so stop worrying.”

   “Don’t be naïve, Tobe. Just because he isn’t cut out to be a spy doesn’t mean he can be trusted.” said Galletti. “Even if he’s loyal, you saw that performance on the bridge. Getting us past a simple customs check seems to be the limit of his ability.”

   “Come on, Goah.” protested Rasow. “This is Coruscant, not some one-platform hole in the Inner Rim. Security here tends to be secure, know what I’m saying?”

   “Drop it.” Galletti shook his head, shrugging off Rasow’s arm. “I just don’t like the guy, and if that makes me unreasonable, fine. I still don’t like him.”

   “So who do you trust?” asked the pilot.

   “I trust you.” replied the smuggler. “And I trust Rether, and Zivan. And Quillam, too.”

   “Ah, Quillam.” smirked Rasow. “We’ve thought as much for a while.”

   “Wipe that grin off your face before I smack you, Rasow.” replied Galletti calmly. “It isn’t what you think.”

   “No!” gasped the pilot in mock horror. “Not… friends? Say it ain’t so, Galletti.”

Galletti stopped in his tracks and turned to face Rasow.

   “Tobe, if you don’t want our friendship to end in a very sudden and violent way, get your sorry ass back in the pilot’s couch and land this flying warehouse. Or I’ll take a length of that ducting there and…”

   “All right, have it your way.” Rasow held up his hands. “You try to cheer up a friend and he threatens to disembowel you with an aluminium pipe.” he jogged back up the corridor to the stairs.

   “Grinning idiot.” muttered Galletti under his breath and stepped through the door. There was a faint whine of a load-lifter working at the far end of the bay, but apart from that all was silent.

   “Hi Galletti.” smiled Zarae Quillam. “Find your bag of toys at all?” she asked.

   “No.” admitted the smuggler. “Where are they?”

 Galletti had given a bag of equipment – which he’d rather the Imperials not find – to Quillam to hide. The cargo chief had done as he asked, and had refused to tell him where it was until he actually needed it. Galletti had searched the hold from top to bottom with a smuggler’s eye, and couldn’t find it.

   “Not telling you.” she said. “If you can’t find it, the Imperials certainly won’t.”

   “Quillam-“

   “Okay, okay.” she held her hands up. “I’ll show you where it is. Come on.”

Galletti fell into step behind her as she walked. Even dressed in baggy grey overalls she was more attractive than most women he’d met, and yet thinking of her in that way just seemed… wrong. He didn’t think the problem was Tref, and he didn’t think that it was because he wasn’t interested.

Oh well, he thought to himself, at least it proves I don’t think like Jan Lomona

   “Here.” Quillam said, opening the hatch to a small side room. It was the ship’s droid store.

   “I looked in here.” frowned Galletti. “I know about the loose access panel at the back, and it isn’t there.”

   “I know it isn’t.” she stood beside a battered R5 unit and reached behind the dome for a second. The head of the droid lifted off to reveal a hollow compartment in the droid’s body, containing Galletti’s equipment bag. “Two small catches under the rim of the dome, at the back.” she explained, and replaced the head.

Galletti raised his gaze from the droid to her face. He expected to see a look of triumph or even a smirk, but her expression was calm.

   “Okay?” she asked.

   “Uh, sure.” replied Galletti. “All the load lifters working okay?”

   “Fine. I’ve got everything under control.” she said, shutting the hatch as they emerged into the cargo bay once more.

Galletti nodded.

   “Okay. I’ll see you around.” he walked back to the stairs.

Inside the droid. He smiled to himself. Dammit, she’s a smart one.

Three

The fight was just getting interesting when the bar’s security men stepped in to break it up. There was a chorus of boos from the clientele, most of whom had impromptu wagers placed on the two combatants. The heavy-set miner was favorite, but the spice smuggler was faster, and had been using his speed to good advantage.

The four men turned back to their drinks.         

   “I still say the smuggler would have won.” said Galletti.

   “You would say that.” laughed Zivan. “Smuggler bias.”

   “And you would back the miner.” retorted Galletti. “Big, ugly bastard bias.”

   There was laughter from the other three, including Zivan. The giant drained his glass and rose to his feet. “What do you guys want?”

   “Same again, boss.” Rasow handed his ale glass to Zivan.

   “Ale here too.” nodded Galletti.

   “Uh.” Huren frowned. He was very, very drunk and having trouble thinking. “This Corellian whisky is a little rough. Could I just have beer?”

   “Sure.” laughed Zivan. As he turned his back, Galletti hear Zivan mutter “Pussy.” under his breath, and smirked.

   “So Res, why d’you work for Paael Teqe?” shouted Rasow across the table.

Huren looked blank.

   “Because he pays me.” he said eventually. Rasow and Galletti looked at each other across the table and burst out laughing.

   “No.” said Rasow. “No, why him and not someone else?”

   “Don’t know.” said Huren. “He pays more than the Empire.”

   “Primitive tribes in Wild Space who haven’t even discovered money yet pay more than the Empire.” said Rasow, slapping the younger man on the side of the head. Huren wobbled and then fell off his chair, ending up sitting on the floor. Rasow and Galletti roared with laughter again.

   “Oh man, I gotta go to the bathroom or I’m gonna burst.” said Rasow, giggling.

The pilot got to his feet and shoved his way through the throng to the bar’s facilities. There were only two stalls, and one was out of order. Rasow glanced at the long queue to use the other one and decided that his emergency wouldn’t wait. There were other bars nearby, and one of them would have a working toilet.

As he stepped outside into the night, the cold air whipped through his shirt, chilling him. Rasow wrapped his arms around himself and began to walk to the bar two doors down. As he did, he glanced across the street, and was surprised to see Kadriorg Zivan talking to another man. Although the stranger wore a hood, Rasow could see that his face was scarred and had no eyebrows, like they had been burned off in a fire or explosion.

Hurrying on, Rasow ducked into the second bar in search of relief for his bursting bladder. By the time he returned to the original bar, Zivan was seated with the others again and he thought no more of it. There was a mug of ale that required his attention.

Three hours later the four smugglers were asleep in their cheap rented rooms. Tomorrow night they would attempt to steal Teqe’s ship from the Imperial compound. The day’s delay had infuriated Zivan, but it was a necessary part of Galletti’s plan to get the ship off Coruscant undetected.

Four

   “Watch your step.” whispered Galletti. “The frost has made the roof slippery.”

Zivan nodded and carefully made his way from the edge of the roof to the hatch where Res Huren was working. Zivan caught Huren’s eye and looked at the hatch. Huren raised one thumb and started to open the hatch.

They had chosen the roof because it offered a maintenance hatch, which was less secure then the hangar doors. The doors were alarmed and linked to a central computer in the compound’s security office. The hatch, on the other hand, was not alarmed and was opened by a simple code typed into a keypad. And Huren had the code.

When the hatch was open, Galletti made his way forward and unslung his bag from his shoulder. He extracted a rollaway ladder, fixed it to the edge of the hatch, and allowed it to unroll down into the gloom. There was a faint metallic noise as the ladder brushed against something, then silence.

The ladder was made of thin, 20cm long steel tubes linked together. When Galletti pressed a switch on the top of the ladder, bolts slid out from the ends of each tube, fixing them all to form a rigid ladder. When they were finished, they could retract the bolts and the ladder could be rolled up and stowed in the bag again.

With Rasow staying on the roof to keep a lookout, the other three descended the ladder quickly. Galletti took a low-power lamp from the bag and illuminated it. Zivan peered into the shadows cast by the lamp’s light for a few minutes, then pointed. The other two nodded, then followed.

The ship Zivan led them to a small Kuati CPG55 named Short Bus, designed to carry a small number of passengers plus a little cargo. Overall, the ship was only thirty metres long, little bigger than a starfighter.

Zivan crouched down by the access hatch. Although Huren and Ezda Guinez were the best lock-picks in Teqe’s crew, Zivan had stolen a few ships in his time, and the hatch was soon open. When they were inside, Zivan crawled under the control console in front of the pilot’s chair. He quickly located the panel he had been told about, and noted with satisfaction that it was still sealed with the blue tape that Teqe had described to him.

He emerged grinning from beneath the console. Seeing the other two looking at him expectantly, he nodded and pointed to the roof. Galletti and Huren gave brief nods and made their way back to the ladder. When they had climbed out, Rasow descended the ladder before Galletti rolled it up and stashed it in the bag once more.

Rasow made his way to the Short Bus by the light of Galletti’s lamp, and climbed inside to wait out the night with Zivan. The senior man would have preferred Rether for flying the smaller ship, but the chances of a Shistavanen moving unmolested through the streets and bars of an Imperial planet were non-existent.

Meanwhile, after Huren had sealed the hatch once more, he and Galletti stole a landspeeder and made their way back to the Veiled Charm.

Five

As dawn was breaking the following morning, the shielded steel shutters of the hangar rolled up into the roof. When the light had crawled all the way up the windshield of the CPG55, Rasow and Zivan were ready. The doors had opened to admit a newly captured YT1300, and as the ship manoeuvred to clear the door’s low clearance, Rasow gunned the smaller ship forward and shot past the Corellian freighter and the astonished staff. Before anyone could activate shields or an alarm, the Short Bus had scudded across the landing area and disappeared between two massive machinery warehouses.

   “Easier than shooting our way out.” Rasow smiled grimly.

Zivan agreed. Maybe Galletti’s plan would work. He flicked a switch on a transmitter aboard the Short Bus, and simultaneously aboard the Veiled Charm a receiver squawked out an alarm.

   “That’s the signal.” Announced Arobaini aboard the flight deck.         

   “Go.” Ordered Galletti. Rether cranked up the engines and steered the freighter out of the scrap yard and up towards the commercial traffic lanes. While Zivan and the others had been setting up a ship theft, the Veiled Charm had flown to a scrap dealer, where Quillam had negotiated the purchase of fifteen tons of scrap iron, steel and heavy metals. The day’s delay was to allow this part of the operation.

Rether flew on the commercial routes for only three minutes, before sending the Charm on a course above a vast building site. The building work ensured a large area of clear sky, and as the freighter passed over a college building, so the Short Bus appeared from between two residential blocks and thundered up to meet the freighter.

   “They’re here.” Said Arobaini anxiously.

   “Rether, slow down and fly level.” Said Galletti. The pilot nodded her agreement. Galletti leaned over to the comlink. “Quillam, open the doors.”

Down in the cargo bay, the large starboard doors slid open to their full aperture of forty-five metres. Rasow brought the Short Bus alongside, and after matching the freighter’s speed, side slipped the smaller ship into the hold. The landing was rough but successful, and Rasow quickly cut the engines before they melted the bulkheads.

   “Okay, we’ve got fifteen minutes!” shouted Quillam to her crew.

As soon as Rasow and Zivan head departed the smaller ship, the freighter’s load lifters began to pile the scrap on top of the Short Bus. By the time they reached the inner shield, the CPG55 was undetectable beneath a mound of junk. Huren’s codes got them past Customs once more, and they were in free space.

   “Well done, Goah.” Zivan said, slapping Galletti on the back so hard the smuggler thought he was going to cough up vertebrae.

   “Thanks.” Said Galletti. “Paael should be pleased.”

   “I never said it was for Paael. This is Old Man Bura’s ship.” Said Zivan.

There were a few surprised looks but no one raised any objections.

   “Sorry.” Shrugged Zivan. “He used to be in charge, and I guess I’m still in the habit of calling him boss.”

A likely story, thought Galletti. He excused himself and made his way to his quarters. He had work to do.

When the Veiled Charm stopped for refuelling, two significant things happened: Galletti dropped a plastic envelope off with a courier service, and Zivan developed food poisoning. The food poisoning would keep Zivan out of action for a week, but it was not too serious.

While the freighter made its way back to Abregado-rae, Galletti’s envelope was headed in a different direction. The address was for an apartment on Selonia. The name on the envelope was not the name of the Selonian who lived there however, and when it arrived he slipped it inside a different envelope and mailed it to a prominent lawyer in the Setnin Sector. From the lawyer’s office it was taken to another office, and left on the desk of the man who worked there.

He opened the first envelope and extracted the second. From the second envelope he withdrew the third. Inside the third envelope were twenty-two flimsy sheets of white polymer. There was writing on one side, but he ignored this. It was banal, meaningless rubbish.

Instead he took the sheets to a metal frame sitting on a side table. He placed the first sheet in the frame, and pressed a button on one edge. As the low-power electric field was formed across the polymer, the marks left five days earlier by Galletti’s stylus – invisible to the naked eye – turned pale green and became legible.

Glann Cipple pulled up a chair and began to read Galletti’s report on the status of the Core Worlds.