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Bacta
Reality 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Fourteen
years before Episode IV – A New Hope It felt like he’d been drifting for
years, but Honaro Desiato knew that in truth it was only a day. The breathing apparatus was tight across
his face and his large bulbous eyes stung whenever he opened them, the thick
gooiness of the Bacta coating and blurring his vision. His body ached, what was left of it, and no
matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to scratch the irritating itch that
was annoying his middle leg. He
wouldn’t normally mind but it was his favourite leg and it had taken years to
grow. And besides, this health care
business didn’t come cheap. Especially for a mid-field racer like himself. He knew that his swoop was a wreck,
and that the Red Star Hotel chain sponsored Derrelex II would never
swing round the canyons of Inianjon or any other world ever again. He’d miss that swoop. Chicks dug it. Honaro also knew he’d miss his two
lower arms, the two that had been ripped away by the tremendous force of the
impact with the canyon wall and the swoop that was trailing close behind in
third place. His main competitor, a
sneering cocky human called Zugarrenn was streaking away and he’d given the
Derrelex a good few seconds at full burn, reeling Zugarrenn in meter by meter
until he could feel the heat from his flared exhausts. He knew he was lucky, having the think
leathery hide that his species the Deveer had, and was well aware that it was
that skin that had held him together on more than one occasion. But not this
time. This time he had come off decidedly
second best, and the canyon wall, the vanes of the following swoop and
Zugarrenn had come away victorious.
And as he lay there in the burning wreckage, limbs scattered all
around, orange blood seeping like engine grease from his many wounds, waiting
anxiously for a med team he thought would never come, he guessed that his
days as a racer were likely numbered. Despite this, he was lucky in many
respects. Inianjon had a first-class
medical facility and had perfected a form of Bacta fluid that was effective
at salving burns and quickening the healing process. He knew he’d need that, as well as he knew
that he would be in this cylindrical tank for quite a few weeks. His position in the small Derrelex Racing
Team would have been taken now, there being very little room for sentiment on
the swoop racing circuit, and regaining that slot would be nigh on
impossible. He sighed within the
breather and closed his aching eyes. Yep,
my hot rod days are over. It was like it was in slow motion but
Honaro could see his life flashing very slowly before his eyes, almost as if
he was reliving it in real time. The
thought chilled him. He’d had many
friends in the business who’d skirted death, and
even more who had succumbed to it. His
life had been, racing apart, an unremarkable one and he wasn’t
sure he wanted to suffer the tedium again, no matter what speed it was
replayed. But as he opened his eyes slowly,
almost hearing the creaking of his eyelids through the gooey fluid, he could
see shapes in the room. Figures, coalescing into near sharpness. One figure he thought he recognised. Was that Zugarrenn? It couldn’t be, that sneering human
wouldn’t bother himself with a med lab visit, surely. Turning his head he could see another
figure, Hurtoits, his team mate and friend.
And the third was surely Driss Cotta, top racer and al round decent
guy. They seemed to be sharing a
heated argument, snapping and hacking at each other, but Honaro couldn’t make
out what they were sniping about. Just
as well, he thought, I don’t think I’ve got the energy to break up a
fight - He flickered for a second and was
propelled back to the race. He’d been
lying in fourth position, his best position for eight races, but Zugarrenns swoop had out manoeuvred him to steal it. Honaro gritting his teeth plate and
squeezing the throttle he kicked the Derrelex II into high gear and
muscled out the sixth placed swoop that was closing in fast. Zugarrenn was being reeled in, even as he
tore the twisting path of the canyon, and Honaro could sense the excitement
of the crowd, the roar of the engines, the heat of
the exhausts. He smiled broadly as he
sensed a small victory, one of many such insignificancies that littered his
racing career - And suddenly he was on the winners’
rostrum, but not on Inianjon. He was
back in his early racing days, when he was a hot prospect, vaunted by the
major teams and offered the stars and moons for his future services. His smile returned as he accepted the
trophy from the perfectly shaped Twi’lek and held it aloft, cheering himself
hoarse as the crowds did the same. He
looked beyond the podium and the two runners up, past the local dignitaries
and down the long, crowded central street of Mos Banely to the distant canyon
and rocky outcroppings of his victory.
Tatooine had always been a swoopers paradise, her terrain a lethal
challenge, and young Honaro had decided to test his skills here on the Outer
Rim. And it paid dividends. He was now a name, and a winning one at
that. Desando Dynamics were after his
thumbprint, as were Assallam Astronautics, two well-established teams eager
for continuing success. He felt
honoured, spoilt for choice, and young Honaro wondered which team would give
him a shot at racing in the Core -
`…and Desiato hits the front with only two klicks to go, surely
nothing can stop the young Deveer now!
Driss Cotta is lying in wait, but it’s Zugarrenn who’s coming up fast
on the inside! We’re into the final
klick and it’s desperately close, but it’s Desiato by a vane! Honaro Desiato wins!’ He could feel the exhilaration as he
crossed the infrared finish line, the blast of the horn almost blowing out
his hearing pits. Zugarrenn was the
local boy and the partisan Escall crowd showed their initial disappointment,
and then gave their grudging appreciation by clapping Honaro’s victory. He grinned beneath his goggles and
acknowledged Zugarrenn as he cruised past him, both slowing down to a crawl. The cocky human tipped his hat at Honaro as
he dipped in front, leading them both back to the pit area. The Deveerian
was first off his swoop, ambling his three-legged walk over to Zugarrenns area and waiting for the human to accept the
pats and back slaps of his compatriots, receiving many himself.
“Top finish.” praised a stocky Gamp as he moved past, and Honaro
smiled in return. “Haven’t
seen a finish like that since the Tatooine Ten Thousand two years ago.”
“I remember. You won
it.” Honaro pushed through the final
ring of spectators, accepting a handshake from top swooper Driss Cotta and
reached out his own hand to shake Zugarrenns.
“Great race Honaro. Thought I’d
got you there on the bend. Good
holding.” Honaro grinned, appreciative of the
compliment.
“Thanks Zug, I’ve been working on tightening my turns.”
“Practise made perfect.”
Zugarrenn motioned towards the waiting media melee. “We’d better meet and greet. I think we’ve both got some contract
signing to do.”
“Sounds like a good days work to me – “
“There’s nothing wrong with the injectors Honaro, it’s you!” Honaro waved his four arms in
consternation and shook his head.
“No, no, no, I’m telling you, I gunned the engine and went for the overtake but there was nothing in the tank. She’s fried.” The engineer raised an eyebrow as he
looked up at Honaro from his haunches and threw the oily rag to the dusty
floor. His patience had long since
worn thin. The multi-limbed Deveer had
been a racer for Assallam Astronautics for three years,
and despite a blistering start to his rookie season had slid gradually down
and down the starting grid, only occasionally placing on the podium. For such a big investment with such bright
hopes, Honaro was now officially a disappointment. He knew his contract was under review, as
did his engineer. And the fuming man
was hoping against hope that he would be working alongside a more competent
swooper next season.
“Look pal, my swoops don’t fry, they don’t stall, they don’t
jump, they don’t quit. What they do
is win races. Somehow you’ve managed
to find a way to make them look like junkyard racers. This is Assallam. We don’t run in the middle of the pack, we
lead it.” He gave Honaro a withering
look. “Maybe you can settle for coming
in second. I can’t.”
“But,” began Honaro despairingly.
“But what? Damn, I sure wish we’d signed Zugarrenn
when we had the chance. That boy’s got
engine grease in his veins.” Honaro stiffened at the mention of Zugs name. Their
friendship had turned sour the minute the arrogant human signed the contract
for Desando Dynamics swoop team back on Escall. And it had been made all the harder when
Zug began taking podium finishes every race.
On a galactic scale these Mid-Rim championships were the lower
leagues, but within Setnin and the surrounding sectors it was prime time
viewing. And as Zugs’
star ascended, Honaro watched as his own sank beneath the horizon.
“Maybe you should have offered more money when you had the chance to
sign him.” stabbed Honaro, trying to salvage what little pride he could. The engineer smirked.
“You got a better basic deal than he did, but he’s on a win bonus
scheme.” He whistled through his teeth
as he retrieved the rag and stood to his feet. “That boy’s earning five grand a win.” He began to walk away towards the shower
room. “Maybe you oughta
think about that the next time you blame my injectors.”
“But,” Honaro shuddered and opened his aching
eyes again. He was still in the Bacta
tank, floating freely, tubes and leads trailing from his shattered body. He felt slightly better, but still his
missing limbs ached as if they were still attached, and despite the
transfusion he felt light headed. The
room was plunged into darkness and he could only assume that it was nighttime. He was
alone again, and wondered to himself where Zugarrenn, Driss and Hurtoits had
got. No matter, he couldn’t spend time
worrying what his racing colleagues were up to; he had some healing to
do. Plenty of time for that -
“You’re a loser, I never should
have agreed to go out with you.” Honaro ducked the flying piece of
pottery and winced as it crashed against the wall, showering him with pieces
of clay and ceramic. He gingerly
lifted his head from beneath the couch and raised his eyebrow in a submissive
gesture. His girlfriend had always
been fiery, but now she was positively volcanic.
“Asura, honey, calm down.” He
glanced behind him at the pottery.
“Things will pick up, I promise.”
“Promises, promises, that’s all I ever hear from
you. I told you when we
started, I want the high life, not…this!” She flashed a glare around the plush suite
and turned up her perfectly shaped nose at it. Honaro couldn’t help but frown. This was the luxurious Emperor Suite at the
Red Star Hammill. There likely wasn’t
a room as opulent as this on the entire planet, which granted wasn’t saying
much, but luxury is luxury and this, as far as Hammill was concerned, was
it. Asura continued her ranting,
stomping around the room, her perfectly shaped lekku swinging seductively behind her perfectly curved
back.
“I’m used to having everything that I want, to be waited on
hand and foot. I shouldn’t have
to come down to this!” she wailed, and Honaro covered his ear pits as
the crying rose in intensity. Gods,
now I know why most Twi’lek girls are slaves.
Give them a taste of the high life and they demand it all. A soft knocking at the door broke his
cover. He stood, moving silently past
his fuming girlfriend and opened it slowly.
A bellboy waited there, silver platter in hand with a flim resting
lightly on top.
“For you sir.” He stated, his eyes
expectantly bobbing in anticipation of the tip that would surely follow, but
Honaro’s eyes had already noted the letterhead on the flim. Assallam Astronautics,
his swoop team, and surely their new contract offering for the forthcoming
season. He closed the door in
the bellboys face, much to the disgust of Asura. He’d been here on Hammill to raise public
interest in the latest rounds of races, and had done numerous holovid spots. He
was tired, but he knew that all that exertion would be worth it once he
opened this flim.
“What’s that?” queried Asura, moving towards him, her perfect legs
spanning the gap in two strides.
Honaro grinned and began opening the flim.
“This, baby, is your passport to a new and better life.” Honaro turned out to be right, though
not in the manner he expected. Ten
minutes after Asura had packed her bags and taken the next flight off Hammill
he still couldn’t believe that the flim wasn’t a new and increased contract
offer but a letter notifying him that his contract was to be terminated a
year early. Or that his replacement in the
Assallam team was - Zugarrenn tapped lightly on the Bacta
tank and peered inside as Honaro lowered his eyes to look back at him. He could feel the fluids surging through
him, his insides knitting together, assisted by the healing properties of the
Bacta. If he had the strength he would
have climbed out of the tank right now, wrapped a tube around Zugs neck and –
“Squeeze gently, that’s it, not too hard on the throttle. Now, open her up and see what she can do.” Honaro looked across at his new
mechanic and marvelled at how patient and polite she was. And attractive, for a
human. Her blond ringlets
masked much of her pretty elfin face, and her slight frame bellied the
booming voice that came from it.
Honaro had learned to appreciate her ready and genuine smile, and when
she turned it towards him all the hurt and disappointment seemed a million
kilometres away. If only life at
Assallam had been this easy, he thought as he swung his right leg over
the fuel tank and straddled the swoop, this middle leg resting on the
controls as a very handy fifth arm.
Iieera smiled as she kick-started the swoop for him and folded her
arms in satisfaction as the Derrelex growled beneath them both like a
contented Nexu.
“Now if you don’t get a top five placing on this beauty there’s
something seriously wrong.” Honaro glanced at her with an edge of
nervousness in his eyes, but Iieera bumped playfully into his shoulder to
show she was just kidding. Derrelex
had swooped in quickly to get Honaro’s signature when Assallam disposed of
his services, reasoning that a name driver, however short he may have fallen
of expectancies, would be of benefit.
And given time he could work with the mechanics and tune a great
swoop. Building a team around him was
what attracted Honaro to the team. That and the inordinate amount of hot
babes that frequented the pit area during a Derrelex run. The team’s silent owner, a fellow named
Jomobol Pocock, would often be spied at the practise runs and warm-up
heats. And now the new season was
approaching his niece Haetzi was often at the track, her young and
enthusiastic presence a welcoming break from the strains of building the
team. Honaro grinned at her as she
walked past, hand-in-hand with her uncle and revved the engines.
“They sound perfect.” He commented, praising Iieera’s
good work. She shrugged her shoulders
in a humble manner.
“Only a Jedi can truly use a lightsabre. It doesn’t matter what you fly, if you
haven’t got the skills then no one’ll know how hot
this rod really is.” She eyed him
closely. “And you’ve got the
skills. So go and show everyone how
good a mechanic I am by getting a placing.”
“Iieera, it will be my honour to – “ A cold chill ran down Honaro’s spine
as a bright light pierced into his eye, and he opened it just a crack to see
what was going on. A doctor was
peering in to his tank, checking on his response. He furrowed his eyebrow and then opened his
eyes wide to indicate his alertness.
The doctor screwed up his face and stepped back. Honaro could hear him speak, but muffled,
as if through tar. The others in the
room were too far away from the tank for him to see clearly, but he guessed
it was his three fellow racers again.
He could see gesticulating, arms waving, and wondered what could
possibly drag them into such a furore.
Maybe I’m in a worse stare than I thought I was, he said to
himself. I feel good but – By the gods, it’s cold! Honaro couldn’t believe the wind as it
whipped through the twisting canyons of Inianjon, buffeting him from left to
right, bouncing him along like a childs
toy caught in the swirl of a river. He
gritted his teeth plate and curled his lip, lowering himself down behind the
low windshield and squinted ahead, focusing on the swoop ahead. It was Zugarrenn again, he’d briefly lost
sight of him but clearly Zug had encountered some back markers and now this
was Honaro’s chance to gain ground. He
flicked three switches in a pre-determined sequence and waited for the
redundancy generator to kick in and feed some more juice into the
reconditioned engines. Iieera had been
working miracles in practise, and he felt confident that he could coax even
more power from the swoop that was rattling and humming like a bird. This was the tenth race of the season, and
he had been gathering points like a scavenger, picking up fifth and sixth
places and amassing a modest but notable total. For a small team just starting out Derrelex
were making ripples on a large pond.
Honaro was out to make waves. He checked his pit computer, and
messages from his team were relayed to him.
All systems were nominal, his swoop was
coping well with the cold and the constant spray of mud that was thrown up
from the dry walls, the heat and moisture of the swoops beginning to slime
the canyons with their grease. He was
sitting in third place, the Desando swoop sticking close to his tail. Zug had been forced to go wide on the last
turn and Honaro took the chance and nudged in even closer, sitting just three
metres off his exhaust. Two back
markers were fighting between themselves, causing a problem for the race
leaders. But in Setnin swooping there
were no rules that said back markers had to give ground to the race
leaders. Honaro and Zugs
would have to sort this out themselves. Honaro watched as Zugs
pushed his way through the two swoops, twisting in tightly and forcing them
apart, and before they could close to continue their battle Honaro did the
same, tilting his Derrelex II on her side and blasting by. Zugs was in his
sights now, trying to pull away, his Assallam Astronautics swoop struggling
to cope with the messy conditions, her tune up more suitable for a dry
track. Iieera had been smart and
configured the slower but hardier Derrelex to cope with an oily, filthy
track. Her foresight was paying
off. Honaro pulled level with Zug, and
they swung around the next canyon wall together, side-by-side. The crowds’ cheering was deafening, audible
even over the roar of the powerful engines.
Another turn approached, this time a tight left and Honaro had to give
ground in order to navigate the turn.
He slipped into Zugs slipstream, the heat of
his engines buffeting the loose leathery skin on his face. He thanked his mother and father for
passing on their tough hide and hunkered even lower in his seat, his middle
foot resting beneath his chin. He
scratched his nose with his toe and twisted the throttle, feeling the
comforting growl of the engines increase as Zug came nearer and nearer and
nearer… And all of a sudden his life slowed to
a crawl. Almost before his synapses
could receive the message that he was in pain he saw the canyon wall swing
towards him, then a thump and a smash of light and fear and pain. Then darkness, before a ripping sound
informed him that the steering vanes of the swoop behind had collided with
him and torn away his two lower arms, then the dark again, then the numbing
sensation as he left the swoop and his middle leg behind and hit the floor
with a thud and a squelch. He blacked
out briefly and regained consciousness.
He could see his severed arms a few meters away, and he looked down at
himself, a battered wreck of a Deveerian, and tried
to cry out in pain and panic but couldn’t find his voice. All he could think was one constant
thought, like a mantra running through his mind. What did I do? What did I do? Gee it’s really dark. Why don’t they leave the lights on in this
place? It’s not like it costs
anything. And why’s everyone staring
at me? That’s funny,
Hurtoits looks like he’s crying. Big
baby, I’ll remind him about that when I get out of this tank. And Driss looks miserable. And Zugs too… Hmmm… Hey, this isn’t right. Why can’t I feel my legs? Oh, that’s right. They’re over there. Why’s the doctor messing with the tank
controls, I feel great. I should be
out of here in no time, why mess with things now? Hey, it looks like he’s turning it off. Maybe that means I’ll get out of here
today. What’s that cleric saying? And what’s with those flowers, why are they
there? They look like… Oh… Oh, I get it. Figures. Guess this really is the end of my hot
rod days. Bacta
Reality 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Fourteen
years before Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – The
story of unlucky swoop racer Honaro Desiato as he goes from promising
young hopeful to big league racer to mid field rider to his death. By Mark Newbold, this features Driss Cotta from Jonathan
Hicks’ Shadows from the Past story, as well as telling us that Jomobol Pocock had a
silent interest in swoop racing, funding the Derrelex Swoop team. Cast of Characters Honaro Desiato Zugarrenn Hurtoits Velix Asura Iieera Driss Cotta Jomobol Pocock Haetzi Pocock |