Death Will Come Eventually

2002 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Two years after Episode IV – A New Hope

There are lots of people who will tell you that they killed Jur Kopen, but they’re all liars.

I overheard a bounty hunter in the Red Star on Luronsa just a few days ago. He was a huge lizard with a chattering creature that hung about his neck, and he had been warned not to carry his huge vibrosword around in public more than once so it was obvious that he was trouble. He sat there, laughing and shouting out his boasts, at how he had cornered the famous Jur Kopen, who had begged for his life. The lizard said he killed him slowly and never bothered to collect the reward – which was convenient – and dumped his body into space – which was doubly convenient – over Trefnare.

But I know he’s a liar. Because I killed Jur Kopen. Me.

When I was on Chancai a standard month ago I heard an interview on Arnee Kwarnee in the afternoon with a gunman called Blasticker. It was the Bounty Hunter’s Tip-Off Call-In Hour, and he was asking as to whether anyone had any information on Jur Kopen. At least three people called in and said they knew where he was, and two others said they had already killed him.

But they’re liars, too, because I killed him. I spent years slowly destroying his life so that when the end finally came he didn’t even know it.

“Damn, Jur, you look awful.”

Jur Kopen lifted tired eyes and regarded the blurred figure of the man stood in front of him, hands on hips. He wiped his face and rolled over of the bunk, his bare feet connecting with the cold deck plates and sending a momentary shiver up his spine.

His head banged fit to split, his stomach heaved and as he tried to get to his feet he felt waves of nausea that threatened to knock him down.

The blurred figure reached out a steadying hand and helped Jur to sit back down, a small nervous laugh escaping his mouth. “Easy, man.” Jur sat back down and then slowly lay back. “You’re running a nasty temperature.” With a heavy sigh and a heavy hand over a heavy brow, Jur thought about sleep, then about vomiting, then about sleep again. “I’ll get you some ache-aways and a cup of freshwater.”

“How ong w’s yout?” Jur slurred.

The figure had his back to him, now, and Jur could faintly hear the sound of running water.

“Hm?”

“How… long was… I out?” he repeated. Each word was an effort, every droning syllable a pressure on his temples. He gritted his teeth and hoped that he wouldn’t have to speak again.

“About fifteen hours,” the figure replied, walking back over to Jur with a glass of water, the iced liquid causing collections of droplets to form on the outside of the glass. Jur lifted his head as the figure placed a blue tablet on his tongue and lifted the cold liquid to his lips. The water was refreshing, seemed to spread icy numbness throughout his head, and Jur tried to take hold of the glass and continue drinking. The figure took the glass away and sucked in a sharp breath.

“No, no, no, you can’t overdo it. You’re dehydrated, you’ll make yourself worse, small sips…”

“Thirsty…”

“Jur, for the love of…” the figure took the glass away, liquid crystal spilling down Jur’s chin and sweat-stained top, splashing messily but refreshingly down his chest. Jur, deferring to the figure’s urgings not to drink too much, fell back and felt the momentary coolness of the pillow before his body heat made it uncomfortable once more.

“You’ll have to get through it slowly, Jur, the fever has broken but you can’t just expect to be up and about straight away.”

“Happened?”

“Hm?”

“What happened?” Jur cleared his throat and licked his suddenly dry lips.

“A mild case of Ferdali,” said the figure. “Not too bad an infection but enough to knock you off your feet. You’re lucky there weren’t any more chills in the nest than there already were. You’d have been dead by now.”

“Ferdali…?”

“An Alorean special cocktail of fever, plague and internal infection. Nail it quick enough, there’s a ninety percent chance you’ll live through it with your brain still functioning. You, on the other hand, weren’t too badly bitten by the little insects that carry it about. You just got a nasty fever. Spent the last few hours talking out your dreams.”

Jur winced.

“My arm…”

“Is fine, now. I’ve done a biopsy of the place where you were bitten… don’t scratch it… and the synthflesh will take care of it while it heals. I told you not to scratch…” The figure leaned over and took Jur’s hand away from his left elbow, where an inflamed pink and brown lump flaked scar tissue.

There were a few moments as the figure turned to the sink in the bunkroom and washed his hands, with Jur slowly looking about the room with narrowed eyes to keep out the glare, even though the lights were dimmed. He noticed that the air about wasn’t humming with power, that there were no slight vibrations under his body or through the bunk frame. He sucked in a long breath and whispered.

“Where…?”

“We’re still on Alorea. The job’s over, in case you were wondering.”

“J… job?”

“The pickup. The cargo was there, and twenty Setnin Justice Department Marshals. Quite a gun battle, but of course by then you were half conscious after being pushed into a chill nest and I was driving for my life out of harm’s way.”

“You… saved me?”

“Hardly. I drove into a tree root, and whilst I was trying my best to reverse out of it you clambered into the back. Don’t you remember?”

Jur frowned and held his head, a middle finger and thumb on either temple, rubbing in small circles to alleviate the pain. In his mind the manoeuvre worked – in reality his head ached even more.

There were images in his mind but they were scrambled like a puzzle, and, considering the pain that seemed to arc through his skull from one side to the other, he didn’t want to dwell on them. A simple, dark place, where his mind could rest and ignore the hurting processes of painful thought.

But the images did come; haphazard at first but with more regularity as the memories started to slide into place, the puzzle slowly began to show its solution.

He was Jur Kopen. He was a Handshaker from Yotil. Being a Handshaker meant that he introduced potential business partners, legal or illegal. He was on Alorea. He got a call from an old contact. He was asked to conduct a meeting to transfer ‘medical supplies’ discreetly between a supplier and a small smuggler group. When they met, he went off, and then the Setnin Justice Department attacked. A fight. He fell, but that was where the memories ended.

It was just a haze after that. But then something began to materialise in the mist that had clouded his mind. Just after he received the call to set up the meeting, he had called the S.J.D to raid the meeting.

That was it! He was a plant! He was Jur Kopen, S.J.D operative, so deep undercover that not even his mother would know who he was!

A smile came across his face as the memories came flooding in. The gate that had held back the truth had ruptured, the knowledge had flowed through his mind, and the pain began to subside. He sighed with contentment and considered sleep.

But then something came back to bite him.

It was something the figure had said.

You just got a nasty fever. Spent the last few hours talking out your dreams.

Jur tensed, and slowly turned his head to regard the figure, whose name and part in all this he did not know.

What had he talked about in his dreams? Were they a collage of images and thoughts that made no sense to a listener who did not know him? Or did he speak out loud about his dreams and wants… and his employment in the Setnin Justice Department.

Jur watched the figure calmly as he put items away in the bunkroom’s storage bins. Several thoughts bounced about his head and the answers that accompanied each thought were not satisfying.

Kill him?

No – I’m an S.J.D officer.

Then arrest him?

What for? I could take him in, but knowing the underworld they’ll have busted him out, wormed their way around the legal system or got the info out of him whilst he’s in lockup.

How about going along with him?

I don’t even know who he is, what he had to do with the operation. And if he knows what I am, I’m sunk.

So cut your losses, get away.

To where? Once he blows my cover, I’m done for.

So stay here and die.

The condition I’m in, that may be the only choice.

“I’ll make you a hot juice in a little while, try and get some strength back into you,” the figure said suddenly.

Jur was staring at the ceiling, his mind whirling with thoughts, and he snapped his head over to look at the figure who stood over him, now, smiling a small, almost imperceptible smile. The figure was humanoid but slightly out of shape by Jur’s perception, but as his clouded vision began to clear he saw that the distortion was the figure’s own body; he was slightly bent at the waist so that his upper torso was sticking forward, the head then straight and narrow. The legs bent back on themselves so that the alien had the profile of a large ‘S’.

The alien blinked rapidly, two sets of eyelids up and down and left to right, and for some reason Jur found it familiar yet disconcerting.

“I… don’t wanna be rude…” Jur said hoarsely. “But who are you?”

The alien smiled a full smile, small sharp teeth shining like metal shards. “I’m Teef, the driver. The captain of this ship asked me to help him out with this job, I was there for the same reason as you. I’m just here for driving and blaster backup.”

“Looks like… you… didn’t have much… to do.”

“Even I can see when a situation is frecked up beyond all recognition. I wasn’t going to let my loyalty get me fried, so here I am. Here we are.”

“Whose ship…?”

“The captain’s. I can’t imagine he’ll be coming back. But we’re safe enough.”

Again, Jur’s mind went into a spin. He knew that he had not had time to give the waiting S.J.D agents on Alorea the full details of the exchange meeting, and had just given them the location and time. He had not told them the location of the smuggler captain’s ship. Had he cried that out in his feverish dreams?

Twelve years he had been doing his job. Twelve years and he had been intricate in his details, extremely cautious in his dealings, and overly protective of his identity. And one bite from a chill, one infection and one feverish dream later, he had to consider the fact that his whole purpose in the S.J.D was falling down about his ears.

“Are we… getting out of here?” Jur asked. He flexed his hands, then his lower arms, then tried to see exactly how much movement he had in his shoulders. If he had had to make a break for it, defend himself or go on the offensive, he had to be sure how much physical activity he was capable of.

“Once I’ve figured out the cockpit, yes,” the alien said with his smile that, suddenly, Jur did not trust one bit. “I’m not used to this design. Getting off world will be difficult, as the S.J.D have shut down the area after the raid. This ship’s been cleared, and I don’t want to get caught up another ship-to-ship search.”

Ship-to-ship? Jur thought quickly. If the S.J.D found them both, then perhaps he would not have to do much to escape his situation.

“The S.J.D have only one ship on duty, and it’s a clapped-out old freighter. That’s what I love about the judicial system in the Setnin Sector,” the alien chuckled, “They have less money than the gangs.”

“Not sure… I can help much… not a pilot… not in good condition…”

“Oh, I can take care of that. And then I’ll get you to some friends of mine, and they can take care of you.”

In Jur’s heightened state of paranoia, he wasn’t too sure whether he was going to be taken care of - or taken care of. He was in no condition to fight; he couldn’t take the chance and go with the alien in case it was a trap. If his ‘friends’ were who he feared them to be his head would be worth a lot. An undercover S.J.D agent who had spent a decade selling out gangs? That would be a lot of credits.

But the thoughts about possible ways out of the situation were suddenly decided for him.

“Right,” the alien said, “I’ll get the cockpit on line and we’ll get out of here. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure you’re delivered safely.”

Either the alien was being genuinely friendly and Jur was twisting his words with his own suspicion, or the alien was enjoying the thinly veiled implications because of the fact that his captive was virtually bed-ridden. As the alien left the bunkroom, Jur made his mind up.

I’m not taking that chance.

The footsteps echoed into the distance as the alien headed to the cockpit and, as Jur heard the distant swoosh-clunk of the cockpit door closing, he grabbed the edge of the bed and tried to haul himself out.

Nausea and pain in the eyes. A burning sensation seemed to pound in his head in steady rhythm with his heart, and as he tried to get to his feet his heart rate increased, turning the rhythm into a continuous roll of hurt. He focused on the glass of water that the alien had placed out of his reach and used it as a target to get to. As he took his first faltering step he understood why he had been told to stay in bed.

His legs didn’t work properly.

With a muffled cry he fell headlong into the cabinet the cup of water sat atop, and laid there, on his back, in fear of being heard. Then, he heard a gently rumbling noise, like a metal sphere being rolled along a hard hollow surface.

The glass!

The impact with the cabinet had sent the glass wobbling on its circular base, and as Jur looked up he saw the container drop from the edge. Instinctively he jabbed out his hand to grab it, succeeded, and splashed the cool liquid over himself and the deck plates.

He sat there for a few seconds, listening. He could not hear any sounds of footsteps or doors opening, and he relaxed and breathed out, taking the moment to gulp what little liquid was left in the container.

This is no good. I can hardly walk, hardly see straight. How am I going to stop him? Lock him in the cockpit? Find a comlink, call for help? Stop the ship from…

Stop the ship.

I’ll sabotage the ship.

With a renewed purpose and gritted teeth against the pain, Jur pulled himself to the open bunkroom door. He stuck his head out, floor level, and checked up and down the corridor. He could not remember the exact layout of the smuggler’s ship, but the light door to his left suggested cockpit, the heavier door to his right suggested cargo. If the layout was the same as any freighter, he should get access to the engine core from the cargo area.

He managed to get to a half-standing position but had to rely on the handrails in the pentagonal corridor to get him along. Every few steps his legs would bend, or not respond, or just seize up altogether so that he walked with a stiff, arched-back gait.

Finally, he got to the blast door and was relieved to see that there was another service door next to it; the entrance to the engine core. The ship must have been smaller than he thought, and his relief was heightened by the fact that the door was on rollers and not on noisy hydraulics. With a tentative glance back at the still closed cockpit door, he hooked his finger through the pull hole and dragged the door back.

The engine core, a great circular affair with wires and conduits coming out of every panel and disappearing into the walls of the small room, pulsed and hummed as power began to build. Jur wondered as to whether the alien had started the engines, but his resolve was clear, now. He had to shut down the core.

Slowly, agonisingly, he pulled himself to the sealed main chamber and pulled open a metre square security panel. A jumble of switches, wires and connections greeted his tired, blurring eyes and he had to concentrate hard to see what he was doing. The room was not well lit, and his eyes, already misting up due to the exertion, could not adjust.

The panel had a standard layout and he decided to try his luck. If he could just mess up the wiring stop the vessel from launching for a few minutes, he may be able to get a message out to his S.J.D colleagues and get some help.

With squinting eyes and deep breaths he stuck his fingers into the mess and jumble and followed their route to their huge, thumb-sized connectors. He pulled done, then the other and, for good measure, yanked the entire wires and threw them across the room.

With a small laugh he heard the engine powering down.

With a startled cry he heard a muted voice from a hidden speaker and covered his eyes from the suddenly blinding warning strobe.

Core containment shutdown. Baffles unlocked. Core chamber unsealing in two minutes.

He stared at where he had thrown the wires. Then at the security panel. Then at the core chamber.

Oh, freck me.

He tried to find renewed energy but his reserves had left him. The last of strength he had had been used up in getting to the engine core, and all he could rely on was his arms, his pathetically weak arms, to drag him from the ship.

He wasn’t too sure what kind of reactor the ship used, there were many different designs and methods all wrapped up in similar containment chambers, but he knew that whatever the process, the releasing of the baffles and the opening of the reaction chamber was a bad idea.

Immediately, the ship went into lockdown. One by one the magnetic seals jammed every door within the vessel to minimise the leak. Jur knew that if the chamber opened fully, then the safety measure would be an unsuccessful one, but he also knew that if he didn’t get to the main door in time, he’d be sealed in here with a core during meltdown.

Sirens wailed through the ship, now, and Jur looked to the cockpit door to see if the alien would exit to investigate. Over the painful wail of the emergency he could hear a thumping and a muffled crying. As he slowly, exhaustingly, dragged himself to where the main entrance was he could hear the alien in the cockpit.

He was shouting for help, banging on the door. He was sealed in the cockpit.

The main door was closed but unsealed.

Jur did all he could to ignore the alien’s cries for help as he reached up and hit the door release stud. He could have gone to the door and, somehow, bypassed the lockout but he had no time. The main door would seal with thirty seconds to spare before meltdown and he had no time.

As the main door opened he heard the voice change from cries for help to quizzical shouting.

“Jur? Is that you opening the main door? Jur! Get me out! I want to help you!”

“The hell with you!” Jur roared back. “I ain’t going back! I’ve been out here long enough to know where my loyalties lie!”

“Why, Jur? Come back with me and we can sort this out!”

“Go to hell! I ain’t going back to you bastards!”

“Jur! Jur! Don’t leave me in here! Please! Jur!”

With a heave, Jur pulled himself out onto the entry ramp and allowed himself to roll painfully down it. He landed heavily at the bottom where a security ‘droid stood, being backed up by an emergency floater and a pair of ground techs.

One of the suited techs looked down at the crumpled form of Jur and tried to lift him.

The next few minutes were a blur for him. Pain and exhaustion finally took their toll and he passed out several times. He could remember mumbling about the meltdown, and then sirens and flashes assaulted his eyes and ears as the docking bay sounded its own alarms. He looked back at the freighter and smiled as the windows and portholes filled with thick beams of blindingly white light, and the entire rear section of the vessel slowly melted like a plastic toy under a plasmatorch.

Jur smiled weakly. He’d got out. He’d escaped. The alien, the conniving, secretive alien, had not got the better of him and he had managed to get out. He watched the ship slowly dissolve under it’s own energy. The ship bounced as the tech that had him over his shoulder ran from the leak, the blast doors sealing off the affected bay.

It was as the last great doors were closing that Jur saw the emblem of the Setnin Justice Department across the side of the dissolving ship, and it was then that he knew that something was terribly wrong.

That’s how I killed Jur Kopen.

The alien sent out one last transmission before the ship sank into a great hole. He called his bosses at the S.J.D and told them what I’d said, about not coming back, about my loyalties. He got the transmission out just before the cockpit doors buckled and energy flooded the cockpit, vaporising him slowly and melting everything for an eighty-metre radius.

The alien had been right. S.J.D ships were old and dilapidated, and easy to sabotage.

So what could I do but go into hiding. I needed time to recuperate, get my strength up, and then decide what it was I was going to do. What I should have done was call the S.J.D and tell them what had happened and turn myself in.

But the alien was the S.J.D’s best operative. They couldn’t find me, so they did something I guess I couldn’t blame them for. After all, I was a rogue agent.

They made my identity public, and released the fact that I was playing both sides. They lied and said I was a double player, for both the gangs and the S.J.D, so that suspicion wouldn’t be thrown on them for their methods of planting agents in the crime syndicates. If they could convince everyone I was a double-crossing son-of-a-womp rat, they’d get away with it.

Now everyone, gangs, justice and even the public wants me dead, so I guess their plan worked.

So if you talk to anyone and they say that they killed me, they’re lying. If there’s ever any broadcast that Jur Kopen has been killed on Histai, Chancai, Amagad, any planet at all, then they’re lying. Because I’m still here. I know that death will come eventually, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go down without a fight. I’ve been mixed up in the underworld long enough to learn that much.

So they’re all liars, all of them. Because I killed Jur Kopen. Because I had been mixed up in the underworld for so long I didn’t trust people enough to believe they were my friends. Because I was blind to the fact that other people might want help I dug my own grave.

I killed Jur Kopen.

Me.

Death Will Come Eventually

2002 short story by Jonathan Hicks

Two years after Episode IV – A New Hope

Histories – A disturbing tale of a Setnin Justice Department operative who got too deep into cover, so deep he forgot who he truly was. Showing the levels to which the S.J.D would go to defeat the underworld, this Jonathan Hicks tale shows us the deep and intricate layers to Setnin Sector society.

Cast of Characters

Teef

Jur Kopen

Blasticker