The Price

1999 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Three years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Romanoe stepped from the engineering bay, his coveralls covered with grime and powder, wiping his hands on an already filthy towel. He was shaking his head and looking at Anzai with large, round eyes.

Anzai returned the gaze, knowing whatever Romanoe was about to say contained a lot of grief, work and credits.

   “Well?”

   “We-e-e-ll, this is the situation. Both your positive power couplers and your energy converter feeder inlet are polarised at the connectors, the main drive link cables are fried, the backup hyperdrive motivator has short circuited and taken helm control with and the lateral thruster coolant system has sprayed fluid all over the internal thrust compressors and rotted the protective coverings, contaminating your power feed and whatever that big black thing at the back is.”

   “The navigation central processor.”

   “That’s the baby. Whoever fitted that thing sure dumped it in one heckuva stupid place. Right next to the reaction chamber, I ask you. That’s just asking for trouble.”

Anzai’s face-hardened.

   “You fitted that, you thick frecker.”

The hands deftly manipulating the towel froze as Romanoe contemplated Anzai’s words.

   “Oh... right.”

   “You said you put it there because the heavy casing around the rear engine compartment would keep it safe.”

   “Oh, right.”

   “And you said it was well protected in that casing you put it in.”

   “Ah, well, I didn’t take into account it being sprayed with coolant fluid, did I?”

   “Lateral thruster coolant systems tend to contain that kind of stuff, Romanoe.”

The engine bay door hissed shut as Romanoe moved to the Cannon Angel’s lounge area, sparsely furnished but well looked after. Anzai frowned as the engineer left grimy footprints on his clean floor.

   “So, how much am I looking at?” Anzai said, folding his arms across his chest as if already expecting an exorbitant fee. Which he was. He ran a hand through his graying hair.

   “We-e-e-ll,” Romanoe began, making a few rough calculations in his head. “Taking into account the age of the ship, and the fact that you are one of my best customers...”

   “Yes?”

   “Forty thousand cre...”

   “Forty thousand?” Anzai was aghast. He grabbed the bulkhead to steady himself. “What, is that a joke? Arr Sharn quoted me twenty, and Arach Raynor said he’d do it for eighteen! Forty thousand? You can kiss my...”

Romanoe held up his hands to placate him.

   “Woah, there, Anzai, woah. You get one of those guys to do it and, yeah, they’ll do a good job, but with up-to-date parts. Me, I’ll get you the original parts in factory condition, and I won’t even charge you for delivery.”

   “But you will charge me double what everyone else has quoted me.”

Romanoe shrugged and tried his best to look helpless.

   “I know how much you love the Angel, Anzai, and I have to say, so do I. She’s one of the very few ships I work on that still has all her original parts in good working order. Do you really want to scar her by fitting new parts to her otherwise sound internals? Man, that’s like putting an outboard repulsor engine on a Kabrilli water skiff.”

Anzai didn’t appreciate Romanoe’s analogy, especially since he didn’t know what a Kabrilli water skiff was.

   “But, Romanoe, forty thousand. Forty thousand credits! I could buy a new ship for that much.”

   “Yeah, an old second hand junk pile with seven careful owners and no mods. Anzai, I’m not kidding you here. It really will cost that much to keep her original. I’m sorry. The entire engine compartment has to be stripped down and replaced. That’s two weeks work on a ship like this, easy. Even with help.”

Anzai crossed to the viewing portal of the lounge and looked out. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the horizon, which was slowly deepening to red. The tall buildings of the holiday resort were silhouetted against the sky, small vehicles flying in and out of them. Even through the Cannon Angel’s hull Anzai was sure he could feel the heat from Luronsa IV’s sun.

   “Okay.” Anzai said slowly and quietly. “Sort it out. But I’m not paying any more than forty thousand.”

   “Hey, friend, when I’m through I’ll be giving you change.”

   “Great. I’ll buy you a drink with it.”

Romanoe stood, knowing that he had better leave before Anzai changed his mind. He would have to hire a workbay, get some help and locate some parts. He knew that Ranjid and his partners at Star Spares were somewhere on Luronsa IV, so he decided to locate them and get them in to help. He put the grimy towel on the arm of the lounge’s couch and headed for the exit hatch.

Anzai didn’t turn. He listened as Romanoe walked to the hatch, and listened as the entry ramp lowered. A wave of warm blew in from outside, reminding Anzai that he was at a holiday resort and that he had come here to relax.

Well, he had until he had started his final docking approach and the helm controls fired. There had been several moments of blind panic as the ship had lurched violently, throwing him from his seat. He had made so many smooth landings he had gotten out of the habit of wearing his seat buckle.

The Cannon Angel had come down hard, landing with sufficient force to blow something in the cockpit, making Anzai scramble for an extinguisher. Rescue crews had come running to his aid, and after a few brief minutes of concern had been satisfied that the ship was no threat. Then they had charged him for the pleasure of their help.

Anzai looked around the lounge and then headed for the cockpit. As he entered he reached behind the navigation computer and pulled out a bottle of Corellian whiskey and poured himself a healthy measure.

He looked at the burnt main console and the fried readouts; the bundles of wire hanging from the overhead controls.

Oh, my poor ship. Your getting old, aren’t you? Can’t take the pace.

He went back into the lounge and then turned right for the exit ramp. He walked down into the warm night air and sat at the base.

Fifty-five years old and still going strong. They don’t make them like they used to.

With a chuckle Anzai realised that he was almost as old as the ship. He had owned her for a significant portion of his life; every solo run he had ever done had been with the Angel. He looked at her scarred underbelly and raised his glass to her.

   “I’m sorry, my dear.”

He took a long draught and hissed through his teeth as the alcohol burned his throat.

   “I just don’t think I can afford to keep you anymore.”

He patted the ramp with affection, and watched as one of the landing struts hissed as it settled, spraying gas over his head.

   “Now, now, don’t be like that. I’m just being realistic.”

The strut groaned as it assumed a new position and kept the ship level. From the engine compartment there was another groan, which turned into a whine.

   “Don’t be sad. I don’t want to lose you. I just don’t think I want to risk you being shot down or destroyed because of some stupid malfunction.”

The whine receded, to be replaced by another groan and a hiss of gas from another strut.

   “I’m sorry.”

Anzai was suddenly aware that a figure was standing just outside his peripheral vision. He turned slowly to see a short figure standing a few meters away, watching him. Even in the gloom of the approaching night he could see who it was.

   “Hello, Grin.”

   “Hey, Anzai. Are you talking to who I think your talking to?”

   “How much did you hear?”

   “Enough to know that you’re a stark raving loony.”

Anzai smiled.

   “Drink?”

The short figure walked into the light of the Angel’s docking lights. Grin was a scaly, lipless alien who always seemed to appear when least expected. Although it was known that he earned a lot of credits selling information and spreading gossip, he always seemed to be short of money. Anzai wondered what he spent all his makings on.

Grin dropped down to the ramp and took the offered bottle from Anzai, unscrewing the top and using the lid as a small cup. He poured a small measure and knocked it back, immediately pouring another.

   “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Anzai asked.

   “Oh, nothing. I was just passing and I saw your ship, thought I’d crash out on your ramp. Your rear casing’s exposed. Problem with the Angel?”

   “Massive internal engine failure, took a few systems with it.”

   “Well, she is an old ship.”

   “M-hmm.”

   “Do you often talk to her?”

With a quick turn of his head Anzai locked eyes with Grin, but he didn’t see any jest or nervous misunderstanding there. Grin was asking the question as if talking to large hunks of metal was the normal thing for a pilot to do.

   “No, only when I’m upset or under pressure.”

   “It’s nice just to talk, eh? Not worry about being contradicted or corrected.”

   “I never thought of it that way.”

   “Lomona talks to his ship, you know. I’ve heard him when he works on her sometimes or when I’ve hitched a lift. Nothing serious, just the odd ‘thanks, baby’ for completing a trip or a quick kiss on the bulkhead for getting him out of a tricky situation.”

Anzai laughed. He knew well enough how pilots felt about their ships, especially after spending so much time in them.

   “I guess all us freighter Captains get used to our vessels. They kind of become a part of you, I think. You know, they keep you alive, carry you around. You treat them nice and they’ll treat you nice.”

Grin took another shot and poured another.

   “Jan says a Captain should treat his ship like he treats his woman.”

   “Oh, yes?”

   “Yeah, if something goes wrong, just buy her something new and everything will be sweet.”

With a small chuckle and a shake of his head Anzai reached for the bottle and poured himself another helping of the whiskey. He handed the bottle back to Grin.

   “Goah hates the Phoenix, swears at it and all sorts.” Grin continued.

   “Strange,” Anzai said. “He inherited that ship from his late brother Hindley. I would have thought he’d have treated it with more respect.”

   “He’s mad anyway.”

Anzai lay back and looked away over the hills and at the rising moons.

   “I remember when Latti lost the Cronta’s Lady, had it blown out from under him by pirates. He took it well, but I could tell he was devastated.”

   “No matter what the make or model, you fly around in a ship long enough your bound to get attached. Like you said, they look after you and keep you alive. Like a mother.”

   “Garr Sintinecc says that a ship is like a lover, you know, treating them with respect and all that.”

Grin grimaced at the thought of the old Barada.  

   “I don’t want to think what Garr does with his ship. Treat them like a lover? Yeuch.”

They chuckled together as Anzai topped up Grin’s lid and added more whiskey to his own glass. The ship groaned heavily from the rear and a thick wire fell from the exposed bundle under the hull and swung around gently. Grin watched Anzai’s face as the smile swept from it and was replaced by a sad stare. The vessel appeared to be falling apart before his eyes.

   “I’ve sat at the base of a lot of ramps and talked to a lot of pilots.” Grin said. “I’ve said things to them that were offensive, abusive, sarcastic and downright unasked for. I’ve told them things, in my capacity as an information broker that has either got them killed or hurt, upset them or scared them. And the one thing they ever get truly worried or defensive about,” He motioned at the Cannon Angel with his drink. “is their damn ships. I say the wrong thing and it’s a threat here or a punch there. Do you know I once spat on Jan’s ramp after biting into an especially tough cockon? The bastard nearly booted me into orbit. That was after I had told him that there was high price on his head. That bit of news never even fazed him, but one thing wrong about his ship and woomph! Up like a plasma injected orbital interceptor.”

   Grin stood after downing the rest of his drink, handing the lid to Anzai.

   “I’m off.”

   “Nothing for me?”

   “No, just a social visit.”

As the short alien turned to walk away Anzai said.

   “Grin, a lot of guys pay you a lot of money for the information you sell. But look at you, all bedraggled and out of pocket. Where does the money go?”

Grin stopped and turned back to the old pilot, taking a deep breath and contemplating the question with an expression of deep thought. He pointed at the ship.

   “The Cannon Angel  is your dream ship, right?”

   “Right.”

   “Well, some of us have unrealised dreams, Anzai.”

Grin turned and walked from the bay in silence.

Anzai looked at his ship, confused and none the wiser for Grin’s answer. The ship seemed to whine questioningly.

   “Well, my dear,” Anzai raised his own glass as a toast to his vessel. “Forty big ones it is.”

The Price

1999 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Three years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – Based around the very usual Star Wars activity of refitting a starship, The Price shows the devotion to his beloved Cannon Angel that Anzai Karoo has.  Written by Jonathan Hicks, this tale is a brief insight into the obsessions of many Setnin characters - their starships and their cash flows.

Cast of Characters

Anzai Karoo

Romanoe

Grin