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Close of Business 2001 short
story by Mark Newbold Thirty-five years after Episode IV –
A New Hope
Tarr Ranth walked with the gait of a
man who had already decided his destiny.
His thick arms pumped, pendulum-style,
through the crowds of mid-afternoon Chancai.
Past throngs of merchants and sales beings, past street performers and
security guards, skirting the starship tunnel region of Level 11 with its
grimy flow of freighters, pleasure yachts and military vessels and around
onto the main concourse towards the affluent Northside and Unit 1181 -
Grabby’s Gunshop. Ranth paused as he caught sight of the
shop. A big-time arms dealer in a
big-time city, dealing illegal goods on the `clean’ side of town, Ranth had
never understood how Grabby had remained above the law while trading on the
Northside. The Southside of Chancai
historically had far more relaxed attitudes to the underworld leanings of the
Setnin Sector, even under the oppressive regime of the Empire. In these days of the Ki-Ki invasion and the
supposed safety of the Galactic Alliance he better understood the
situation. Nevertheless, Grabby Cap
was a man with many contacts, many friends and many stories. And if nothing else, Tarr Ranth enjoyed
a good yarn. He approached the Gunshop and nodded in
acknowledgement as a customer left the premises. He thought he recognized the woman, but put
the notion aside as he entered and waited by the doorway. Grabby was finishing with another customer
and raised his eyebrows in greeting as he noticed Ranth. The broad ex-bounty hunter nodded and waited
patiently, his Jedi robes swirling in the air-conditioned breeze. He stepped aside again as the latest
customer left the shop and moved to the counter. Grabby wedged the fat cigar back into his
mouth and ran his stubby fingers through his thinning hair. An eyebrow arched as he gave Ranth a long
look.
“Jedi Knight or fancy dress?” Ranth returned the arched eyebrow,
albeit with less inherent humour and placed
his palms on the counter.
“Jedi Knight.” He allowed
himself a brief smile. “As if you
didn’t know.” Grabby nodded and shifted on his stool,
the green haze of his cigar wafting away to the air ventilation.
“Not much gets past me.
Especially when it concerns one of my best customers.” Tarr Ranth leaned in and drew a long
breath.
“It’s about my custom I wish to discuss.” Grabby cocked an ear and frowned.
“What, something not meet your satisfaction?” He nodded at the Jedi garb Ranth was
wearing. “What’s the matter Ranth? Those robes make you go soft?” Tarr Ranth chewed the inside of his
mouth. He knew Grabby was testing his
admittedly low reserves of humour, but still
the subtle dig gnawed at him. Relax
Tarrion, he told himself.
Remember what Master Zeboden showed you. Words only wound if they harbor the truth. He
leaned in to Grabby.
“I’ve come to clear my account.
In full.” Grabby raised his eyebrows and leaned
back, an expression of surprise running across his ageing features. No one cleared their account in full, at
least none of his customers. Grabby
had earned his reputation as one of the best gunsmiths in the Mid-Rim for a
reason – satisfaction or your money back.
But so far in his career he’d had few reasons to do that. Ranth, coming into his shop dressed like a
Tusken Raider with a store card, canceling one of the largest and most
regular accounts Grabby had on his books, well. That simply wasn’t one of the ingredients
for a good day.
“I’m assuming there weren’t any problems with the last delivery. The EL-44’s?” He smiled.
“You’re usually not backwards in coming forwards when it comes down to
ordinance.” He nodded slowly in
thought. “You have a
certain…reputation.” Ranth fixed Grabby with a stare.
“And what `reputation’ would that be then?”
“Being a stickler for the rules.”
He grinned “Don’t
be offended Tarr. It’s part of your
charm.”
“My reputation notwithstanding, I no longer require
armament, in any quantity. I’m a Jedi, not a bounty hunter.” He patted the lightsabre that hung from his
belt, gleaming in the subdued light of the Gunshop. “This is all the armament I need.”
“Pity,”
Grabby sighed. “I do
blasters, blas-laz’s,
rifles, force-pikes, stun guns, even projectile weapons. But I don’t do much in the way of
lightsabres.” Ranth reached into the utility pouch on
his belt and removed a cred stick.
Holding it up in the light he handed it over to Grabby. The gunsmith took the cred stick, noting
that it was full and swiped it through the cash register.
“You know Tarr, you’re leaving behind a good
career and a good profession. Guys
don’t often build up a reputation like you’ve got and simply walk away.” He handed the cred stick back to Ranth, the
account paid in full. “They usually
get carted away in a box.” Ranth secreted the stick back into its
pouch and seated himself on the stool next to him. Grabby had made some salient points that
gave him pause for thought. No, not
many bounty hunters had the opportunity to step away from life on the lanes
and grasp the chance of a new start with a vice-like grip like Ranth had in
recent years. He’d always had the sway
of the force in his life, the influence of its power and majesty sitting
stage right, just out of eyesight, waiting to infuse itself into his life and
take hold. Decades had passed, decades
of the hunt and the chase…and the kill.
But Tarr Ranth had waited until his sixth decade to truly mature and
become the man he was destined to be.
And now he had arrived at the departure gate that would lead to the
next chapter of his life. But the past, like a specter ordained
to haunt and pester him, refused to fade away.
“I’ve seen my share of boxes. I
feel like I’ve lived in one for years.”
He breathed deeply. “This war,
this invasion. I have influence
now. I can help. It’s why I became a Jedi.” Grabby snorted a laugh and leaned back,
taking the cigar out of his mouth and reaching a hand under the counter to
grab two glasses and a bottle of unidentified alcohol. Ranth watched with interest as Grabby
poured two shots of the black liquid and nudged one over to the ageing
Jedi. Ranth looked at the shot glass,
then to Grabby, then back to the glass again.
“Listen Ranth, I’ll be offended if you don’t share a glass with
me. You’ve been my customer for over
forty years, and if I know anything about Jedi one thing they don’t do is
catch up with friends and chat about the old times.” He raised the glass. “We might never meet
again. Let’s share a drink and salute
the past.” Ranth, against his better judgement, took the glass and snatched it
down. The drink was surprisingly sweet
and reminded him of a childhood beverage his family aide Li’Tur used to
prepare for him. Pleased by the taste
and the memory he offered the glass for a refill. Grabby half-smiled and obliged.
“Do you remember the days when all this,” Grabby swept an arm around
the shop. “All this here was like a
candy shop and you were the biggest kid with the sweetest tooth?” Ranth sipped again from the glass and
nodded.
“I do. The first weapon I
brought from you was a modified ES-62, Gaveera
Series. With a shortened stock and – “
“ – A dart shooter installed to surprise the
locals.” Finished Grabby, nodding in
genuine warmth at the memory. “I got a
lot of time for the ES-62. Never had
one go down on me, in the shop or in the field.” Ranth paused, the glass hovering near
his lips and frowned.
“Out in the field? If I’ve seen
you on this side of the counter ten times then I’m a Garmon Bats Uncle.” Ranth finished his second shot. “You wouldn’t know a field if you were
buried in it.” Grabby swigged away at the black
beverage.
“I planted a paddy field on Lydon once.” He grinned and rested his chin on the heel
of his hand. “You don’t know about my
military past, do you?” Ranth shook his head and drew a deep
breath. The alcohol was beginning to
dull his senses and he focused his highly trained mind to see through the
haze. A Jedi’s life is never an
easy path. But the pit stops make it
bearable.
“I thought this shop was as near to the military as you ever got.”
“Ahh, young Mister Ranth,” began Grabby with a huge grin spreading
across his face. “Have I got some
stories to tell you.”
“…and then that’s when Feese broke through the window and all hell
broke loose!” Ranth raised an interested eyebrow and
leaned in closer. He was enjoying the
tales Grabby had spent two hours telling him, about his days as a mercenary
and military hero. Going undercover on
missions for the sectors top ganglords.
Working for the Rebel Alliance on covert missions, even operating as
an information gatherer for Jabba the Hutt in the Core Worlds. Ranth had no idea that this short, over
weight, balding old man had had such an eventful career. He reminded himself to never take people on
their outward appearance. The path
to a mans true self is a winding one. Never take the simple path when the rocky
one is so much more rewarding.
“Did Lomona explain what he was doing with Pocock’s
niece?” Grabby almost spat out his mouthful of cockons in a fit of laughter.
“Aww, come on Ranth! The day Lomona explains why he’s bedded a
woman,” He paused and grinned a wicked grin. “Is the day I’ll tell you about my part in
destroying the Revenger.” Ranth pulled an impressed face at the
mention of the Empire’s obliterated Super Star Destroyer, taken out by the
Alliances’ crack team Squadron Indigo over the world of Mantin III thirty two
years ago. The members of Squadron
Indigo went on to become heroes, and those who died became legends within the
Setnin Sector. The destruction of the Revenger
went a large way to releasing the grip of the Empire in the sector and
allowed her to assist the Rebellion and fight to free them from its
tyranny. But Ranth was a knowledgeable
customer – he knew that Grabby had no part to play in that escapade. Did he?
“We had to sneak on board in a shuttle, camouflaged as a Junk
Shuttle. Our team managed to get into
the main bulk of the ship through the maintenance crawlways and then we spread
out through the ship, taking key areas and planting thermo-nukes on slaved
timers.” Ranth raised a hand, shaking his head
in denial.
“You can’t possibly mean to tell me that you helped destroy the Revenger.” He lowered his hand. “A tale is a tale is a tale, but I have no
time for fanciful make-believe.” He
drew a breath through his nose. “A
Jedi’s time is short.” Grabby waited for five seconds and
squinted at the graying Jedi.
“You gonna let me finish this recollection or what?” Ranth stared back and then nodded.
“Good. Anyway, we planted the
devices and met up near the main bridge.
Remember, the ship wasn’t complete so they had a skeleton crew. Maybe fifty, sixty thousand. And after a good fight and a few men down
we made it back to the shuttle and blasted off just before the slaved timers
activated and blew the ship.” He
leaned back. “And that’s how we
destroyed the Revenger.” Ranth had to hand it to Grabby – if he
was making up the last two hours of tales then he certainly told them with
conviction. But Grabby Cap? Everyone knew that he never left the
Gunshop. To think that he was a part
of so many heroic missions was…ridiculous.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
Grabby pulled a disappointed expression. “And after all the heists you’ve pulled,
all the tales you bring when you buy a new gun. I thought you of all people would give me
some credit for my skills.” Ranth lowered his eyes and took another
mouthful of his drink. What the
hell. From this day on my life is of
only the Force and my duties. Why deny
myself a last indulgence? He
nodded and shifted on his seat.
“Tell me more.” Night had fallen when Tarr Ranth left
Grabbys Gunshop for the last time.
Traffic was at a crawl, the real nighttime activities yet to kick into
full swing. He turned and acknowledged
Grabby as the shutters descended and latched into place and then he was
alone. A handful of revelers brushed
past as they made their way to the nearest cantina and Ranth watched them
enter. He sighed and looked down at
himself. His garb was now of a Jedi:
the man Grabby had known for forty years had finally gone. Ranth felt like he’d left him behind in the
Gunshop. A catharsis, of sorts. He turned the corner and returned to
the long walkway that led to the starship tunnel and the stream of grimy
freighters, pleasure yachts and military vessels that spewed a constant
stream of metal into the skies and the Setnin Sector beyond. Grimy, constant Setnin. His domain, run by crooks, inhabited
by crooks, all living by the code. The
Setnin Way. And that suited him fine. Close of Business 2001 short
story by Mark Newbold Thirty-five years after Episode IV –
A New Hope Histories – A
short tale telling of one of Tarr Ranths
final acts as a bounty hunter and the moment he accepts that his one true
destiny is to be a Jedi. Based upon a story premise by Louis Turfrey,
this shows ranth cast off the last vestiges of his
bounty hunting past and accept his destiny and future as a Jedi. Cast of Characters Tarr Ranth Grabby Cap |