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Middle of
Nowhere 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Five
years after Episode IV – A New Hope Mengenta. If this place were any more backwater it’d be dry.
There are planets that are catalogued as having life, intelligent life
and full-on societies. This place, I
wouldn’t know how to describe it.
Sure, the people here are polite enough, but I don’t know. Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to go
backpacking through the forest in case the locals got hungry. They say that twenty starships land on this
rock every year, but I can’t agree with that.
There ain’t twenty starships captains dumb enough to aim for this
dump. Except for me,
of course. Glann Cipple knows his men
alright. He knows I love places where
the action is, places like Chancai and Wennicas, so that must be why he sends
me to holes like this. He’d say it’s
to confuse our opposition, throw them off the scent, but I know better. I’m of the opinion that a good worker is a
happy worker. Glann thinks the
opposite. He thinks a good worker is a
scared worker. Motivated
maybe, but nothing more. But I
guess that’s why Glann is the head of the Setnin Sectors largest underworld
operation and I’m sitting here knocking back my sixth Duarga on a weekend
afternoon watching my navel lint collect.
I check my chrono but it’s still the
middle of the same afternoon in the middle of nowhere on the same
planet. I motion for the waitress to
come over and after swatting away another rifle clip-sized bug she manages to
send the message from her pimple-sized brain to her tree-stump legs and walks
the entire six metres while chewing on a piece of chak-root
and breathing at the same time. So I guess it’s true, women can
multi-task. I ask for another Duarga and a plate
of Cockons, knowing that this endless list of an order won’t be at my table
for at least another ten minutes. I
blow out a tired breath and lift my feet onto the seat opposite. I can hear the rackety scratch of a broken
sound system crank out the same tired Jizz band, over and over again, which
is fine if you have the memory of a Guba fish but a
bit tiresome if you can actually remember the track you heard twenty minutes
ago. These freckers probably think
it’s a different recording. I rub my
forehead and scratch my ear as a thought occurs to me. Every other time I’ve been here it’s
rained. I stand and stroll to the
window, and the three other patrons watch as if my walk must be the most
interesting thing they’ve seen this year. What am I saying, of course it is. It would be the
most interesting thing they’ve seen this year even if we were on Amagad. I’m Jan Lomona. I’d spoken too soon, it was raining,
and the sky was darkening but it was humid, which usually meant thunder. I looked up the hill, which was beginning
to sheen with the light rain. It had
been a mud bath every time I’d visited Mengenta. Visited, what am I saying? That makes it sound like I’d actually want
to come here. I’ve been in Imperial
holding cells with more character than this.
I can just about see the Berone Sunrise in the distance,
straddling two landing floats, which always makes me nervous. The floats by
the way, not straddling. I think the
largest ship they’ve had here in the last three years was a Ghtroc freighter,
which next to the Sunrise was a midget. Oh yeah, there was that Star destroyer that
bombarded the planet from orbit, and I seem to remember the planetary
governor thanking the Empire for their time and asking them to come again and
brighten the place up with more colourful laser fire. Shame about Endor, Mengenta could have done
with some attention. Bet they didn’t say that on Alderaan… As the sky gets darker and the rain
increases I watch the Sunrise dip and rise on the landing floats, the
lakes ebb and flow becoming more pronounced.
I raised my eyebrow, glad that the Desando Dynamics designers made her
a vessel capable of surviving on water, not that I’d ever had the occasion to
test that design feature out. I could
make out the outline of another vessel high in the sky, turning around
carefully and making a steady descent towards the only other free landing
float. I stepped back to my table and
took the Duarga that had been placed there, and in lightning fast time for
the slug-slow locals, popped the illuminated cork and took a chug. Thanking the makers for their adherence to
sector-wide quality I lowered the bottle and grabbed my trench coat. It looked like my rendezvous had arrived. And then I thought `Screw it, why
get wet? I’ll wait for him here. ` reseated myself and slammed my feet onto the chair
again. Hell, why bother getting soaked
when all I’ll do is come back in here and get dry. Besides, there might be a sudden rush and I
could lose my seat… I try to compose myself, exude maximum
cool. I seem to have garnered a
reputation as a bit of a dude, and a killer with the ladies. You know, the guy
who’ll make the one-in-a-million shot and kiss the girl, before taking her
back to my starship and a rampant night and then slipping away to the next
job and another conquest. Well, you
have to do that kind of thing a lot of times before people start
believing it, take it from me. And
being stuck on Planet Dim with a collective planetary IQ that’s a minus
number doesn’t exactly help perpetuate the legend. But the next hour just might. I can always tell when he arrives,
there’s an almost tangible pressure drop when he’s around. There’s stories about him, many more than
there is about me. My tall tales
usually revolve around swapping DL consignments, or who my latest girlfriend
is, or what colour some smart ass has painted my ship this week. His stories are about how many of Geon
Tasars men he bumped off, or how he took out Duze Jostenn, or what’s really underneath
that faceplate of his. Carlonian Feese entered the bar, and
even though there was only me, three other boozers and the bar staff to see
it, it was without doubt one of the classiest entrances I’ve ever seen. Wind blowing a level nine gale outside,
rain lashing in, lightening illuminating the blotchy skies, and in the
doorway stood the Mon Cal mutant Feese, cowl whipping around him, muddy rain
dripping off his faceplate. He heaved
the door shut behind him and strode across the room towards me. Me, I just gave him my infuriating
smile. You know, the really smug
one I use when I want to get under peoples skin. Well, it usually works, but I’m not
actually sure if Feese has any skin.
Scales maybe, but skin?
“Hey Feese, sit down.” I kicked the chair out and towards him as
he stood dripping on the dark wooden floor.
“Pull up a lily pad, take the weight off
your flippers.” If he thought I was in any way amusing
he didn’t let it show, but then again I reckon if Feese ever had a funny bone
it died along with his fashion awareness.
I wouldn’t have covered rusty power coils in the rag he passed off as
a jacket. He looked at the chair,
weighing up any potential threat no doubt, and sat down. I lowered my feet and leaned forward.
“So, what’s new?
Glann didn’t have us meet here just to appreciate the décor.” I motioned over towards the locals, who
watched us with the vacant gaze of the truly moronic. Okay, so that’s a bit harsh, but what the
hell? Most of my opponents have the
smarts to at least answer me back. Or
run away. These goons wouldn’t know
one end of a witty remark from the other.
“Something’s up. So spill,
what’s the story?” I know, I know, I was being overly
snappy, but I couldn’t help it. Feese
was buttoned up tighter than an A-desandian Nun, and that’s tight. He wiped his eye lenses clear, flicked some
switch on his wrist and I watched the condensation evaporate from the inside
of his faceplate. Handy, I
thought. In-head
heater. He looked directly at
me, or I assume he was, it was difficult to tell. I wondered what it was he hid behind the
faceplate. Some folks thought he’d had
an accident, and that his face had been eaten away by maggots. Others thought that the maggots were still
eating him away, irradiated and mutated by exposure to some unknown
explosion. Others said that Feese
himself was a mutant, shunned by his peace-loving people and raised an
outcast. Me, I just figured he was an
ugly bastard with low self-esteem and didn’t give it any more thought.
“Cipple wants us to meet and discuss the arrangements for
next weeks run out to Noscage. You’re
to get a team together and choose the route.”
If a lifeless faceplate could twist itself and give a look of
distain then…hell, Feese’s faceplate twisted up and
gave a look of distain, alright? Even
the parts of him that weren’t real could detest me. As for the rest of Feese,
the real parts? He just exuded
a fishy aura of detestment.
“That’s not a problem, I already
had a couple of guys in mind. I was
gonna bring Kit’Kitch, he knows the terrain and he could do with getting away
from the Brrrrixt Cantina for a while.
And there’s Derri Klan, he’s a reliable pilot and he always gets the
job done. I know I’ll have no trouble
with those boys.” I narrowed my
eyes, tried to look serious with sniggering laughter welling up inside me and
pressed on. “Why’s Glann bothered
about that? He usually leaves minor
details up to me.” Then Feese did something, I’m not
quite sure what it was, but whatever he did it made me shut the hell up. Maybe it was a slight tilting of the head,
or some kind of telepathy, or maybe I saw right through that faceplate and
into his eyes, but whatever it was I zipped up. Which, coming from me, is quite a
feat. I waited for him to speak, but
he said nothing and so I waited. But
being patient took too long and so I leaned in again.
“What?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me,
as it so often did. I’d annoyed him, I
knew that, but I like dicing with danger and Feese is just about as dangerous
as it gets. In fact, I have a lot of
friends who are barely able to keep themselves more than a hairs breadth away
from danger. Glann himself is a man of
hidden depths. He can be charming,
sociable even, but that façade doesn’t fool me. Even when I feel like we’re connecting on a
man-to-man level I’m always aware that to him, I’m just a tool. I’m no more expendable than a good ship, or
a useful route. But I know that, and
so I can deal with him in my own way.
And besides, I don’t think he likes the fact that I slept with his
wife. Before
they were married, of course.
What, do you think I’m that crazy? Now, Goah Galletti, there’s a
certified nut that fell from the tallest tree. I used to think I knew this guy. We were good pals, hung out together. In this line of work you have to work hard
at making friends, and even harder at keeping them because you never know
when someone will get a better deal, or be offered that golden run. But I think that if there’s one thing I’ve
done right in this line of work it’s making and keeping a lot of friends. And I always make sure I stick by
them. But as for Goah, I’d love to
know what sent him so close to the edge.
Nowadays, if Glann wants something done with extreme prejudice he
either sends Feese or Goah. There
might have been a time in the past when he may have hired an outsider. Glann could afford Fett if he really wanted
him, but those days are long gone. Why
go to a stranger when you have such class within your ranks? If that’s what you define as class, two
stone cold killers. Me, I prefer to
keep my head just beneath the parapet and out of sight. Making cracks is one thing, making enemies
of men like that is another. Difference is, I
know when to call it quits and walk away.
They don’t, and that’s what sets them apart. Feese laid his hands on the table and
straightened his back. I smiled.
“Fins aching? Maybe you need to take something to ease
your joints. I hear Mon Cal Liver Oil
is good.”
“Don’t you ever give your jaw a rest?” he asked, an edge of
annoyance seeping into his cracked and dry voice. I shook my head and took another swig of
the Duarga.
“What, and miss the joke opportunity of the decade? No chance.”
I grinned again. “Why,
not bothering you am I?” Feese glanced around the room at the
others, all now seated at the bar and listening to some mundane conversation
on the radio. Probably
a weather report or something equally interesting. ` Today it will
rain, followed by more rain tomorrow and then the next day thirty-nine
differing types of rain, followed by a wet spell. `
“No Lomona, you don’t bother me.
You never have. You’re not in
my circle, and you’re not in my class.”
He leaned forward to stare right at me. “So why would you bother me?” There was an edge in his voice, a
nastiness that wasn’t usually there, and I didn’t know why. Sure, Feese was blindly loyal to Glann and
lately I’d had a few run-ins with Cipple, made a few questionable judgement
calls. But I was still here working as
usual, everything was good. There was
no reason for Feese to have a real problem with me, unless I really had got
right under his skin.
“You tell me Feese.
I thought we were here to talk shop.
I know I bug you sometimes, but that comes with the territory. It has for the last twenty years and it
always will.” It was my turn to
lean in this time. “You give me
one good reason to cut you some slack and I’ll consider it.”
“Because maybe you should respect me more than you do.” You know, if I hadn’t heard it from
his own mouth I wouldn’t have believed he’d said it. I paused and frowned.
“What? Are you
kidding? Respect?” I quickly grabbed the Duarga and sank
it, noticing out of the corner of my eye the three patrons and three bar
staff watch our conversation with more interest. “Listen Fishface, if I had a credit for
every guy who’s told me to respect them, I’d buy myself a rocking
chair and retire. You earn
respect Feese, you don’t demand it.” I
could sense him about to move, make a play of some kind and I tensed and
lowered my hand to my blaster. “And
for what it’s worth you’ve got my respect.
My professional respect. You always have.” Don’t ask me how I knew it, because
when he swung his rifle up at my head and took aim, deep down I knew that
he was going to whack me then and there, and even though I’m quick on the
draw and I knew it was coming, he had me beat hands down. So looking back on it, how I realised what
he was doing when he was moving at hyperspeed and shooting the three bar
staff down before they had chance to take us out I’ll never know. The other three stepped away from the bar,
hands raised above their heads, and like a wraith Feese was right in front of
them, rifle wavering between the three of them, finger like a twitchy spring
just waiting to be unleashed upon the trigger. You could smell the fear. Well, just about, over the stench of the
lake and the odour of the ocean from Feese.
I held my custom heavy blaster steady in my hand, but my heart was
thumping like a drum. Feese turned to
face me, faceplate glistening in the dimness and cocked his head.
“Good to know I have your professional respect
Lomona. Now, help me tie these three
up.” I looked around and found some packing
string lying in a dusty corner and tossed it over to Feese. He herded the three into a tight, sitting
circle and wrapped them in the string, securing them. He looked at me again, moving towards me,
and even though I now realised the true intent of our argument, the fact that
it was a set up to draw Formoons men out, I still waited with a touch of
trepidation. Which Feese would have
registered no doubt, and probably got a hell of a kick out of. Well, whatever turns you on I guess…
“These three work for Torona Formoon. Cipple estimates that they know details
concerning the death of Boba Dallagra, and my instruction is to persuade them
to part with that knowledge.”
“And the three stiffs? Who the
hell were they?” I asked, motioning towards the still warm bar staff,
steaming on the floor. He looked over
his shoulder at the three bodies, shrugged and clasped his hands together,
the leather slapping loudly. In a
louder voice he said to me,
“What they appear to be, simple bar staff.” I raised an eyebrow at that. Cold Feese, real cold. He continued.
“Now, you have a choice. You
may stay, or you may go. It’s up to
you.” I blew the breath out through my lips
and weighed up the options. Despite
what I had just witnessed I was as opposed to needless violence as the next
man, but Boba Dallagra was one of my best friends. And despite the rumours that Galletti was
partly responsible for his death while trying to nail Formoon, I appreciated
Glann wanting this situation resolved.
I also knew that there was no way I could stop Feese from doing
whatever he planned to these three, and a nasty little part of me didn’t want
to stop him anyway. But I knew that I didn’t want to watch
him do it either.
“I’ll be in the Sunrise. If you need anything, comm. me.” I grabbed my jacket, tossed another Cockon
into my mouth and finished my Duarga.
As I reached the door I turned and looked at the threesome on the
cold, muddy floor, the bodies of the three bar staff steaming behind the
bar. I motioned to Feese and opened
the door. “If I were you I’d tell
him what he wants to know, and fast.
He has a habit of forgetting himself once he starts.” I paused in the doorway and raised my
collar against the elements, still not exactly sure what my part in this
whole charade had been. I think I’d
walked about ten steps when the screaming started, but it might have just
been the wind… I stood in line, waiting to give Trace
Dallagra my condolences. Her brother
Boba was a good friend, and as genuine a man as you could hope to meet in a
life like this. I smiled at my fiancée
Frans as she clung on to my arm and, breeze blowing across the Bay of Amagad, we reached Trace and embraced tightly. There was a strong turnout. Boba was a popular guy, despite bemoaning
everything and anything that he could.
He’d been Glanns Chancai operative for a good long while, and even though
he denied it I knew he was proud to have been given that important
position. And he did his job
well. He must have, Glann never had
him `removed’, as other Chancai agents had been. Boba had a watertight mouth as far as
giving away secrets was concerned, and many of them he took to his
grave. Glann knew that, and
appreciated it. Perhaps that’s why he
paid for this huge funeral. When Latti
Telex died it was us boys who coughed up for the coffin. Not this time. Greelwood coffins are rare this far out
from the interior, and I know Trace was
grateful. She smiled as we moved on
and hugged the next in line behind us, Himbimimam, another of Glanns
operatives and one of Boba’s best friends.
And it was like that all day. Hugs, smiles and remembrances of a man we
all liked and missed. And when the
coffin was burned, and his ashes spread across the bay on a strong wind we
all smiled. I could see the black clad
silhouette of Goah Galletti, far away on a distant cliff edge watching the
proceedings, uninvited and not welcome at the funeral but man enough to at
least observe the occasion. And at the
back of the congregation I noticed Feese and nodded to him, and he nodded
right back. I think that a lot more than Boba was
buried that day, and that made me smile.
I squeezed Frans’ hand as we walked back to Glanns Fortress and closed
my eyes. Life’s too short to waste… Middle of
Nowhere 2002 short story by Mark Newbold Five years after
Episode IV – A New Hope Histories – Set at a crucial point in the reign of Glann Cipple in the Setnin Sector, this story comes just after the death of Boba Dallagra, a popular and likeable operative of Cipple. Sent to Mengenta, Lomona awaits Carlonian Feese for reasons unknown and learns more about the assassin than he
thought he ever would. Cast of Characters Jan Lomona Carlonian Feese Frans Latka Kit’Kitch Derri Klan Himbimimam Goah Galletti |