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The Price 1999
short story by Jonathan Hicks Three
years after Episode IV – A New Hope Romanoe
stepped from the engineering bay, his coveralls covered with grime and
powder, wiping his hands on an already filthy towel. He was shaking his head
and looking at Anzai with large, round eyes. Anzai
returned the gaze, knowing whatever Romanoe was about to say contained a lot
of grief, work and credits. “Well?” “We-e-e-ll, this is the situation. Both
your positive power couplers and your energy converter feeder inlet are
polarised at the connectors, the main drive link cables are fried, the backup
hyperdrive motivator has short circuited and taken helm control with and the
lateral thruster coolant system has sprayed fluid all over the internal
thrust compressors and rotted the protective coverings, contaminating your
power feed and whatever that big
black thing at the back is.” “The navigation central processor.” “That’s the baby. Whoever fitted that
thing sure dumped it in one heckuva stupid place. Right next to the reaction
chamber, I ask you. That’s just asking
for trouble.” Anzai’s
face-hardened. “You
fitted that, you thick frecker.” The
hands deftly manipulating the towel froze as Romanoe contemplated Anzai’s
words. “Oh... right.” “You said you put it there because the
heavy casing around the rear engine compartment would keep it safe.” “Oh, right.” “And you said it was well protected in
that casing you put it in.” “Ah, well, I didn’t take into account it
being sprayed with coolant fluid, did I?” “Lateral thruster coolant systems tend to
contain that kind of stuff, Romanoe.” The
engine bay door hissed shut as Romanoe moved to the Cannon Angel’s lounge area, sparsely furnished but well looked
after. Anzai frowned as the engineer left grimy footprints on his clean
floor. “So, how much am I looking at?” Anzai
said, folding his arms across his chest as if already expecting an exorbitant
fee. Which he was. He ran a hand through his greying hair. “We-e-e-ll,” Romanoe began, making a few
rough calculations in his head. “Taking into account the age of the ship, and
the fact that you are one of my best customers...” “Yes?” “Forty thousand cre...” “Forty
thousand?” Anzai was aghast. He grabbed the bulkhead to steady himself. “What,
is that a joke? Arr Sharn quoted me twenty, and Arach Raynor said he’d do it
for eighteen! Forty thousand? You can kiss my...” Romanoe
held up his hands to placate him. “Woah, there,
Anzai, woah. You get one of those guys to do it
and, yeah, they’ll do a good job, but with up-to-date parts. Me, I’ll get you
the original parts in factory condition, and I won’t even charge you for
delivery.” “But you will charge me double what
everyone else has quoted me.” Romanoe
shrugged and tried his best to look helpless. “I know how much you love the Angel, Anzai, and I have to say, so do
I. She’s one of the very few ships I work on that still has all her original
parts in good working order. Do you really want to scar her by fitting new
parts to her otherwise sound internals? Man, that’s like putting an outboard
repulsor engine on a Kabrilli water skiff.” Anzai
didn’t appreciate Romanoe’s analogy, especially since he didn’t know what a Kabrilli water skiff was. “But, Romanoe, forty thousand. Forty thousand
credits! I could buy a new ship for that much.” “Yeah, an old second hand junkpile with seven careful owners and no mods. Anzai, I’m not kidding you here. It really will
cost that much to keep her original. I’m sorry. The entire engine compartment
has to be stripped down and replaced. That’s two weeks work on a ship like
this, easy. Even with help.” Anzai
crossed to the viewing portal of the lounge and looked out. The sun was
setting, casting an orange glow over the horizon, which was slowly deepening
to red. The tall buildings of the holiday resort were silhouetted against the
sky, small vehicles flying in and out of them. Even through the Cannon Angel’s hull Anzai was sure he
could feel the heat from Luronsa IV’s sun. “Okay.” Anzai said slowly and quietly.
“Sort it out. But I’m not paying any more than forty thousand.” “Hey, friend, when I’m through I’ll be
giving you change.” “Great. I’ll buy you a drink with it.” Romanoe
stood, knowing that he had better leave before Anzai changed his mind. He
would have to hire a workbay, get some help and
locate some parts. He knew that Ranjid and his partners at Star Spares were
somewhere on Luronsa IV, so he decided to locate them and get them in to
help. He put the grimy towel on the arm of the lounge’s couch and headed for
the exit hatch. Anzai
didn’t turn. He listened as Romanoe walked to the hatch, and listened as the
entry ramp lowered. A wave of warm blew in from outside, reminding Anzai that
he was at a holiday resort and that he had come here to relax. Well,
he had until he had started his final docking approach and the helm controls
fired. There had been several moments of blind panic as the ship had lurched
violently, throwing him from his seat. He had made so many smooth landings he
had gotten out of the habit of wearing his seat buckle. The
Cannon Angel had come down hard,
landing with sufficient force to blow something in the cockpit, making Anzai
scramble for an extinguisher. Rescue crews had come running to his aid, and
after a few brief minutes of concern had been satisfied that the ship was no
threat. Then they had charged him for the pleasure of their help. Anzai
looked around the lounge and then headed for the cockpit. As he entered he
reached behind the navigation computer and pulled out a bottle of Correllian whiskey and poured himself a healthy measure. He
looked at the burnt main console and the fried readouts; the bundles of wire
hanging from the overhead controls. Oh, my poor ship. Your getting old,
aren’t you? Can’t take the pace. He
went back into the lounge and then turned right for the exit ramp. He walked
down into the warm night air and sat at the base. Fifty-five years old and still going
strong. They don’t make them like they used to. With
a chuckle Anzai realised that he was almost as old as the ship. He had owned
her for a significant portion of his life; every solo run he had ever done
had been with the Angel. He looked
at her scarred underbelly and raised his glass to her. “I’m sorry, my dear.” He
took a long draught and hissed through his teeth as the alcohol burned his
throat. “I just don’t think I can afford to keep
you anymore.” He
patted the ramp with affection, and watched as one of the landing struts
hissed as it settled, spraying gas over his head. “Now, now, don’t be like that. I’m just
being realistic.” The
strut groaned as it assumed a new position and kept the ship level. From the
engine compartment there was another groan, which turned into a whine. “Don’t be sad. I don’t want to lose you. I just don’t think I
want to risk you being shot down or destroyed because of some stupid
malfunction.” The
whine receded, to be replaced by another groan and a hiss of gas from another
strut. “I’m sorry.” Anzai
was suddenly aware that a figure was standing just outside his peripheral
vision. He turned slowly to see a short figure standing a few meters away,
watching him. Even in the gloom of the approaching night he could see who it
was. “Hello, Grin.” “Hey, Anzai. Are you talking to who I
think your talking to?” “How much did you hear?” “Enough to know that you’re a stark raving
loony.” Anzai
smiled. “Drink?” The
short figure walked into the light of the Angel’s
docking lights. Grin was a scaly, lipless alien who always seemed to appear
when least expected. Although it was known that he earned a lot of credits
selling information and spreading gossip, he always seemed to be short of
money. Anzai wondered what he spent all his makings on. Grin
dropped down to the ramp and took the offered bottle from Anzai, unscrewing
the top and using the lid as a small cup. He poured a small measure and
knocked it back, immediately pouring another. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Anzai
asked. “Oh, nothing. I was just passing and I saw
your ship, thought I’d crash out on your ramp. Your rear casing’s exposed.
Problem with the Angel?” “Massive internal engine failure, took a
few systems with it.” “Well, she is an old ship.” “M-hmm.” “Do you often talk to her?” With
a quick turn of his head Anzai locked eyes with Grin, but he didn’t see any
jest or nervous misunderstanding there. Grin was asking the question as if
talking to large hunks of metal was the normal thing for a pilot to do. “No, only when I’m upset or under
pressure.” “It’s nice just to talk, eh? Not worry
about being contradicted or corrected.” “I never thought of it that way.” “Lomona talks to his ship, you know. I’ve
heard him when he works on her sometimes or when I’ve hitched a lift. Nothing
serious, just the odd ‘thanks, baby’ for completing a trip or a quick kiss on
the bulkhead for getting him out of a tricky situation.” Anzai
laughed. He knew well enough how pilots felt about their ships, especially
after spending so much time in them. “I guess all us freighter Captains get
used to our vessels. They kind of become a part of you, I think. You know,
they keep you alive, carry you around. You treat them nice and they’ll treat
you nice.” Grin
took another shot and poured another. “Jan says a Captain should treat his ship
like he treats his woman.” “Oh, yes?” “Yeah, if something goes wrong, just buy
her something new and everything will be sweet.” With
a small chuckle and a shake of his head Anzai reached for the bottle and
poured himself another helping of the whiskey. He handed the bottle back to
Grin. “Goah hates the Phoenix, swears at it and all sorts.” Grin continued. “Strange,” Anzai said. “He inherited that
ship from his late brother Hindley. I would have thought he’d have treated it
with more respect.” “He’s mad anyway.” Anzai
lay back and looked away over the hills and at the rising moons. “I remember when Latti lost the Cronta’s Lady, had it blown out from
under him by pirates. He took it well, but I could tell he was devastated.” “No matter what the make or model, you fly
around in a ship long enough your bound to get
attached. Like you said, they look after you and keep you alive. Like a
mother.” “Garr Sintinecc says that a ship is like a
lover, you know, treating them with respect and all that.” Grin
grimaced at the thought of the old Barada.
“I don’t want to think what Garr does with
his ship. Treat them like a lover? Yeuch.” They
chuckled together as Anzai topped up Grin’s lid and added more whiskey to his
own glass. The ship groaned heavily from the rear and a thick wire fell from
the exposed bundle under the hull and swung around gently. Grin watched
Anzai’s face as the smile swept from it and was replaced by a sad stare. The
vessel appeared to be falling apart before his eyes. “I’ve sat at the base of a lot of ramps
and talked to a lot of pilots.” Grin said. “I’ve said things to them that
were offensive, abusive, sarcastic and downright unasked for. I’ve told them
things, in my capacity as an information broker that has either got them
killed or hurt, upset them or scared them. And the one thing they ever get
truly worried or defensive about,” He motioned at the Cannon Angel with his drink. “is their
damn ships. I say the wrong thing and it’s a threat here or a punch there. Do
you know I once spat on Jan’s ramp after biting into an especially tough cockon? The bastard nearly booted me into
orbit. That was after I had told him that there was high price on his head. That bit of news never even fazed him,
but one thing wrong about his ship and woomph! Up like a plasma injected orbital
interceptor.” Grin stood after downing the rest of his
drink, handing the lid to Anzai. “I’m off.” “Nothing for me?” “No, just a social visit.” As
the short alien turned to walk away Anzai said. “Grin, a lot of guys pay
you a lot of money for the information you sell. But look at you, all
bedraggled and out of pocket. Where does the money go?” Grin
stopped and turned back to the old pilot, taking a deep breath and
contemplating the question with an expression of deep thought. He pointed at
the ship. “The Cannon
Angel is your dream ship,
right?” “Right.” “Well, some of us have unrealised dreams,
Anzai.” Grin
turned and walked from the bay in silence. Anzai
looked at his ship, confused and none the wiser for Grin’s answer. The ship
seemed to whine questioningly. “Well, my dear,” Anzai raised his own
glass as a toast to his vessel. “Forty big ones it is.” The Price 1999 short story by
Jonathan Hicks
Three years after Episode IV – A New Hope Histories
– Based around the very usual Star Wars activity of refitting a starship, The
Price shows the devotion to his beloved Cannon Angel that Anzai Karoo has. Written by Jonathan Hicks, this tale is a brief insight into the obsessions of many Setnin characters - their starships and their cash flows.
Cast of Characters
Anzai
Karoo
Romanoe Grin
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