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Low Profile Life 2004 short story by Mark Newbold Thirty-Eight
years after Episode
IV – A New Hope “Never thought
we’d meet in a place like this.” “Never thought
we’d meet again.” Frans Latka gave Terrie Saffra a lingering look over her
Duarga as she leaned back and crossed her long legs, a blaster strapped to
her hip for the first time in many years.
Terrie remained upright opposite, a glass of water untouched, her
hands folded neatly on the grey plastic of the table. Her pepper grey hair
was still bobbed to her shoulders and her smooth black outfit was as crisp as
the last time they met, thirty-five years before. On Terrie’s part it was like taking a
glance through a time tunnel. Thanks
to her A-desandian genes, Frans looked five, maybe ten years older than she
did way back on Abrogard when they both worked for the dead ganglord Glann
Cipple. While Terrie, being of
standard human lineage, looked superb for her sixty plus years, viewing Frans
with her swathes of fiery Bolognese hair and unchanged tall, curvaceous
figure fitted in a navy blue bodysuit and jacket she couldn’t help but feel a
twinge of jealousy. Frans kept one eye on Terrie and the other on the
room. They had met in a tapcafe in Frans looked at Terrie again, waiting for the smaller woman
to speak. She was more than a little
surprised when she had received an anonymous invitation to meet down in
Greasers, and as she had entered the room she felt both a chill of
nervousness and excitement, a thrill she hadn’t felt in many a long year. Since her teenage years, leaving A-desando
and her parents behind, she had been first a pilot and then a smuggler,
running the lanes and dodging the law in a career that lasted until just shy
of her fortieth birthday. And then, as
it always did, life threw a hydrospanner in the
works and her future shrank from the untold horizons of the galaxy and
narrowed to the shallow hills that surrounded And for a long time, that was enough. And when suddenly it wasn’t any more, she
realised she didn’t know how to change it back. Until the letter arrived. It had sat on her coffine table for almost two days,
burning a hole in the greelwood surface as she
doggedly refused to acknowledge its existence. And then, almost without realising she was
doing it she opened the letter along with her last mouthful of trezore eggs and chav as she stood to allow her cleaning
droid to clear the plates away. She’d
wandered over to the wide window, looking out onto She hadn’t felt so energised in an age. That day became a blur of activity. Frans lived alone with her droids, secluded
from all but her closest friends and family, a choice she had made when her
aching heart could take no more bruising.
With a lifestyle buoyed by the profits of her past and maintained by
her current occupation as a freelance security expert, she worked when she
wanted to and retreated to her single storey home as often as she could. And it was here that she spent the day,
pulling out boxes and cases she hadn’t opened in decades, rifling through notes
and charts, scrolling down screens she hadn’t activated for as long as she
could remember and wondering how many of those old familiar names were still
alive or just memories, forgotten by all but those who worked alongside
them. As the day drew to a close she
suddenly realised how hungry she was and as her droid helped her put all the
boxes back into the loft space of the speeder port she made the decision to
head into the city and dine out. Her regular attire was light colours, flowing skirts and
blouses that were the current fashion in Ecaps, but that night she had
another agenda on her mind, and she eagerly unzipped an outfit that hung at
the back of her walk-in wardrobe. She
stood before the three metre high mirror that filled her bedroom wall and looked
at herself sideways on, wondering if she would still
fit into the outfit, and felt another surge of satisfaction as the skin tight
jeans and top smoothed on like a second skin, and the always comfortable
boots zipped up her long calves.
Swinging the jacket into place she shook her hair free of the collar
and stood for a long minute in front of the mirror, lost in thoughts and
emotions. She hadn’t seen herself
looking like that since… The taxi speeder arrived at 20.30 hours and revved its
engines as she locked her front door and walked briskly towards it. She couldn’t believe the difference she
felt, wearing these clothes again. She
could feel she was walking almost with a sway in her hips, a confidence she
thought long gone surging back to her in waves. A cool smile of satisfaction edged at her
lips as she noticed the taxi driver checking her out, and as the speeder
roared towards the pale lights of Ecaps she wondered if any of her friends
would even recognise her if she saw them.
She barely recognised herself, and she loved it. The speeder pulled up outside the Yapya Restaurant, and
as ever a long queue was snaking around the block. She paid the taxi driver and waited on the
kerb as it pulled away, checking the wide window for familiar faces, but she
saw none. Years ago she had been a
regular, a friend of Gance Yapya the man who had started the exclusive
chain. But she hadn’t eaten there for
years, too many memories of days past, and she didn’t feel the night
warranted a return to all that, not just yet.
She began to walk downtown, past the busy nightclubs and bustling bars
that laced the entertainment centre of the city and towards the starport,
where the décor gradually got seedier and the denizens more dangerous. Frans felt like a million credits and
looked at least twice that, but she knew that if she were ever to find her
space legs again she would need to feel at ease in places like this. Tonight wasn’t for the silver service, it
was for self-service. She opted to steer clear of Greasers Alley and instead
headed for Zythlies Dropout Parlour.
As she entered the doorway she knew she was being scanned for weapons,
but she had brought none. Her blaster
sat at home, still safe in the Krayt hide holster he had brought for her,
wrapped up and secure in a long unopened box.
Frans moved in to the Parlour and headed for the bar, scanning the
room for familiar faces. She’d been
off the scene for decades, but A-desandians had long lifespans
and even longer memories. And when a
pretty face lasted as long as an A-desandian woman’s, trouble was never far
away. The bar was busy, hands and appendages vied for
attention, calling tenders and droids towards them for service. Frans coolly waited her turn, expecting the
usual wait for a drink and was surprised to be served almost
immediately. She gave the human waiter
a smile and leaned in to speak. “A Duarga,
double-spiked, on the rocks.” The waiter gave her a wide grin as he twirled the two
crystal-cut glasses he was holding on the tips of his fingers and scooped up
a shovel of ice. “Double-spiked,
coming right up.” He tossed a long
bottle of ruby red Duarga into the air and caught it by the neck as the
illuminated bottle top was thumbed off and the beverage was poured onto the
ice. Settling all the items down he
then poured two shots of Veluuce liquor over the
ice and allowed the amber liquid to settle before handing the drink to
Frans. She reached for her cred stick,
but the waiter shook his head. “No need
Ma’am. On the house.” Frans smiled again outwardly as she took her frost drink
but frowned inwards. So much for
being off the scene she thought to herself. She moved away from the bar area and found a good spot to
watch the assembled throng as they began to settle into the nights
proceedings. It was barely 21.30
hours, and the night would last until way beyond 03.00. She sipped at her drink as she tried to
remember the last night she had stayed up beyond midnight and wrapped her
arms around herself as the door opened and a cold blast of air blew into the
room. It was strange; she felt totally at ease and on edge at
the same time, as if she could relax with a blaster trained on the
doorway. Old emotions were flooding
back, the whole reason why she had come into this part of town in the first
place. Her eyes were darting around
the room, just like they used to, and she began to spot which players were
simply night time revellers and which were underworld types, making moves and
plans. Not that she could judge them
too harshly; she was preparing to dive right back into the underworld
herself, or at least that’s what she assumed she was about to do. The mysterious letter was vague enough to
mean any number of things, but there was enough detail in there for her to be
comfortably certain that it came from a friendly source, at the very least
someone she knew. As to whether it was
Galactic Alliance, underworld or something else, she didn’t know, but she
would soon find out. She was very aware that she was being watched from the
shadows, a far corner of the bar cloaked in darkness. Who it was she couldn’t discern, and she
didn’t wish to draw attention to herself by prying into the corner and giving
herself away. Whoever it was had kept
close tabs on her for a while, and the uncomfortable weight of eyes upon her
made her uneasy.
It was too soon into her rebirth to be drawn into a confrontation. Making her best effort to ignore the hidden spy she
finished her drink and moved towards the door, glancing into the reflection
the chrome rim that ran around the door afforded her, to see if her admirer
was standing to follow, but she couldn’t tell. It was getting decidedly cool outside and
she zipped the jacket up as she moved out uptown and towards another, less
threatening establishment. The air was
crisp and outside, where there were plenty of people, she felt the confidence
return to her in droves. She cut
across the speeder way and to the other side of the street, skipping past a
gaggle of teenagers, clearly a school gathering enjoying their first of many
future A-desandian nights out. Frans
grinned to herself as the irony of that struck her. A-desandians, one of only a handful of
races who didn’t feel the intoxicating effects of alcohol, and one of many
races who spent an inordinate amount of time drinking in cantinas. She was still smiling to herself when she
felt the blaster nozzle bury itself into the small of her back. “Keep
walking. Don’t talk and don’t turn
around.” Frans felt the air chill in her lungs as she continued to
move, stiffening up as the blaster continued to push into her back. “What do you – “ she managed to get out before she was cut off. “I said don’t
talk.” The voice was gruff and
harsh. There was silence as they
walked a few more meters. “Turn left.” It was an alleyway, and a dark one at that. Frans was all to
aware of what happened in alleys such as this, and a thin veil of panic began
to descend upon her. A hand shoved her
roughly down the alley a few steps. “Don’t turn
around. Stay where you are.” Frans stopped moving and evaluated her situation. Dark alley, busy night. If she screamed, and she had one hell of a
scream, then the main thoroughfare wasn’t so far away. An A-desandian
Security Officer would hear her, or possibly a Law Droid. And even though she was unarmed, and she
cursed herself for allowing her emotions to control her common sense, she
knew that in a hand-to-hand situation she could handle herself. There used to be plenty of people who would
testify to that. “I won’t just
stand here and let you do this.” She
said firmly, injecting an edge of steel into her voice; aware that even for
an A-desandian she was tall, and built for action. She could sense her assailant stepping
closer and stopped her breathing, listening to just the soft steps and the
pounding of her own heart. Just a
second girl she whispered to herself, afraid that her opponent might hear
even that much. She froze and then exploded into action, swinging a
right-armed roundhouse into the mans face and
connecting with an explosive spinning heel kick. He was knocked clean off his feet, the
impact devastating, and his bottom lip erupted in a gout
of blood. Within a second the balance
of power had seemingly shifted until the man, kneeling in the dirt and trash
of the alley, raised his blaster towards her. “Set to
stun. You’ll fetch a good price on the
slave market.” Frans raised an eyebrow and gave him a half-grin. “There’s only
one stunner in this alley, and it sure ain’t you.” She feigned a move, and the man twitched –
enough time for her to kick the blaster out of his hand with one foot and
kick him into unconsciousness with the other.
“Luckily there’s room for two knockouts.” She blew out a long breath, the reality of what had just
happened hitting her. She picked up
the blaster with a hand wrapped in her jacket sleeve, careful not to disturb
the fingerprints lying there. Lifting
her comm. unit out of her pocket she called the local law agency and waited
for their arrival as the skies began to pitter-patter a light rain on the
scene. She finally left the alley and the very polite and
clearly intimidated young officer who had dealt with her at 23.20 hours and
sidled into a tiny tapcafe for one final quiet drink before hailing a taxi
and heading back to her home by 01.00.
She had learned more tonight than she had expected, about herself as
well as about Ecaps by night. Once
home she slept well, an honest sleep, tired but not weary, her mind racing
but not enough to distract her from slumber.
And the following morning she had awoke,
feeling as if the previous night had been a dream. Until she read the lettersearch again. Frans blinked and brought herself back to the moment,
regaining her focus, fixing her deep green eyes on Terrie. The music in the bar was loud but not
deafening, an averagely good inter-species band playing old standards, enough
of a cover to allow them to speak relatively normally. Which was good, because
Frans had plenty of questions to ask. “So what brings
you to A-desando?” “Business.” Said Terrie swiftly, not wishing to descend
into non-important chitchat. She
guessed Frans would be loaded with questions, and from the reports she had
read about her last few decades of life here on A-desando she knew the tall
ex-smuggler would be cautiously readjusting.
Once a smuggler, always a smuggler. Another A-desandian free trader had told
her that. “I can’t think
of any business of yours that would concern me.” Shot back Frans, reaching for her drink and
taking a long mouthful. Her eyes never
left Terrie, and Terrie’s never left hers.
They held the look for a moment before Terrie continued on a different
tack. “A-desando
escaped lightly during the Ki-Ki invasion.
This system and her worlds have been largely left alone.” Frans narrowed her eyes at the inference of collaboration
between the Desando System and the Ki-Ki Sector. Not that there hadn’t been unions in the
past, indeed A-desando and her sister world Halando had regularly dealt with
Ki-Ki worlds in previous centuries.
Perhaps that was what kept her free of Ki-Ki troops, she didn’t
know. What she did know was that
Terrie was angling towards something important. “What of
it. Plenty of systems have been
ignored.” Terrie nodded as she reached down and brought out a
datapad, placing it on the desk and activating the small screen. “True. But A-desando has enjoyed an especially
fruitful relationship with the Ki-Ki.
In fact, A-desando traded solely with Ki-Ki worlds for over a
century.” Frans looked deliberately disinterested as she swirled
the ice around her Duarga glass. “Please tell me
you didn’t come all the way here to give me a history lesson.” Terrie allowed herself the luxury of a smile. “No. What I’m saying is that the Ki-Ki trust A-desandians because they have no reason not
to. And the S.D.F have
need of an A-desandian.” She leaned
slightly forward. “Which
brings me to you.” This peaked Frans’ interest. Why would the Setnin Defence Force have
need of an A-desandian, and why her so specifically? What could she do that anyone else
couldn’t? “I’m listening.” “The S.D.F needs
someone to go into deep cover in the Ki-Ki underworld. They believe that in order to gain fresh
perspective on the Ki-Ki’s movements and plans, we need to further infiltrate
their underworld.” She leaned across
the table and with her thumb scrolled down the screen. “S.D.F Intelligence have
chosen this as the best gang to infiltrate.
It’s a medium-sized operation deep in the heart of the sector. The ganglords major domo has recently moved
to a rival concern and left a power vacuum.”
She raised her eyes from the screen to look at Frans. “The Ki-Ki underworld operates in a
different way to Setnin. A ganglords
second-in-command wields much of the power.
Anyone stepping into that position would need a genuine knowledge of
the smuggling trade and the underworld.” “Which is why
you came to me?” Asked Frans, a look
of uncertainty on her smooth skinned features. “Did you miss the part about me being off
the scene for thirty years? I know
less about current affairs than I do about dyeing my hair.” She gave Terrie and her silvering locks a
mock embarrassed smile. “No offence.” “None taken, but
I think you’re missing my point.
You’re an A-desandian, and that goes a long way in the Ki-Ki
underworld. Especially if
you’re a female.” Frans leaned back and crossed her legs again, watching
with amusement as a young Escallian trader, busy eyeing up her flawless
figure, walked straight into a pillar.
Maybe what Terrie was saying was valid. As evidenced the previous night, she could
still turn heads, and young ones at that.
Boy, it feels good to be back. “Alright, let’s
say I’m interested in the job. I’m
briefed and retrained and smuggled in.
What then? Am I part of a
chain, do I post field reports, do I have a contact?” Terrie drew the datapad back and secreted it into a thigh
pouch, all the while keeping her eyes on Frans. “This would be
deep cover. Chances are you wouldn’t
speak to anyone from Setnin for five, six months. What Intelligence wants is for you get deep
enough to access the real information they need.” Frans nodded slowly. “And that is?” Terrie checked the room; slowly turning her head left and
right so’s not to draw attention to herself. She checked herself inwardly. Point of no return for us both. If I tell her this now, there’s no taking
it back. “The movements
of Ki-Ki warships through the sector.
Where they’re deployed from, where they’re headed. How many vessels are being built, what
crews and where from. Delicate
tactical military information” “And you think
this ganglord has this kind of information?”
Frans shook her head in disbelief.
“Guys like this don’t know what’s happening on their own moons, let alone what their military is up to.” Terrie nodded and stood to a crouch, scraping her chair
around the table to get closer. “Normally I’d
agree with you, but this particular operation has strong links with the
military. They regularly re-supply
Ki-Ki vessels, rendezvousing with them in deep space. We even know they have spies aboard Ki-Ki
battleships.” Frans raised an eyebrow at that. “And you know
this how?” “Old but
independently confirmed information through a group known as the Raven
Corporation. We don’t deal with them
nowadays, but they were a useful resource not so long ago, before we had a
parting of the ways.” She took a
mouthful of her drink. “Another reason
why we need this fresh angle.” Frans cast a glance around the busying bar as it rapidly
filled up. Grubby and grimy as
Greasers Alley was, it was certainly popular with the tech crowd, and she
knew that soon the two of them would have little chance of holding much of a
conversation. She pressed on. “If I accept
this mission when do we go?” “As soon as you
get your gear together.” Terrie finished
her drink and cocked her head. “Is
there anyone who needs to know about you leaving A-desando?” Frans knocked back the remains of her own Duarga and
nodded. “My
parents. I’ll tell them I’ve been
offered a security contract on Chancai, they’ll understand. The droids can take care of the house.” She gave Terrie a wistful smile. “I barely socialise with anyone else.” She smoothed down her vest and jeans. “It’s a pretty solitary life.” Terrie stood to her feet and waited for Frans to do the
same. She could detect an edge of
sadness in Frans’ voice, as if her being away wouldn’t be missed much by the
people she’d built a life around for the last few decades. “In this
instance that’s only a good thing. And
it’s another reason why you’ve been asked to do this. You’ll be away for the better part of a
year, gathering information and insinuating yourself into the operation. Once we feel you’re ready and set, then
you’ll be contacted about feeding us the details we need.” Frans nodded again and moved towards the door. The night
was busy, the sky bright and full of ships and stars. The streets of Ecaps were swelling with
people eager to make the most of the nightlife. Frans smiled, taking it all in for what
would probably be the last time for at least a year. In her mind she’d decided, even before
meeting with Terrie, that she would accept whatever
was offered to her, within reason. And
even though this was certainly a dangerous mission, she felt more than up to
it. A-desando, especially Terrie eyed her closely as Frans watched her world go by. “You sure you’re
up to this?” Frans gave her a confident grin and began to walk away,
thinking about the previous night in the alley and how her thoughts had
barely strayed to the past in a negative manner. Yes, she was ready. In truth she’d been ready for nearly thirty
years. “As sure as I
can be.” Low Profile Life 2004 short story by Mark Newbold Thirty-Eight
years after Episode
IV – A New Hope Histories – The return of Jan Lomona’s ex-fiancée after almost
thirty years out of the limelight.
Bringing her character into the New Underworld Age, this Mark Newbold story shows Frans’ life as it has been since the events of Wrong Side of
Hell
twenty-eight years previously. Also
notable for the first meeting between Frans and Terrie Saffra since their only other meeting in Jan Lomona and the Sirens of Amagad.
Cast of Characters
Frans Latka Terrie Saffra |