With Friends Like These Four years after Episode IV – A New Hope One
“Berchest.” said Tobe Rasow, watching the rain spattering against the windshield. “Somehow it looked better in the brochure.” In the
co-pilot’s chair, Goah Galletti ignored him and unfastened his safety harness. It had
been only four days since the trip to Coruscant, and why they had to go on another
marathon journey at such short notice was a mystery to him. “Good job.” muttered Galletti to
Huren on the way past, without meaning it. Huren looked at Rasow, who just shrugged and
began climbing out of his own seat. Outside the
ship on the floor of the landing platform, Galletti stretched to try and clear the cramps
from the muscles in his legs and shoulders. Twenty hours flight in the diminutive Muurian
Transport Rakuin was bad enough, but to do
it with eight people aboard rather than the usual three, made it all the more
claustrophobic. And four of the twelve crew
– Galletti, Rasow, Huren and the load-lifter Menerand – were making their second
trip in a week and were feeling the effects. From the
corner of his eye, Galletti could see an Imperial Center Customs officer approaching at a
brisk pace through the rain. The smuggler was sorely tempted to plant a kick in his
midriff. Not only would it put a muddy boot-print right in the centre of the neat black
uniform and dump the Customs man on his backside, but the tiny black cap he wore and the
expansive datapad he carried would be sent flying through the air in an amusing manner.
Instead, Galletti merely smiled at the mental image and steeled himself for being polite
to an Imperial, never a pleasant experience. “Name.” demanded the Customs
officer. Galletti
gave the name that appeared on his false ID card. This was uncertain territory for Paael
Teqe’s people, and if anything went wrong they didn’t want it appearing on their
genuine records. “Is this your ship?” asked the
officer, keying the details into his datapad. “The captain will be out shortly.”
explained the smuggler. The ICC
officer nodded and walked off towards the Rakuin
without another word. “And a good day to you, too.”
muttered Galletti. He eyed the Stormtroopers standing to attention by the door, and wished
the rest would hurry up. He wanted out of here. Eventually,
seven of the others joined him – Menerand was staying aboard the ship – and they
made their way out of the spaceport. They boarded a monorail, which carried them nine
kilometres to their destination. When they arrived at the station, the two women in the
party excused themselves and disappeared to the refresher station. If anyone had been
paying attention, they would have noticed that the younger of the two went into the
‘fresher station looking seven months pregnant and came out with a flat stomach. In
fact the ‘baby’ was a latex bulge glued to the girl’s skin, containing the
package that had been smuggled onto Coruscant. The bulge was left in a trashcan and the
middle-aged woman handed the package to Rasow. “Thank you, Metri.” he smiled.
“Not too uncomfortable I hope, Pheonn?” he asked the girl. She shook
her head. “No problem.” “Just wait ‘til you have a real
one, honey.” murmured Metri. “Well, Rasow? Where do we meet this guy?” “Patience, Metri. First we need
Landspeeders. Goah?” he prompted. “Fine.” agreed Galletti, and
started walking towards a hire shop. “I’d better get this money back,
Tobe.” “Sure you will.” grinned the
pilot. “The boss is giving us all our own expense accounts, don’t you know
that?” Galletti’s
reply, short and to the point, nonetheless drew disapproving looks from the passing
commuters. Two
If Berchest were a pleasure cruiser, thought Galletti, this would be the engine room. The freight
yard was well hidden away from the natural beauty of the planet’s tourist spots, and
with good reason. Scraps of excess packaging fluttered across the ground in the breeze,
encountering burned-out repulsorcoils and discarded ship parts on their way. The buildings
were dented and patched. And as for the smell.
Galletti wrinkled his nose and looked around. Nearby, the yard manager was giving orders
to one of the hauliers. “Rohkea’s
Dream, fourteen hundred kilos of twinkles to Corellia.” said the manager, handing
documents to the pilot in front of him. The haulier acknowledged this and turned towards
the Dream. “Twinkles?” whispered Huren.
“That’s industrial diamonds.” “I know what they are.” hissed Galletti, annoyed
by the ex-Imperial hovering around him and treating him like a confidant. Galletti edged
his way forward to where Rasow was standing. “I recognise that guy.” murmured
Rasow, frowning. “Which guy?” asked Galletti. “See the guy Metri is talking to?”
asked Rasow. Galletti
looked. Metri was negotiating with a human male, out of earshot. “I see.” Galletti said simply. “The guy whispering in the
negotiator’s ear.” replied Rasow, indicating a human with a scarred face and no
eyebrows. “I saw Zivan talking to him a few days back on Coruscant.” “Yeah? Any idea what about?” “Nope. Still, that one went well.”
Rasow said, trying to sound hopeful rather than dubious. The
negotiations continued for another couple of minutes, until Metri made her way back to the
others. “Okay, they’re going for it.”
she announced. “We’re going to go down to the warehouse to inspect the goods.
It’s a couple of kilometres, so we’ll take the speeders.” “You might have checked with me
first.” admonished Rasow. “Do you have a problem with going to
the warehouse?” asked Metri challengingly. “No.” admitted Rasow.
“Let’s go. Back to the speeders, everyone.” “Old witch.” grumbled Rasow when
they were back in the speeder. “She’s just ticked off because the boss put me in
charge of this one.” In the back
of the speeder Galletti found he was having trouble keeping a straight face. To his right,
Pheonn was the same. They couldn’t see Huren’s face because he had his back to
them, but they guessed he had the same problem. To avoid
looking at Pheonn’s smirk, Goah looked out of the window instead, to his surprise,
they passed by a cluster of warehouses and kept going. “Where the hell are we?” he asked
as the two speeders followed one from the other gang. As they
passed between two concrete-walled factories, Huren gave a cry of alarm. At the side of
the road, a squad of Imperial Stormtroopers in grey armour whipped the cover off an E-web
laser cannon. The tripod-mounted cannon opened up on Metri’s speeder, shearing the
front off the vehicle with the first two shots. The third shot struck the vehicle’s
generators and turned it into a blazing wreck. One glance was all it took to convince them
that no-one was coming out of there alive. “It’s trap!” screamed Rasow,
stating the obvious as he threw the second speeder into reverse. The E-web had a harder
time lining up on the reversing vehicle, and scored only a glancing hit to the roof. “Turn us round and get us out of
here!” cried Huren. The pilot
tried, but misjudged his distance and drove the speeder into the factory wall. The jolt
threw Galletti against the back of Rasow’s seat, stunning him momentarily. Rasow
tried vainly to free the vehicle, but the partially collapsed concrete held the speeder in
an unbreakable grip. Realising
that they were stuck, both Rasow and Huren drew their blasters, but both were too slow. A
single Stormtrooper with an automatic rifle moved into position and calmly sprayed the
windshield back and forth with laser fire. When the
laser fire stopped, Galletti risked a look to his right. Pheonn had been hit and almost
decapitated. What Rasow and Huren looked like he didn’t even want to know. Realising
that he had only been saved by the fact that he was crouching behind Rasow’s chair,
the smuggler looked around frantically for an escape route. If he rose above the top of
the seats, he would be shot. If he tried to get out the door on Pheonn’s side, he
would be shot. The back of the speeder was covered in rubble. He looked at his own door,
which was wedged into the crumbling wall. Maybe if he kicked hard enough? As he lay
along the back seat facing the door, he could hear the sound of the Stormtroopers voices
getting closer. The initial kick failed to move the door, and one of the Imperials
commented on the noise. The second kick dented the door, but at least the wall moved
slightly. Galletti could hear gravel crunching beneath a boot as one of the Stormtroopers
approached cautiously. The third kick, delivered with more force than Galletti thought
possible, threw the door wide open. A chunk of concrete fell away from the top of the gap
and landed agonisingly on the smuggler’s knee. Galletti ignored the pain and grabbed
the edge of the speeder’s door, pulling him through the gap and onto a smooth cement
floor. Fumbling inside his coat, he withdrew one of his pistols and flicked off the
safety. A hand
clutching a rifle appeared immediately at the hole as one of the Stormtroopers crawled
through. Galletti jammed his pistol into the gap between the trooper’s glove and
forearm plate, and fired. The Stormtrooper gave a roar of pain and withdrew his arm, minus
hand and rifle. The smuggler fired three more shots into the hole in the wall, and the
roaring ceased. Limping,
tears streaming down his face from pain and shock and loss, Galletti stumbled through the
factory. Thankfully, the section he was in seemed to be fully automated, as the machinery
churned away with no workers present. Elsewhere, though, he could hear the clump of
approaching boots. Whether it was workers or Imperials didn’t matter, he still
didn’t want to be found. But where to hide? Three “Go on.” said Paael Teqe. “Each piece of machinery had its own
vat of cooling water.” said Galletti, wincing as his bad knee gave a twinge of pain.
“I hid in one of the vats for three hours until the Imperials left. After that I
stole a set of overalls from a locker and took an air taxi back to the spaceport.” “Back to the one you landed at?”
asked Paael. Galletti
nodded. “I knew there was a risk of being
recognised, but I’d changed my clothes and tied my hair back. I couldn’t find
any sign of Menerand or the Rakuin, but I hear a
rumour about a ship that took off when the Imperials started sniffing about, and crashed
in the hills a short while later.” “We heard something to that effect,
too.” said Teqe. “Continue.” “I figured I had to get off Berchest as
soon as possible, so I bribed a short-haul pilot to take me to Treoco Station.”
grunted the smuggler, adjusting the position of his leg. “Never heard of it.” frowned Teqe. “I have.” offered Zivan.
“It’s a cargo hub a couple of hours from Berchest. Independent. The people that
run it are pretty good at keeping Imperial and New Republic agents at arms’
length.” “What was the name of the ship, and her
captain?” asked a third voice from the gloom. “The skipper was a human called
Limassol. The ship-“ Galletti rubbed a hand across tired eyes, trying to concentrate.
“The ship was the Geraintes River.” Paael Teqe
looked over his shoulder. The third figure shrugged. “Kad, take Goah for some more
painkillers.” ordered Paael. “His knee is obviously bothering him.” Leaning on
Zivan’s shoulder, Galletti hobbled out of the room and into Paael Teqe’s
spacious kitchen. The knee had swollen alarmingly, but Galletti had decided against going
to a doctor until after he’d talked to his boss. Quite apart from the time involved,
it wouldn’t have looked good for the only survivor of an ambush to turn up completely
unscathed. Zivan
muttered something about going to find some more painkillers, and disappeared. Despite
Paael Teqe’s politeness and patience so far, Galletti was under no illusions about
his situation. He was under suspicion, and they had removed him from the room so that they
could check his story. After twenty
minutes had ticked past on the kitchen clock, Zivan reappeared with two strong
anti-inflammatories, which Galletti swallowed with a grimace.
“Come on, Goah.” Zivan helped him
back to his feet. “Time to get this sorted out.” “We’ve checked the details.”
said Paael Teqe without preamble as Galletti limped back to his chair. “It all fits,
and we can fill in a few blanks for you as well. Menerand did indeed take off when the
Imperials tried to break into the Rakuin.
Unfortunately, the kid had more courage than skill, and he crashed trying to escape the
local TIE-Fighters. The ship was a fireball, and we have to assume he died with it. Same
goes for Metri, Zomiseni and Uban. No one saw them die, but they were in the landspeeder
when it exploded, so officially they’re dead too. You witnessed Rasow, Pheonn and
Huren being gunned down by stormtroopers, so they’re definitely dead.” “Nothing I couldn’t have guessed
so far.” said Galletti glumly. “We can’t check the Geraintes River’s departure time from
Berchest, but it docked at Treoco when you said it did.” continued Paael. “And
the Strive that you stowed away on left
Treoco shortly after, destined for Tralus via Abregado-rae, carrying fossil fuels.” “And Goah Galletti.” said the
third voice. The owner stepped forward into the light and Galletti found himself looking
at Bura Teqe. “We know you didn’t betray us, Goah. The question is – who
did?” the eyes narrowed beneath the white eyebrows. “Any ideas?” Galletti
hesitated. “My first instinct was to suspect Res
Huren.” “Ours, too.” agreed Paael. “But I don’t think it was
him.” countered Galletti, sitting up straighter in his chair. “His reaction in
the speeder was wrong. He was as surprised as the rest of us.” “It wouldn’t be the first time the
Imperials have killed an infiltrator alongside the people he betrayed.” suggested Old
Man Bura. “No.” Galletti shook his head.
“There’s no logic to it. It would have been far easier for him to betray us on
Coruscant, and it would have taken more people down.” “Then if not Huren, who?” asked
Paael. “Don’t know.” said the
smuggler. “If I did know, I’d be out there looking for him.” “We don’t know now, but we
will.” said Bura. “I can start looking – discreetly, of course – and
we’ll find our traitor. In the meantime, I suggest we get Goah’s knee looked at.
I know a good surgeon on Jururawat Avenue. Highly-priced, but skilful and very
discreet.” “Discreet?” said Zivan, speaking
for the first time since re-entering the room. “Yes, Kad.” confirmed Bura.
“I don’t think we want this news to reach our competitors. I’m all for
sharing information to keep businessmen out of the Imperials’ hands, but we
can’t let them know how much this has weakened us. We can’t keep it completely
quiet – Metri and Rasow were too well known – but if we only admit to their
deaths, and attribute the other disappearances to staff turnover, we should be able to see
this through.” “Only if no one else dies.”
muttered Paael. Four Floating
back up through his anaesthetised daze, Goah Galletti watched the surgeon washing the
blood from his hands. In his drugged state, the smuggler found the process utterly
fascinating. The surgeon was talking, but Galletti couldn’t make out the words. “Goah?” asked a voice closer to
him. Turning his
head, he was pleasantly surprised to recognise the face of Zarae Quillam. He smiled. He
tried to speak, but nothing came out. “No use, professor.” she said,
turning back to the surgeon. “He’s completely out of it.” Professor
Tem Vora, senior surgical consultant to Abregado-rae’s rich and
not-entirely-legitimate, pursed his lips disapprovingly and dismissed his
surgical-assistant droid from the room. “All the more reason he’s in no
state to be moved.” said Vora. “However, if needs must…” “They do.” nodded Quillam. “Very well.” said the surgeon.
“He really was very lucky, considering. I removed a couple of pieces of cartilage
that had been torn free by the impact, and he has also lost a small piece of the kneecap
itself, so it now has an indentation on one side. He won’t be able to walk on it for
a few days, but there should be no long-lasting effects, especially since the dressings
are soaked in bacta. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting him in a
bacta tank?” She shook
her head. “Or him staying off his feet for a
month?” suggested Vora. “I’ll try, but I can’t make
any promises.” answered Quillam honestly. The
professor sighed. “Oh, dear.” he gave a weary smile
and handed Quillam a foil-pack of pharmaceuticals. “Painkillers, and quite strong
ones at that. One at a time, four times a day, at least three hours apart.” After
helping Galletti into Quillam’s landspeeder, Vora headed back into his practise,
fingering the cheque he’d been given by Old Man Bura. It would pay for two very good
seats at the opera for his wife’s upcoming birthday. Galletti
spend the rest of that day and most of the next sleeping on Quillam’s sofa. When he
finally awoke, they ate, and spent the evening talking about the friends they’d lost
on Berchest. When night arrived, Galletti found to his delight – but not really
surprise, not any more – that Quillam had no intention of sleeping alone. Five Galletti
limped into Quillam’s kitchen and helped himself to some fruit juice. He’d been
sleeping so much in the four days since the operation that he constantly felt dehydrated. It’s not just the sleep
that’s making me dehydrated, he thought with a wry smile. Tobe
Rasow had been right all along, and Galletti would have willingly suffered the
pilot’s innuendoes just to have him alive and kicking again. Talking of kicking, thought the smuggler, realising
that his most of his weight was supported by his ‘bad’ leg. The ‘good’
leg now hurt more than the other, due to him overcompensating. He shifted the weight, and
the uninjured leg immediately protested. “What are you doing on your feet?”
demanded Quillam, dumping a holdall on the kitchen table. Galletti
turned. He hadn’t heard her arrive back. “I was just thinking that myself.”
he said. “What’s in the bag?” “Nosy.” she chided him. “I
picked up some clothes from your apartment while I was feeding your fish. You’re
going to have to look after yourself for a few days. I’m being sent on a negotiation
job with Aries Teqe. They want me to work out the logistics of transporting the
cargo.” “Since Aries couldn’t figure his
way out of a room if you left the door open.” “Now, now, Goah. That’s
cruel.” she smiled despite herself. “And entirely accurate.” “I never said it wasn’t. You will be okay by yourself, won’t you?” she
said, slightly worried. “I’ll be fine.” said
Galletti. “After what’s happened, I should be worried sick at the thought of you
going off-planet, but if Aries is going, Paael will send enough security to beat the Sith
into submission.” he paused. “Thank you for all of this.” he said. “Hey, I could have done much
worse.” Quillam said lightly. “Like Ezda Guinez.” she continued, her
expression darkening. “What about Guinez?” “You haven’t heard? She’s
taken up with some gangster or other.” said Quillam disapprovingly. “One of the
Kef’tu brothers. They run nightclubs, casinos, drugs, all that kind of thing. Flash,
careless, and dangerous.” “Oh, them.” said Galletti. “They’re
probably in more danger than she is. Would you
fancy explaining to Kad Zivan why Paael Teqe’s favourite safecracker had been injured
in a nightclub brawl?” “No.” she admitted. “Now go
and sit down, I’ve got to get ready.” When she was
gone, Galletti looked around the obviously feminine lounge and decided he was going to die
of boredom if he stayed here on his own. He picked up his comlink and called up Paael
Teqe. “Hey boss, it’s Goah. I want to
get back to work. Could you spare me one of the junior guys as a driver for a couple of
days? Perfect. See you soon.” The smuggler
got to his feet and limped back into the kitchen. To his despair, Quillam had brought a
selection of his least-favourite clothes, things he hadn’t worn for months. “I thought she was too perfect.” he muttered, and
started to get dressed. |