Dishonourable Intentions

2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Sixteen years before Episode IV - A New Hope

Melm sat up slowly, unsure of his location and what was going on around him. He could see several blinking lights, the faint outlines of structure in the darkness. There was no other sound but a distant hum, which seemed to resonate louder the more he listened. There was no sound of breathing, of the crunch of boots on rubble as patrols passed. There was no coughing, quiet whispering, no sense of tension. He listened intently, but no familiar sounds were there. He closed his eyes and tried to force the sense of sleepiness from his head.

He licked dry lips.

“Hello?”

There was a distant whine and a voice replied,

“The prisoner is awake.”

That voice.

The Imperial prison guard.

He was still on the prison ship.

“Lights.”

The two strips of illumination embedded into the ceiling buzzed to life and lit up the cell. Melm looked around with mild confusion and held a hand to his aching head. “How.. how long was...”

“Seventeen hours and seventeen minutes. You would have slept the whole journey if I hadn’t woken you.”

“Yes, I remember.”

He swung his legs off the bed that he was stretched out on and placed them on the cold metal floor. He hardly noticed the uncomfortable feeling under his feet as he stood.

“You must have been dreaming things of intensity. You were thrashing and beating the walls.”

Melm checked the backs and sides of his hands as the unseen guard imparted the information. True, the back of his left hand was bruised. He looked back at the seat/bed and saw that the covers had been kicked across the floor.

“What were you dreaming about? Your forthcoming execution?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“The Incursion is equipped with seating for twenty-four troops and four officers. Two emergency rifles and two Blaster pistols in forward arms locker, food and recycled oxygen and water for prolonged use. Food cache is stocked for six standard months for a single person. Twin upper mounted laser cannon, four forward proton torpedo tubes, standard countermeasure probes for defence, standard shield generator to deflect energy-based attacks, single light anti-personnel cannon located lower rear. Single Gorsh hyperspace actuator capable of sustained use, efficient up to three months continuous use before drop-out and re-powering necessary.”

Glann Cipple had found a subject to take his mind of the monotony of the flight.

Dropouts for re-powering? What does that mean?

“Feese, this little ship isn’t going to fall apart on me, is it?”

“No, this vessel will not fail us. We must find the prison ship soon, though. We are running out of time.”

He didn’t want to hear the specifics again. He knew that Melm had taken skills and knowledge from the homeworld of Ferrerea and that the darker side of the warrior race had condemned him to death for ‘stealing’ what he knew, hiring Blackwing mercenaries to do the job for them. Melm, he heard, was an incredible combatant and was intelligent beyond normal. Unfortunately, his first attempt at trying to use his skills to get credits and survive in the Setnin Sector went awry and an Imperial officer was killed. Melm was arrested by the Empire, a public arrest on Chancai Trade Centre. The Imperials aimed to make an example of their authority and publicised his arrest and transport. Anyone looking for the prison ship would know where to look.

Melm was a man he could use in his new position as a gangleader. Fast, deadly, efficient. He also knew that Melm’s people believed in life-debts, as Wookie's and Chortese did, and if he could use this rescue attempt to at least get Melm on his side...

“Then start scanning. We’ve got to find that prison ship before the Blackwings do.”

“We are following its course but sensors are useless long range.”

“Then scan quickly. Look for an Imperial signature. Find me that prison ship.”

“We will be out of the Setnin Sector in exactly seven hours.”

Reluctantly, Glann agreed. He wanted to start the search straight away, but the risk of attracting Imperial attention was too great. He knew that they spread their warships thinly, but they were powerful and they had a vast range on their sensors. Feese was right; best to get out of Setnin space first, away from where the Imperial patrols were thickest.

Glann lay back and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Would you like some music?”

“No, thank you, Feese, I might just sleep a while longer. There doesn’t seem to much else to do.”

Sleep came easily.

With a flick of his thumb, Carlonian Feese detached the firing pin and lay it down next to the other disassembled parts of his weapon. He lay down the huge frame of the rifle and began rubbing the pin, checking it for imperfections and wear. Satisfied, he placed it back in and started to reassemble the firing unit.

This was the third time he had cleaned his gun. He had taken the other two rifles from the arms locker and had taken them apart, replacing the worn components of his own weapon with the unused ones of the spares.

He had also found a mini-missile launcher attached to one of the spare rifles, which he had detached and placed on his own. Glann had questioned his customisation, advising that he just use one of the unfired spares, but he had not given him an answer and continued working on his own beaten weapon.

As he pulled back the primer on the firing chamber and let it snap back into position, an electronic ringing sound echoed from the cockpit. Glann stood immediately, jumping over the strewn debris of the collapsed weapons, and stepped into the cockpit.

“What’s wrong?”

“Proximity alarm. There’s something in our way. I must drop out of hyperspace.”

“How far are we from the Setnin border?”

“Sixteen minutes. I must power down the hyperdrive actuators, Glann.”

So close to exiting Setnin space and now a problem. Glann gritted his teeth and sat in the pilot’s chair.

“Okay, drop us out.”

“Cutting power to actuators. Converters switching to realspace. Exit in three seconds. Two. One. Ion engine engaged. Defence system activated.”

All around the ship the lights dimmed to be replaced by red illumination. Tactical readouts appeared on the scattered monitors. Glann peered out of the cockpit window, not wanting to rely on computer analysis and wanting to see the danger as it was.

Ahead was nothing, but as the ship slowed from its hyperspace exit three small dots appeared ahead. There were flashes emanating from those dots, flashes of explosions and streaks of energy weapons.

“What the...?”

As the ship finally decelerated to match the velocity of the three dots they became closer and clearer. Two huge Blackwing warships, long and thin with massive noses that seemed to drag the thin bulk behind it. They were darkly coloured, with what appeared to be thick piping jutting from their rears and looping over to the front. For all appearances they were teardrops, the heavier end pulling the smaller, the piping protruding in hoops.

Ahead was a smaller craft, perhaps two-thirds the size of one of it’s pursuers. It was wide and flat, with extensions either side like huge wings. At the end of these wings were long tube-like engines, spewing particles as they poured on speed to escape the attackers. Its central body was also teardrop-shaped, but with the thinner end facing forwards. It jinked and banked, trying to avoid enemy fire, which came in the form of turbolaser fire.

The shots screamed towards the target like long thin rods of red light.

As Glann watched, a laser glanced off the fleeing ship’s deflectors. It returned fire ineffectively with a weaker beam weapon.

“The two chasing vessels are Blackwing Punisher-class warships. The fleeing vessel is the prison ship. It is damaged but trying to initiate a hyperspace jump. That was the reason for the proximity alarm... ”

“That’s great, Feese. How did we get into this?” Glann was watching with a mixture of awe and fear. The great Blackwing warships, over two hundred meters long, were slowly pecking at the Imperial prison ship. The flashing from the weaponsfire and deflector hits was almost hypnotising.

“Is the prison ship having any luck with its jump?”

“Uncertain. Every time it begins the procedure a successful Blackwing hit knocks them out of alignment. They cannot hope to enter if the Blackwings continue to disrupt them so.”

Glann chewed his lip. Perhaps this was his chance. This seemingly desperate situation. Perhaps he could somehow get to the prison ship and get Melm. But two Blackwing Punishers! How could he hope to have any chance against them in this vessel? It would be like trying to outfight a Gutra lizard in a brawl.

But the ship was quick and nimble. If he could get the Blackwings attention, somehow distract them long enough to allow the prison ship to jump, and then follow them...

“Power the deflectors, Feese. And get two of the torpedoes ready.”

“I would strongly advise against a tactical engagement with Blackwing warships, Glann.”

“I don’t want to engage. I just want to get their attention. Put them off so that the prison ship can get away and we can follow them.”

“I would strongly advise against ‘getting the attention’ of a Blackwing warship, Glann.”

Glann was hardly listening. He watched as the prison vessel was suddenly destabilised as another Blackwing hit threw it off-course. As if suddenly realising what Feese had said he waved a hand dismissively.

“Just do it. We can outrun then if anything goes wrong. Target the lead vessel and hit the boosters.”

He wasn’t actually certain if the ship had boosters, but the term sounded sufficiently commanding to convey his real message. The power readout of the ion drive increased and Feese applied thrust with no complaint.

The small ship shot forward, heading to a point between the two Blackwing vessels. It slowed as they came within range of the warships. As Glann watched, the prison vessel once again tried to open a tear in space, thrusting out vast quantities of energy to open a hyperspace tunnel, a short cut back to it’s own territory and safety.

With very little emotion in his voice, Glann said,

“Fire, Feese.”

Two thin missiles, each the length of a man’s arm, sped from two of the torpedo tubes at the front of the small ship. As they moved away they changed course dramatically and sped at the lead Blackwing vessel. They passed through limited deflector shielding as the huge warship was concentrating all it’s energies on the fleeing prison ship. They struck hard, tearing one of the pipes and severely damaging hull plating. The explosions were violent, throwing debris and slightly knocking the warship off-target.

“Damage assessment; warship still ninety-eight point eight percent combat effective,” Feese reported, sounding almost disappointed.

But the damage had surprised and nudged the warship enough to ruin its aim. Laserfire passed harmlessly over the prison ship, the hits from the second Blackwing warship striking hard but doing little to change its trajectory. The prison vessel widened, flashed once, and sped off into hyperspace. The battleship started to follow it with a burst of power.

“Go, Feese!” Glann shouted, leaping from his chair and slamming his hands down on the console for support. Even with the artificial gravity at full power he was still being swayed with the movement of the vessel and the shockwaves from the energy being pumped out into space.

With a flare of power Feese pushed forward. The warships, bereft of their prize, started firing wildly at the small craft as it sped for the same point and direction the prison ship had gone. Their fire became limited as it careered between the ships for fear of striking their own.

Feese poured on more power, warning klaxons sounded, sirens screamed from the engine compartment, lights blazed and strobes pulsed. Glann fell back into his seat, gripping the armrests tightly and gritting his teeth as the swirling mass of hyperspace engulfed the ship.

The ship dived in. All around Glann was a swirling mass of energy, long streams of pulsing atoms that seemed to stream from a distance and pass around the ship in varying colours.

They were in hyperspace.

“We did it,” he breathed.

There was no answer from Feese.

“We did it,” he said again, louder, rising from the seat.

He put both hands on his face and slowly drew them back over his head, the action seeming to transform his facial expression from shock to ecstasy.

“We did it!” he leaped from the seat and danced into the officer’s room, whooping and hollering. His hands pounded the wall and his feet kicked scattered weapon components about the floor.

He hardly heard Feese.

“Glann! The prison ship has already dropped from hyperspace! Hold on!”

Glann dived for his seat. He supposed that somewhere, deep at the back of his joy, there was one seed of doubt, doubt that he would get away with it so easily. That seed was suddenly germinating and taking root very quickly.

“The prison ship must be damaged. I suggest you strap yourself in and prepare for a dangerous exit from hyperspace. Once it collapses we’ll be buffeted by energy eddies, shockwaves that could damage the ship severely.”

Numbly, Glann slammed himself into the seat. The straps he pulled down over his shoulders, the buckles he slammed together as tightly as he could. He stared out of the cockpit window and watched as long streaks of black began to mix with the colours.

All around him the ship started to vibrate, slowly at first but then more violently until all around him was nothing but a blur. He could feel his teeth chattering, his eyes felt like they were going to leave their sockets. His whole body shook, and he was powerless to stop the motion and the pain.

Glann just sat in his seat and allowed himself to revel in being alive.

He gulped air and wiped his eyes with a shaking hand.

The view out of the window was normal space, millions of white dots and a sweeping nebulae. The view moved rapidly across his line of vision as the vessel uncontrollably tumbled through space. He reached up and pressed the release stud on the straps, which slid back into their recesses automatically. Lights flickered in the cockpit, the red lights were dim but illuminated his surroundings adequately. Readouts sputtered and rolled, the information being spewed was gibberish. The faint hum from the engines was gone.

He still had gravity and minimal life support, according to one readout. He tried to stand but the aching throughout his body forced him back into his seat.

“Feese,” he croaked, his throat dry and painful. “Feese, are you there?”

“I am here. I am attempting to restore power to vital systems. Please remain where you are.”

There was no chance of him moving. The aching would keep him welded to the seat for a long time.

“What happened?”

“A hit from one of the Blackwing warships must have damaged the prison ship’s hyperspace generator. The jump was not stable and collapsed. Luckily, I noticed the drop and did not bear the full impact.”

“The prison ship?” The question was a hopeful one.

“Damaged and drifting. The energy pocket around the ship almost crushed the vessel from existence during the initial stages of the collapse.”

He closed his eyes, the sting from the tears receding, as was the moisture. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, trying to recover at least some of his composure. The deep breaths hurt his chest and he winced.

“Are you injured?”

“I ache all over.”

“My apologies. I attempted to increase the gravity setting to compensate for the vibration caused by the forced transition to realspace. I will lower the gravity field to enable you to move easier. The ache will pass with time.”

He tried to stand again and found it easier to move. His body felt lighter, and as he got unsteadily to his feet there was a beep and the lights blazed into life. Control screens and instrument panels began churning over data and the vessel slowly stopped its spin.

“I have successfully regained control. I appear to have lost main ion drive and the hyperspace actuator, but these I can repair with time. Other than this there does not appear to be any serious damage, other than system connection ruptures. I can handle all repairs with internal damage control systems. I will try to scan the surrounding area and try to localise our position. It will take a long time.”

“We appear to have plenty of that.” Glann said dejectedly, and pulled himself into the rear quarters.

Glann busied himself by collecting the scattered weapon components that lay around the quarters. He placed them neatly into their respective places on the rifles and put the ones he would not require back into the arms locker. After he had finally found every pin and spring under the sparse furniture, most of which he simply threw into the disposal unit, he sat down and checked out his customisation.

He had taken the barrel of one weapon, the scope of the other, the magnetic accelerator of one, the mini-missile launcher of the other; he had created a bastardisation from his own weapon and the two spares. He nodded with contentment as he checked it over, looking down the barrel to check the alignment.

He ached still but it was not as bad as it was a while ago. He had spent a lot of the time trying to stretch his arms and legs to try and fight off the annoying pain but this only succeeded in starting fresh stabs of agony elsewhere. He decided to follow Feese’s advice and stay still for a while, let the muscles and ligaments relax.

That had been eight hours ago. Feese was still taking readings from adjacent stars and systems to try and define their position in space and get them closer to the drifting prison ship. He had questioned him every few minutes at first, asking him if he had figured out the location. After two hours, he had politely asked him to refrain from interrupting whilst he was calculating. It was a difficult task he wasn’t properly trained for, and distractions would only increase the computation time. Glann had taken the hint and stopped his impatient quizzing.

With a container of Chuklit brew in his hand, steaming with a rich sweet aroma, he lowered himself into the pilot’s chair. He watched in silence as Feese went through star charts and system data, the information scrolling up several screens impossibly fast. He was impressed with the speed he worked but he kept his praise to himself.

He was on the border of sleep when Feese spoke suddenly.

“I have a definite fix.”

Sitting forward and realising his chuklit had gone cold, Glann looked at the readouts as they displayed a three-dimensional representation of their location.

“Well?”

“We are far out of Setnin space. We are in Statoone territory, at least a quarter of the way in. We have travelled two territories in the few minutes we were in the tunnel.”

“The prison ship?”

“Yes, we are closer, but our position does not bode well. The Statoone are a race of bipedal cyborg reptile-types that have no affiliation to any other species. However, they do trade with every other species and will gladly turn us over to our enemies if they think it could help their position. They do not get into direct conflict because their numbers are small and they do not possess the materials necessary to sustain a conflict. If we had something to trade we could buy our passage out of their territory. If not, we can expect them to arrest us or take this vessel apart for technology.”

“So these beings are nothing but common scavengers. Lizards feeding off the scraps the other warring factions leave behind.”

“A crude analogy but partially correct. As with humans, the situation we find ourselves in will depend on the individual we meet.”

Glann sighed and sat back.

“Well, plot a course out of here as soon as we secure Melm. I don’t want to meet them.”

“It is too late. One of my sensor sweeps has alerted a deep space station and Statoone salvage craft is on an intercept course. It will meet us in thirty to forty minutes.”

“Right. Dock to the ship and let's get him out.”

It had been a while since Glann had done anything like this. He swung around the corner of the dark smoky corridor, the rifle he toted feeling clumsy in his hands. He knew, however, that he had to be the one to find Melm. The one to release him from captivity.

Feese stepped past him and continued down the corridor. After a few steps he saw two black-clad guards staggering down the corridor as the ship listed. He sent a burst of laser fire their way and they fell. Glann watched, impressed at the masked Mon Calamarian’s ability. He rarely saw Feese work at first hand and was pleased with his employees' skill.

“Rear of the vessel, they’ll be keeping him in the secure station. One level down,” Feese said.

“How do you know...”

“I know these vessels.”

Although Glann couldn’t see his face he could tell by Feese’s tone of voice that he didn’t enjoy being on this ship.

They had found docking easy. The prison vessel was still listing, damaged by the Blackwing assault and an unsuccessful transition to realspace. They had already come across several technicians who were working feverishly to repair the ship. They had despatched them with the same prejudice as they had despatched the armed guards.

They advanced in the dark, the ships alarm systems and warning sensors obviously as off-line as the rest of the craft. Another barrage of fire and an engineer fell screaming back down a service hatch.

“Down here,” Feese said, and jumped down the hole.

The anti-grav chute lowered the two men to the next level down. Feese shot another guard before he touched down onto the deckplates and moved forward at a crouch, scanning the room they had entered.

A large blast door was ahead, securely locked with three guards posted outside. They opened up at the two invaders, sending them diving for cover.

“He’s in there,” Feese said, adjusting the sights on his weapon.

“Leave it to me,” Glann said. “I need to be the one.”

Feese nodded, rolled over so that he was in line of sight of the guards but flat on the floor, and started giving covering fire.

Glann leaped up and fired his weapon. Although a long time had passed he was still proficient with the Blaster and two guards dropped. The third one started to run for another exit but Glann and Feese both shot him in the back, flinging the body into the still-closed door.

Glann advanced, Feese covering. He hit the release stud and the blast door slid open.

The white-haired demon that suddenly appeared out of the dark cell made Glann stagger in shock, ducking as a half-naked form leaped over his head, gambolled in the air and landed on his feet. Before Glann realised what was happening the figure had kicked the gun out of his hand.

“What...” caught his arm around his neck, “...the...” and twisted him around so that he was between him and Feese, “...freck!”

As Feese leaped up, the man caught the weapon as it fell and pointed it directly at Feese.

“Hold back or he dies, no compromises!”

“Wait, wait, I freed you, I saved you...” Glann could hardly breath with the vice-like arm closing on his throat. “You're free. Free.”

Melm let go of the man who had saved him. His long white hair was matted, his albino eyes glaring at the two beings as Feese closed up. Glann motioned for Feese to lower his weapon.

“We’re here to get you out,” Glann said.

“Then I am in your debt,” Melm handed the rifle back to Glann.

Glann smiled, a smile that Melm felt slightly disturbed by.

“I know you are.”

Dishonourable Intentions

2000 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Sixteen years before Episode IV - A New Hope

Histories - An important story in the development of the timeline, this Jonathan Hicks story tells of how Glann Cipple used Melms sense of honour against him and tricked him into his employ, with the assistance of Carlonian Feese. A major factor in Cipple's success within the Setnin Sector, this story begins Melms path through the Setnin underworld along to his eventual position with Luschia Arkensaw aboard the Euphoria Station and beyond. It also involves the Statoone, a race seen in the later story Taking Care of Their Own.

Cast of Characters

Glann Cipple

Melm

Carlonian Feese